tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35575083880059513292024-03-13T13:30:04.334-07:00HEARTS AND HANDS FOREVER Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-22666288754243113612020-01-14T14:58:00.004-08:002020-01-14T21:42:26.598-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> <b>NEXT GENERATION</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b> BABES CUDDLING IN OLD CHAIR </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></b><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I'm here to tell you a true story about a chair.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I know it's true because I was there. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><b><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-55wsp1VN6wU/Xh5BzvnV7vI/AAAAAAAADMY/G9_yVF23OaEgVBD4SgOBgCCoPy9s91ywgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2Boriginal%2Bcolor%2Bof%2Bold%2Bchair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-55wsp1VN6wU/Xh5BzvnV7vI/AAAAAAAADMY/G9_yVF23OaEgVBD4SgOBgCCoPy9s91ywgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2Boriginal%2Bcolor%2Bof%2Bold%2Bchair.jpg" /></a></span></span></b></div>
<b> I am the Chair.</b><br />
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<b> </b><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;">Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was young and strong, built with extra padding and heavy brown fabric. But many years passed and I became faded, worn, tired looking and the Old Man who once appreciated me didn't want me any more. Neither did he want my twin chair. I served him well, I suppose. As well as any chair can serve the comfort of humans. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"> The year was 1957. I was lifted out of the Old Man's big old house and brought to a small old house. My twin went to a young couple. I never saw my twin again.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"> This small old house was occupied by a Young Man and his Bride. </span></span><br />
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They picked a place for me in the tiny, crowded living room in front of the big window and spent much time snuggling and whispering sweet, loving sentiments to each other while I held them close.<br />
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<i>"What did you look like?"</i><br />
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<i> </i>Hmm. Let me try to remember. It's been so long ago.<i> </i><br />
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<i> </i>The Old Man must have thought of me as shabby, worn out and ready for the garbage pile since he didn't want me<i> </i>any more. But I knew that wasn't the case. I thought I was beautiful.<br />
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At one time I may have looked like this with bright colors and soft fabric, strong sturdy legs, heavy springs and new batting to hold me together.<br />
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<i>"You were as beautiful as a garden in the spring. "</i><br />
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<i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xfRxCnVK6pw/Xh5RL8-0usI/AAAAAAAADNA/iOpH2KY7aGYVcF6XpbKcaxpVNmqxQRwTQCEwYBhgL/s1600/1920s%2Bpretty%2Bclose%2Blooking%2Boverstuffed%2Bsimilar%2Bdesign%2Bof%2B1956%2Bchair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="188" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xfRxCnVK6pw/Xh5RL8-0usI/AAAAAAAADNA/iOpH2KY7aGYVcF6XpbKcaxpVNmqxQRwTQCEwYBhgL/s1600/1920s%2Bpretty%2Bclose%2Blooking%2Boverstuffed%2Bsimilar%2Bdesign%2Bof%2B1956%2Bchair.jpg" /></a></i></div>
Thank you. But that's not quite the way I looked. Hmmm. Let me think. The legs and arms, cushions look familiar, but the wings aren't how I remember them. I had wings. Yes. That's right I had wings . . . but smaller.<br />
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<i>"Were you white? You would have been beautiful as a bride in white."</i><br />
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<i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R_Oo_0Go73g/Xh5bLQ2uYHI/AAAAAAAADNI/qv_SE7o8nmEBGW_gUNC2-dUegA3xVwU6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2Bwhite%2Bsimilar%2Bdesign%2Bof%2B1956%2Bchair%2B1920s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="135" data-original-width="180" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R_Oo_0Go73g/Xh5bLQ2uYHI/AAAAAAAADNI/qv_SE7o8nmEBGW_gUNC2-dUegA3xVwU6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/2015%2Bwhite%2Bsimilar%2Bdesign%2Bof%2B1956%2Bchair%2B1920s.jpg" width="200" /></a></i></div>
<i> </i>No. I wasn't white. But let me get back to my story of the Young Man and his Bride.<br />
<i> </i>Time went by and they had one baby. And another. And another. And at last the final another. So they moved to a new and bigger little house. Of course they brought me along. I had become an important member of their family. I was special - big and comfortable and useful for naps. I cuddled the children as they fell asleep while stories were read to them.<br />
Over time, I began to look worn and faded. My fabric was tearing at the seams and chocolate splotches and coffee spills dulled my original beauty. My springs sagged and padding poked out here and there. The Young Man, now called Father, decided to re-cover me. His Bride, now called Mother, said that would be fine and he should be the one to choose new material to go over my old fabric. <br />
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Nope! I fooled you. I did not look like a zebra when he was finished.<br />
There were so many fabrics to choose from and a kaleidoscope of colors.<br />
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It was exciting alright. I dreamed of waking up and being more beautiful and amazingly splendid than ever before<br />
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<i>"So the Father knew what he was doing and skillfully removed your old fabric, strengthened all your springs, and restuffed your sagging cushions?"</i><br />
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<i> </i>Umm. Not exactly. Father added some padding to my cushions, turned me upside down and straightened one broken spring, glued a couple of slats together, and attached the new fabric right over the old. The fabric Father chose was bright blue, shiny, slick and slippery. . . plastic<br />
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It lasted a long time. Until Mother decided to restore me to my original glory. Not that she could do a big, important project like I needed. But she knew someone who could. She placed me in the skillful hands of an Upholstery Specialist.<br />
The Upholstery Specialist turned me upside down, tilted me over until I was sideways, cut away my seams, and removed old worn batting. I heard the Upholstery Specialist say my old bones seemed to be strong, but a few repairs were called for.<br />
What a surprise was in store for me while being made new.<br />
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<i><b> "Well, well, well." </b> </i>I heard the Upholstery Specialist exclaim once I was thoroughly torn apart. <b><i>"You clever old Chair. You have a much different chair hiding inside of you."</i></b><br />
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<b><i> </i></b><i>"What did that mean . . . a much smaller chair hiding inside of you?" </i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>The Upholstery Specialist muttered<i> </i> that sometime in my past another upholstery person had covered my original small wings, arms, back and cushion with thicker padding - which made me a thicker, taller and wider chair. The Upholstery Specialist called Mother and told her what had been discovered. She told the Upholstery Specialist to bring me back to my original size. And that she had already chosen my brand new fabric. <br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vtGd935jxSo/Xh5xkhVi_HI/AAAAAAAADOE/MgMLfmVAE-oX_fnGbiTzWc8NK2oq55FfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2Borange%2Bupholstery%2Bfabric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="355" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vtGd935jxSo/Xh5xkhVi_HI/AAAAAAAADOE/MgMLfmVAE-oX_fnGbiTzWc8NK2oq55FfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/2015%2Borange%2Bupholstery%2Bfabric.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
A lovely, happy, vibrant shade of orange.<br />
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<b> </b><i>"So you lived happily ever after. A lovely, vibrant shade of orange . . . HEY! Hold it! Your are not an orange chair!"</i><br />
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<i> </i>You are so right. I had one more very important restoration. But first you must hear the rest of my life story.<br />
<i> </i>After Father and Mother became Grandfather and Grandmother they moved out of their big house and onto a sailboat. Their children had grown up and had children of their own. A big orange Chair would not fit in a sailboat. But Grandfather and Grandmother did not throw me into the garbage dump - even though over time I had again become old and shabby, torn and worn.<br />
Their youngest son pointed to his children and said, <b><i>"We will take the old orange Chair. Our daughters have cuddled in it, and had stories read to them, and have taken naps in its arms."</i></b><br />
That's where I lived for many years until those children grew up and had children of their own who wanted to be cuddled, and have stories read to them, and take naps with their Mommy and Daddy, snuggling inside my faded, and stained, overstuffed orange arms.<br />
<b><i> </i></b><br />
<b></b><br />
<b><i> </i></b><i>"But . . . but you aren't a faded and stained, old overstuffed, orange chair!"</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Happy to say, I am not an old, faded orange, overstuffed chair any more. Now I'll tell you how I came to be beautiful, new, and restored <br />
<i> </i>If you recall, the Grandfather and Grandmother had moved away onto a sailboat and given me to their son and his wife. They eventually gave me to one of their daughters when she grew up and had two little daughters.<br />
The two little daughters sat in me for story time, naps and cuddling with their Daddy. They didn't mind that I was old, orange and had sagging cushion<b>s. </b><br />
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Daddy covered me with a pretty blanket to cover up the stains and spots, tears and stuffing coming out of my cushion. But Mommy would have none of that! She knew I could be beautiful and new again. <br />
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<i><b>"Out of the chair, girls. I've work to do," </b></i>said Mommy. She slid me out of the corner and into the middle of the living room. I was nervous as she began repairing tears in my old fabric, pulling out my batting, and ripping my seams.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dSeC_TNkv8/Xh6P3c9wyAI/AAAAAAAADO4/q0kOhkeQAOAKTz7DhAKa7iOcbxoCiUHewCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Bside%2Bremoved%2BKarissa%2Brestoration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="112" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dSeC_TNkv8/Xh6P3c9wyAI/AAAAAAAADO4/q0kOhkeQAOAKTz7DhAKa7iOcbxoCiUHewCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Bside%2Bremoved%2BKarissa%2Brestoration.jpg" width="200" /></a><i><b>"What's this?" </b></i>she exclaimed,<br />
tugging at something hiding inside my left side panel below my arm.. <b><i>"Well, well, well. Must have been your fabric when you were brand new."</i></b><br />
Mommy hammered and screwed in new fasteners and grommets. She pried away old batting and pounded and repaired bent springs.<br />
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Finally she was ready to decide on beautiful and new fabric. Off to the fabric store she went.<br />
When she returned home she was carrying a large bolt of colorful upholstery fabric.<br />
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<b><i> "Well, what do you think?" </i></b>she asked laying a piece of the new fabric over my seat and laying the rest of the bolt in front of me.<br />
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That will do nicely. I like it very much.<br />
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And with that said, she flipped me over topsy turvy, upside downsy and began covering my small wings, curved sides and arms, seat cushion and foot rest. Oh dear . . . I hoped she knew what she was doing.<br />
But then all work on me stopped. I was afraid unfinished was my plight for the rest of my days when I heard Mommy admit she didn't know how to put the new fabric onto my back cushion.<br />
Oh dear. Oh dear. This will never do. But it's not as if I could do anything about it. I accepted my not quite perfect new self . . . content that I was almost a perfectly new and beautiful, old overstuffed Chair.<br />
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<i>"But . . . but you are a perfectly new and beautiful old overstuffed chair now!"</i><br />
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<i> </i>Yes. Just as you say and can see. Mommy looked up on pinterest how to attach the fabric to my back cushion and followed the directions exactly<i> </i><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tI3-8txjrLc/Xh6Z0MWexbI/AAAAAAAADPs/hsjYL9q_WxECcNNbXDybbygQnlpCFV8qgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Brecovered%2Bby%2BKarissa%2BJessica%2Bnow%2Bhas%2Bit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tI3-8txjrLc/Xh6Z0MWexbI/AAAAAAAADPs/hsjYL9q_WxECcNNbXDybbygQnlpCFV8qgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Brecovered%2Bby%2BKarissa%2BJessica%2Bnow%2Bhas%2Bit.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i> But you know, don't you, that I have always been a perfectly beautiful old<br />
overstuffed Chair even when my fabric was torn, my seams were splitting<br />
my springs sprung out of shape, and my batting was falling out.<br />
I was always beautiful from the inside out.<br />
I know I was because I had love and a place in the hearts<br />
of all those who entrusted me with their children's naps, story time, and cuddles<br />
<br />
Yes indeed!<br />
That's exactly what I am . . .<br />
a perfectly beautiful, old but restored overstuffed Chair.<br />
Would you like to sit a spell?<br />
Naps allowed.<br />
<br />
I <i> </i><br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></b>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-23934007028360568202019-12-30T19:11:00.001-08:002020-01-06T15:31:47.916-08:00<div class="_6cuy">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x">Paths In My Life. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> I walk with Jesus. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> At times He is beside
me, or walks in front . . .</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> behind with hands guiding me </span></span><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x">away</span></span><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> from danger. </span></span></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> </span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x">At a
long, winding and difficult turn in the path I veer off to rest awhile before going on. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> I see Him up ahead and rush to catch up.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x">"Lord," I call out. "This a lonesome, desolate place. A place of Unfinished Dreams."</span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ksBMUfWRt0c/VLRUo1zOKxI/AAAAAAAACI8/nBPofx8m2FkzRNEi_HtaFIzXoJu9I7jWQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Final%2BResting35.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ksBMUfWRt0c/VLRUo1zOKxI/AAAAAAAACI8/nBPofx8m2FkzRNEi_HtaFIzXoJu9I7jWQCPcBGAYYCw/s320/Final%2BResting35.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></span></i></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> </span></span></i><b><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x">"Then let's leave this place and find another.</span></span></b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> A New Path - </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>down the hill to the bottom and through the gate. Turn right and follow the gravel road. When you get to the end of the gravel road turn left. I have prepared a new beginning for you."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><i> "Will it be far off ? </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><i> I am old. Alone. Except for You guiding me." </i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><i> </i><b>"Trust Me." </b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><b> </b>We set off down the path under a kaleidoscope sky, ablaze with a rainbow and golden clouds.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UYOaiftKb0/XgqxB7qATFI/AAAAAAAADLg/g-9PRsqoEr40XFWv6gVKzCT1NHEvNE5xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rainbow%2Band%2Bclouds%2B%2Bfor%2Bmoms%2Bbrithday%2Btribute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="1101" height="227" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UYOaiftKb0/XgqxB7qATFI/AAAAAAAADLg/g-9PRsqoEr40XFWv6gVKzCT1NHEvNE5xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Rainbow%2Band%2Bclouds%2B%2Bfor%2Bmoms%2Bbrithday%2Btribute.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><b> </b><i> </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><i> </i> Once at the bottom of the hill and through the gate . . .</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzHoEp6I5Mk/Xgq6SUdYBKI/AAAAAAAADLs/ycMn37Dw1HcvRvBmgBKl0HdJpdGoPQzmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Closed%2Bthe%2BGate%2B2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="1600" height="464" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzHoEp6I5Mk/Xgq6SUdYBKI/AAAAAAAADLs/ycMn37Dw1HcvRvBmgBKl0HdJpdGoPQzmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Closed%2Bthe%2BGate%2B2012.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright 1984 drawing and caption: Author Monica Lawson Only to be copied or shared with written permission by author.</span></span></span></b><i><span dir="ltr"><span class="_3l3x"> </span></span></i></span><br />
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-11337037620098050172019-12-29T10:24:00.000-08:002020-01-06T12:18:00.590-08:00<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: medium;"> A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON MY WAY TO OLD</span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"> </span></b> Originally written October 13, 2014<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0oZM15_rZjE/VDwMsMS6FTI/AAAAAAAAB1E/jlhPXWGS_b4/s1600/2007WinterNewTractorShopStoveSnickersDeer%2B018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0oZM15_rZjE/VDwMsMS6FTI/AAAAAAAAB1E/jlhPXWGS_b4/s1600/2007WinterNewTractorShopStoveSnickersDeer%2B018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm beginning the Winter of my life ....... but wait ....</div>
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Winter of my life would be </div>
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when I'm old OLD!</div>
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Perhaps I'm just on the edge of Fall ...... .before Winter. </div>
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Spring and Summer have long passed me by.</div>
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Gone are the days of raising squabbling children crying in the back seat of the car that their sibling is "...thinking about touching me!!!" (one of my grandchildren's memorable quotes!) </div>
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Adding another potato to the pot to make it go further is but a distant memory. </div>
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Canning and preserving food is delegated to the top shelf in my current pantry ... oh wait! I sold my canning collection to a young mother last summer. </div>
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In a flash ....grammar school ... high school ... weddings and military service ..... Our children were on their way.</div>
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College came for our four children after they were parents.</div>
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Weddings and dramas ..... new family member (still occurs through grandchildren's weddings) has settled nicely with all spouses in place in our lives (and ex spouses still in our hearts.)</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">THE MIDDLE YEARS</span></div>
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Anchored securely in God's Pocket, West Coast of Vancouver Island, Canada</div>
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Sunset La Paz harbor, Sea of Cortez, Baja Mexico</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-APayRf5ht-o/VDwQ6PlEGeI/AAAAAAAAB1k/jtRLF6mnE-s/s1600/Lobster%2Btail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-APayRf5ht-o/VDwQ6PlEGeI/AAAAAAAAB1k/jtRLF6mnE-s/s1600/Lobster%2Btail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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High sea adventures and quiet serene anchorages are memories stored in albums and mementos gathering dust from long distant ports and vivid photos of dramatic sunsets in the Sea of Cortez.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W1WsNJ1JwUU/VDwQpK_VGBI/AAAAAAAAB1c/yr7cVk90a_M/s1600/Clams%2Banyone%2B%2B%2B%2BMonica%2BSea%2Bof%2BCortez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W1WsNJ1JwUU/VDwQpK_VGBI/AAAAAAAAB1c/yr7cVk90a_M/s1600/Clams%2Banyone%2B%2B%2B%2BMonica%2BSea%2Bof%2BCortez.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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And gathering food in the most unusual manner! No Safeway in the Sea of Cortez... but friendly Mexican fishermen willing to trade lobster.....LOBSTER!! ... for water we produced with our watermaker.</div>
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Beach gathering and tidal forays for clams and oysters with other yachties brought us meal after meal of free food to share at almost nightly potlucks aboard our cruising companion's humble to sumptuous yachts.</div>
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Hurricane disaster struck, shattering and destroying dreams of sailing off into the sunset. Our sailboat Quasar was safe through this horrific destruction.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MsPGttWCTaA/VDwSk0fSiCI/AAAAAAAAB1w/qhI_wSkFv4s/s1600/Hurrican%2BBoat%2BYard%2BBaja%2B2001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MsPGttWCTaA/VDwSk0fSiCI/AAAAAAAAB1w/qhI_wSkFv4s/s1600/Hurrican%2BBoat%2BYard%2BBaja%2B2001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A COWBOY AND A SAILOR" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Original song title, Dean Lawson</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Toward the waning years of our cruising adventure </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eldon and I were visiting family in the states and watching in a theater the movie </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"Perfect Storm"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">and at the moment the fishing vessel was stuck, bow pointed upwards at the massive</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">gargantuan wave about to crash over and obliterate</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">all aboard and the worthy vessel itself,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eldon leaned over toward me in the hushed </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">movie theater and said,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"NOW would be a good time to visit </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Lakeview and Paisley....." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Why Lakeview or Paisley?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(In our child raising years he had driven tanker trucks delivering gasoline to stations in Lakeview and Paisley and was taken by the quaint little towns in rural Oregon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My thoughts at the time were .... "<i>Yeah, sure..... 100 years from now ... but in the meantime .. we have little kids to raise."</i> </span><span style="font-size: small;">100 years went by in a flash.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">....... <i>always wanted to be a cowboy and a sailor</i> .....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Check off "SAILOR" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">onto "COWBOY" chapter</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We did the sailor chapter from 1984 through 2002, selling our sailing vessel Quasar .... difficult last look at her as we pushed the final load of belongings down the dock and away from her bobbing gently at Marina De La Paz.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And onto Lakeview, Oregon,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">10 acres of bare land - if you consider waist high sagebrush, bitter brush, scrub brush and trees.... Juniper and one lone Pine tree .... bare land. We found the perfect place for a home site on top of the hill overlooking the valley and Crane Mountain, and only one mile from a trout filled lake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At the top of the hill were four giant Junipers ... ancient and sturdy (considered by some as weeds worthy of removal) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">and we knew placing our home in the middle of the four giants was our way of </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">honoring our four children .... The tallest, promising shade in the summer, we named Vicki; across the field full and lovely we named Jill; beside 'her' and off away was Dean - strong but with limbs going off in all directions; and finally Neal... densely covered boughs with stout trunk .. strong and resilient. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">to be continued as we plant gardens, bring new animals into our life, laugh and love, play and stress .... future posts will highlight the joy of living in Lakeview Oregon... and further on to Goldendale WA.. as a widow.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-25254018339594379442019-12-27T15:56:00.004-08:002020-01-06T11:59:03.352-08:00<span class="_5yl5"></span><span class="_40fu" data-hover="none"><span class="_1z_2 _2u_d"><span class="_8sow"></span></span></span><span class="_40fu" data-hover="none"><span class="_1z_2 _2u_d"><span class="_8sow"></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="_5yl5">A conversation between two friends about </span><br />
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<span class="_5yl5">Trust . . .</span><span class="_5yl5">Hope . </span><span class="_5yl5"> Healing </span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">Friend #1 </span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">I was just listening to a praise song ... about when God doesn't move the mountains we ask Him to move .. or waters we have to go through .. something like that ... and I related it to Vicki's death and asking for her healing.. the mountain. and the waters, our tears and grief. Any loss is grievous. But it's a journey - whether through mountains of accumulated treasures to be rid of or a body racked with pain waiting for death to release into God's arms.</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">an image flashed through my mind while thinking about this song ... asking "I will trust , I will trust ..I will trust in You." When I stop hoping in my ability to make something happen by praying fervently, or continuously or with great faith. but release the situation and begin trusting in Him.</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">I have times when the memory of Vicki's last days torment my mother's heart .. her suffering yet strength to encourage us she would be okay .... and after a year and half I'm still learning to Trust ... Him. Sighhhh .. I switched on Pandora radio to Christian selections and I can almost hear her singing ....I know her voice and her heart and the words that kept her from abandoning her faith right up to the end...</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">Phew .. I guess I just had to share this moment with someone .. and you are a tender heart who know about grief, loss, sadness .. and joy in the midst of those trials.</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">Okay .. on with my day. Blessings!</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">That song shattered me when i first heard it.
Sometimes it is overwhelming thinking of the burden i have yet to carry in the near future.
Then i think of the scripture that "the battle belongs to the Lord" and how He'll "never leave or forsake me"
I fight to remember that every second of every day is just that. A second of time. A second where i have a choice to let go and trust Him.
Your journey gives me courage to continue. The courage to take another step of letting go of both people and things and only embracing the Lord
As all my "stuff" loses its importance in my life I'm finding that God is taking His rightful place as the only thing that i cant live without.
And every day i find other situations to remind me of how powerless i truly am.
Without His breath in me i would cease to exist. Without faith i would cease to try.
Thank you for letting Him encourage and strengthen me through you.
There have been times i was so completely covered in despair i was at a total standstill.
Inch by inch i pulled my ostrich head out of the sand.
Some dsys i still dont like what i see and hide my head again. Some days i enjoy the sun,
one day we will see paradise and nothing will matter. The Glory of the Lord will wash away every tear and pain.
Until then i pray ministering angels surround us all</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">I asked my friend's permission to share our heart to heart on my blog. She said yes. </span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">Happy New Year 2020</span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-30129666671830696212019-12-25T10:57:00.001-08:002019-12-25T11:12:28.558-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> HELP! I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP!</b></span><br />
Monica Lawson 12/23/19<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Well now, let me help you little one,"</b> Master Gardener said lifting the tiny bird into the nest in the tree. <b>"Momma Bird is mighty concerned about you. See. Here she comes. Nothing seems to be broken. You will be fine now." </b></span><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhHZ42MsarU/XYPs2sAtX9I/AAAAAAAAC44/p-dtJmTWwm89Lu7KUux3qKtrbaYbMQwcgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/2019%2BSparrow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="680" height="230" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhHZ42MsarU/XYPs2sAtX9I/AAAAAAAAC44/p-dtJmTWwm89Lu7KUux3qKtrbaYbMQwcgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/2019%2BSparrow.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b><span style="font-size: large;">Once </span><span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener was sure Baby Bird safely flew off into the trees with Momma Bird, she set off down the path to collect her Whimsical Friends in the garden. They will be stored in a safe place before the winter snow and frost covers the landscape in its cold embrace.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I'm here," </b>called out White Rabbit. <b>"I'm ready for a long winter's nap in a cozy dry den. The flowers around my summer-home stump are fading and covered with frost."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener picked up White Rabbit and carried him to a </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">bench under the porch.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VUPzhTobPEg/XdmkBCm-bYI/AAAAAAAADDQ/qUtEbXS0P8ESiucF-cjGjF2dIFZjabQUACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VUPzhTobPEg/XdmkBCm-bYI/AAAAAAAADDQ/qUtEbXS0P8ESiucF-cjGjF2dIFZjabQUACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2026.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<b>Why is this broken brick beside me under the bench?" </b>White Rabbit asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You will see . . . you will see,"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">said Master Gardener.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once again, Master Gardener walked along the garden path until she met Straw Angel. She picked up Straw Angel, carried her out of the garden and set her down to greet guests beside the door to here tiny house. She fixed Straw Angel's left wing that was missing pieces of straw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<b>I'll be fine now. Thank you," </b>Straw Angel said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener tipped her hat and said, <b>"You are most welcome.</b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A double rainbow arched across the Juniper trees surrounding the garden.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<b>I better hurry and collect the rest of my Whimsical Friends from the garden before the rainbows give way to frost and snow," </b>she said glancing up into the sky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Thomas," </b>called Little Girl at the Gate near the edge of the garden. <b>"Do you think Master Gardener has forgotten about me?" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Neowwwww," </b>Thomas assured Little Girl at the Gate. <b>"See. She's meowwwwandering this way nowwwww."</b><br /><b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Thank you, Thomas," </b>Master Gardener said, lifting Little Girl at the Gate up off the stump. <b>"That was very kind of you to let her know she hasn't been forgotten. No one is forgotten in my garden. I have the perfect place where you can wait for winter to pass."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Little Girl at the gate was shy . . . so shy she couldn't tell Master Gardener that she was very lonely sitting on the stump by herself all summer with nobody noticing she was there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I hope my winter place has others nearby . . . that would be lovely," </b>she said quietly so not to be heard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Halo Angel had fallen asleep and was dreaming about her lovely pot of summer flowers. She was startled when Master Gardener pulled her out of the ceramic pot. The flowers in her dream had now faded from last weeks first sprinkling of snow. </span></span><br />
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"Where are you taking me?" </b>Halo Angel asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You shall see," </b>Master Gardener said cheerily.<b>"But first I will paint your lovely metal wings to be rid of the rust caused by summer rain showers."</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener painted her wings, halo and frame a bright and beautiful shade of ebony. She placed an empty flower pot in</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Halo Angel's hands in expectation of new flowers next spring.<b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I am indeed a fine looking angel now," </b>said Halo Angel. <b>"Thank you for restoring me to my original beauty."</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Master Gardener placed her on the porch </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">beside the front door of her tiny home.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VzdkiyDKpNQ/XdnHSGOYiRI/AAAAAAAADF0/3whNy_YU3Kgb5gwxb8ECqaMwqeRAZTQtQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VzdkiyDKpNQ/XdnHSGOYiRI/AAAAAAAADF0/3whNy_YU3Kgb5gwxb8ECqaMwqeRAZTQtQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2027.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener glanced around the garden to see who was remaining, or in need of repairs.<br /><b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b>Fred and Frieda Frog, the bell keepers,<b><br /></b></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-224xbEbQ41c/Xdm4k-iu9TI/AAAAAAAADE8/N_VBMHqs8rU7ryXJa7FxbyZ8_8vT5z_mACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-224xbEbQ41c/Xdm4k-iu9TI/AAAAAAAADE8/N_VBMHqs8rU7ryXJa7FxbyZ8_8vT5z_mACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/034.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">croaked insistently, "<b>Ribbit," </b>said Fred. <b>"Ribbit indeed," </b>Frieda</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">echoed. <b>"RRRReverberrrrations and rinnnnnnngggingggg! Our earrrrrs are tingling and rrrrruined!" </b>they insisted in unison. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I'm frightfully sorry. Please forgive me,"</b> Master Gardener pleaded. <b>"I did not imagine the bell would ring so loudly, or that Whimsical Garden frog's ears were so sensitive. I'll not place you there next spring. Perhaps in a quiet place for the winter your ears will be good as new."</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GARPX3SPvvU/XdnGFIigTSI/AAAAAAAADFs/RFWDlV9g00Q6PGXRLLpmDydnPyglszG2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GARPX3SPvvU/XdnGFIigTSI/AAAAAAAADFs/RFWDlV9g00Q6PGXRLLpmDydnPyglszG2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Hello,"</b> cried out Little Girl at the Gate when she saw Fred and Frieda sitting on the lovely garden bench beside her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Ribbit . . . ribbit," </b>which in frog language can mean anything a frog wants it to mean. Little Girl at the Gate knew they would be wonderful friends, all safely protected on the porch from storms. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Birds In Hand . . . oh my, it is so sad. </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H6YwArccPqY/XdnM2JHe4pI/AAAAAAAADGA/zW2HFidVFqsQPfcGtn7Zpsev57qeVnLGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H6YwArccPqY/XdnM2JHe4pI/AAAAAAAADGA/zW2HFidVFqsQPfcGtn7Zpsev57qeVnLGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener noticed the blue hands were no longer sitting on the rock. The Birds In Hand had fallen, or been pushed off the rock and both little blue bird's tails were broken off. The Hands had carefully held them through spring showers and summer rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener carried them inside her little home to see if there was anything she could do to repair them. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>"Hello Turtle," </b>she said, placing Birds In Hand next to Turtle who herself was recuperating from injuries from a fall in the garden. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"What do . . . we have . . . here?" </b>Turtle asked. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener explained to Turtle about the mishap Birds In Hand had experienced while gluing and pressing and holding and waiting for the glue to set the tail feathers where they once were.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5e736hhDK-Q/XdnOnjySGtI/AAAAAAAADGM/H_ZOsYGQIdYZKDVvGKnp7tWktN5E6RjYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5e736hhDK-Q/XdnOnjySGtI/AAAAAAAADGM/H_ZOsYGQIdYZKDVvGKnp7tWktN5E6RjYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/019.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Little Blue Bird on the left is waiting patiently while the glue holds his tail feathers. I think he will be fine."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yes . . . I can . . . see the . . . crack in . . . his . . . tail. It now seems to be . . . perfectly attached," </b>said Turtle in his charming slow speaking voice.<b> </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Little Blue Bird on the right . . ." </b>Master Gardener shook her head and looked sad.<b> "See how the end feather is drooping and the glue is not sticking? And one small piece still to attach. Tsk, tsk, tsk." </b>She tapped her finger on her cheek.<br /><b></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Chirp, chirp! Chirp,chirp. I will be fine,"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">said Little Blue Bird on the right.<b>"I will not be flying away very soon. The feathers I have will do very nicely."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You have put your trust in me . . . and I will see you through,"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener promised. She asked Turtle to watch over Birds in Hand as they healed while she went out to the Garden to see if any Whimsical Garden Friend had been forgotten.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7OKjoHCkd8I/XdnYdex04GI/AAAAAAAADGY/G2Jg9JIsmRog8gvRvd4yMJEUaVobzHAuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7OKjoHCkd8I/XdnYdex04GI/AAAAAAAADGY/G2Jg9JIsmRog8gvRvd4yMJEUaVobzHAuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There, all alone in the Garden, sat Buster Brown and his dog Tige.</span> </div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Master Gardener walked the paths leading to Buster Brown and Tige, and heard Buster Brown say, <b>"Do you remember the old garden far, far away where we sat at the edge of a lovely pond full of goldfish. Master Gardener moved us from place to place - from the little wooden bridge to the rocks beside the waterfall. It was a wonderful place. Do you remember?" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b>Tige had never spoken, not that Buster Brown could tell. They were best of friends and now lived with Master Gardener in her new garden with many other Whimsical Friends. Master Gardener stood back to listen to the lovely tale Buster Brown was telling his dog Tige.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You remember how we came to live with Master Gardener, don't you?" </b>Not expecting an answer, Buster Brown continued. <b>"She found us one day in a garbage dump where our previous human had thrown us out with other broken things. My leg had broken off and laid almost buried in the trash beside us. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The day went by and other humans saw us, but looked away, or piled more discards near us. Another human stood nearby. She reached down and picked us up. When she saw my leg had broken off I expected her to toss us aside, breaking off more from my already broken body. This human held us close and picked up my leg. We were placed in the back seat of her car and brought to her home."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Master Gardener came and stood over them. She picked them up and carried them the short distance from the Garden to inside her tiny home. As they entered the house tragedy struck! Buster Brown's reattached leg broke off once more and fell to the floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I'm so sorry Buster Brown!" </b>Master Gardener cried out. <b>"It seems your leg is in need of repair again. I've gotten very skilled at repairing broken Garden Friends. I fixed you once, I will do it again." </b>And she did. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Come next spring, when you visit her garden, </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7tnCZ_tZD4/XdntW__Lo9I/AAAAAAAADHE/cTGX8w1cSsIfSMQQjsKwW9FwS8Ld8DXZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7tnCZ_tZD4/XdntW__Lo9I/AAAAAAAADHE/cTGX8w1cSsIfSMQQjsKwW9FwS8Ld8DXZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> and you stand very still in the middle of the </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Daisies and Sweet William, Poppies and Snap Dragons </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> you may hear Buster Brown reminding Tige about all of the adventures they've had over the years in the </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Master Gardener's Gardens.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For certain she will introduce you to her Whimsical Garden Friends</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> repaired and restored by her loving heart and skilled hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BIGc-lsxHVA/Xdn9cbYTwJI/AAAAAAAADHQ/jL2bh44MVrAMSArVgCZWbwCJ5hJry-SkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BIGc-lsxHVA/Xdn9cbYTwJI/AAAAAAAADHQ/jL2bh44MVrAMSArVgCZWbwCJ5hJry-SkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"</span><span style="font-size: large;">I see now how useful that broken brick will be,"</span></b><span style="font-size: large;"> said White Rabbit. <b>"It will hold Buster Brown's repaired leg in place until it is completely healed.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And if you visit Master Gardener this winter and listen with a quiet heart you might hear Whimsical Garden Friends whispering under the porch covering, protected from the snow and ice, visiting and sharing about their 2019 spring and summer adventures in The Garden.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <b>Merry Christmas and a Happy 2020 New Year from The Master Gardener</b> </span><br /><b></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-89655559303029249642019-11-20T13:44:00.003-08:002020-01-06T11:38:04.207-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> ADVERTISERS BEWARE ..... I HAVE A DELETE BUTTON</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm delighted that the advertisement scheme I've been attending to has
finally come full circle. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I see less ads for body function </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HIzbaBqrEPc/XdWsUEnZPrI/AAAAAAAADB4/JqmeOpSUohQq9jsS3TOpGfryE5dphLkGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Btp%2Badvertisement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="279" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HIzbaBqrEPc/XdWsUEnZPrI/AAAAAAAADB4/JqmeOpSUohQq9jsS3TOpGfryE5dphLkGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Btp%2Badvertisement.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> and undergarments to conceal unsightly body bulges.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9RHnvWQNeI/XdWsm9nNUaI/AAAAAAAADCA/02BXf1D0qYghOq8CdE1DSG2vkGcWcE7OwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bshape%2Bwear%2Bimages%2Bfor%2Bblog%2Bpost.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9RHnvWQNeI/XdWsm9nNUaI/AAAAAAAADCA/02BXf1D0qYghOq8CdE1DSG2vkGcWcE7OwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bshape%2Bwear%2Bimages%2Bfor%2Bblog%2Bpost.png" width="213" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BatHc2cW37A/XdWtqG4CFUI/AAAAAAAADCM/mw6wTEQ_ibg69iA8dNvEf2mE3hmfXkKXgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bwigs%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="363" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BatHc2cW37A/XdWtqG4CFUI/AAAAAAAADCM/mw6wTEQ_ibg69iA8dNvEf2mE3hmfXkKXgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bwigs%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" width="258" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">and wigs for the hair
challenged elderly,</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2RNbMLfCHg/XdWuAMJkdjI/AAAAAAAADCU/W6TkEBbtgQUMfQyfXaLWPEWXT293f0fMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bretirement%2Bhomes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="280" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2RNbMLfCHg/XdWuAMJkdjI/AAAAAAAADCU/W6TkEBbtgQUMfQyfXaLWPEWXT293f0fMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bretirement%2Bhomes.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> retirement homes, </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5AIIAIDIOmo/XdWucUm6oJI/AAAAAAAADCc/KQkiZeHjGA8ddy2V-RGDdABw3cftVV4ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Blast%2Bwill%2Band%2Btestament.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="729" height="182" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5AIIAIDIOmo/XdWucUm6oJI/AAAAAAAADCc/KQkiZeHjGA8ddy2V-RGDdABw3cftVV4ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Blast%2Bwill%2Band%2Btestament.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> last will and testament packages for
senior citizens and life insurances plans for those of us closer to the
pearly gates. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> DELETE DELETE DELETE DELETE</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I delete the
above ads showing up on my </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> FACEBOOK page. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I look forward to seeing more . . . more . . . more, many more of these . . . . . </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KUNXc8mXsng/XdWwr3Bn94I/AAAAAAAADCw/cWTVOLMgFZUPH4waDxkjvvJa1Gmme5ypgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bart%2Blessons.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="528" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KUNXc8mXsng/XdWwr3Bn94I/AAAAAAAADCw/cWTVOLMgFZUPH4waDxkjvvJa1Gmme5ypgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bart%2Blessons.png" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVFEbcTCYZU/XdWww5VgxII/AAAAAAAADC0/E-GJSB9arRA0h15AEgWZxH45LPz3YAYugCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bliterature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="450" height="192" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVFEbcTCYZU/XdWww5VgxII/AAAAAAAADC0/E-GJSB9arRA0h15AEgWZxH45LPz3YAYugCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bliterature.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJijZM3rKic/XdWw1_eXPXI/AAAAAAAADC4/yZv619QkijoJKHcTjADua_9OMRxLzOmawCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bcooking%2Bclass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJijZM3rKic/XdWw1_eXPXI/AAAAAAAADC4/yZv619QkijoJKHcTjADua_9OMRxLzOmawCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/2019%2Bcooking%2Bclass.jpg" width="265" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CYswmIBBNS0/XdWw7cezgSI/AAAAAAAADC8/p3NXVaM4Kw0ipoOPr6_idw4GH6HDBGqqACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Binspirational.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="267" height="283" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CYswmIBBNS0/XdWw7cezgSI/AAAAAAAADC8/p3NXVaM4Kw0ipoOPr6_idw4GH6HDBGqqACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/2019%2Binspirational.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fX3YCuQaxF4/XdWwS4g2XNI/AAAAAAAADCo/ipvFtejyHHcUOoSPKMIGPNHAUKlIuPVDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bsenior%2Bdating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fX3YCuQaxF4/XdWwS4g2XNI/AAAAAAAADCo/ipvFtejyHHcUOoSPKMIGPNHAUKlIuPVDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bsenior%2Bdating.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I haven't been bothered with "Senior Citizen Meet and Date" advertisements.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm sure I will delete them also when or if they show up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> But...on the
other hand ...</span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-45166427839937701522019-11-13T11:09:00.001-08:002020-01-06T11:28:09.690-08:00Mom's Turkey Gravy Recipe<b> </b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> A TRIBUTE TO MOM'S TURKEY GRAVY</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9fwREd38ec/Xcw-4vF8PXI/AAAAAAAAC_s/gdNvVP7fzdED-c2ECh1I6_44_Vo8mLRgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Betty%2BKaemerer%2B%2B%2BHoward%2BK%2B%2B1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="936" height="227" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9fwREd38ec/Xcw-4vF8PXI/AAAAAAAAC_s/gdNvVP7fzdED-c2ECh1I6_44_Vo8mLRgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Betty%2BKaemerer%2B%2B%2BHoward%2BK%2B%2B1996.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Once upon a time,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> a Thanksgiving not too distant past.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Seems but a blink and another blink ago.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TPaCSWy7-OE/XcxAXzDinwI/AAAAAAAAC_4/azQ9RIrzD_gZiexpzr5TC-TnHMkdXiAOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Betty%2Bin%2Bher%2Bkitchen%2B1995ish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="179" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TPaCSWy7-OE/XcxAXzDinwI/AAAAAAAAC_4/azQ9RIrzD_gZiexpzr5TC-TnHMkdXiAOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Betty%2Bin%2Bher%2Bkitchen%2B1995ish.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A half smoked cigarette teetering in the ashtray, but a moment earlier had been dangling from her lips. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The small glass in her hand containing a tiddly, a beverage </span><span style="font-size: large;">to enhance the moment gleefully anticipating.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rl-lkj7zzSc/XcxBli5O8iI/AAAAAAAADAA/gO-mPLr6absLu3QZEdRvaVHzw-hoWUsTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Harold%2Band%2BBetty%2BA%2Bfor%2BMomas%2Bbirthday%2Bblog%2Btribute%2B2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="917" data-original-width="653" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rl-lkj7zzSc/XcxBli5O8iI/AAAAAAAADAA/gO-mPLr6absLu3QZEdRvaVHzw-hoWUsTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Harold%2Band%2BBetty%2BA%2Bfor%2BMomas%2Bbirthday%2Bblog%2Btribute%2B2011.jpg" width="283" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Betty and Harold stepped in to administer carving expertise while the gravy bubbled on the stove in preparation of the most important ingredient. </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-snK11yglBxg/XcxFHAl_LwI/AAAAAAAADAM/iEvjAs7C_YQVgyhutMNuuYCIl2ym22SzgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Joe%2BKaemerer%2B%2BHoward%2BKaemerer%2BBetty%2BKaemerer%2B%2B1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="503" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-snK11yglBxg/XcxFHAl_LwI/AAAAAAAADAM/iEvjAs7C_YQVgyhutMNuuYCIl2ym22SzgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Joe%2BKaemerer%2B%2BHoward%2BKaemerer%2BBetty%2BKaemerer%2B%2B1996.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Brothers hugged. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mom admonished, "Get out of my way! The gravy is about ready."</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U6Sq5zrUAiE/XcxFUMFyIVI/AAAAAAAADAQ/CoZvnZsuzQ0Uwq5oNXB9W0ZaOTCAfkIVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Howard%2BKaemerer%2B%2BBetty%2BKaemerer%2B%2BSalton%2BSea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="936" height="229" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U6Sq5zrUAiE/XcxFUMFyIVI/AAAAAAAADAQ/CoZvnZsuzQ0Uwq5oNXB9W0ZaOTCAfkIVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Howard%2BKaemerer%2B%2BBetty%2BKaemerer%2B%2BSalton%2BSea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> And serenaded .. she needed a little rest before adding the finishing touch to the gravy beginning to bubble on the stove.</span> <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajIo3d1KPtg/XcxFb2IaYSI/AAAAAAAADAY/m_uETUuq02k3QD_vncrASMNBbpsGGAK5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Betty%2BK%2B%2Bhouse%2B%2B40th%2Banniversary%2B%2BMonica%2Band%2BEldon%2B1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a><span style="font-size: large;">And sisters shared funny stories ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BsqZN5JtiY/XcxHFjZvZSI/AAAAAAAADAk/0fCM8RfrFjQT9xG95RvDsGAz4VKynq_1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Chris%2Bwedding%2Bshower%2Blaughing%2Bwith%2BMom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="906" height="228" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BsqZN5JtiY/XcxHFjZvZSI/AAAAAAAADAk/0fCM8RfrFjQT9xG95RvDsGAz4VKynq_1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Chris%2Bwedding%2Bshower%2Blaughing%2Bwith%2BMom.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Say CHEESE .... photo op to remember those we loved who no longer were with us.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajIo3d1KPtg/XcxFb2IaYSI/AAAAAAAADAc/dLkRvOjF6x49oqGgmR-gUSxJa3jsOJzLgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Betty%2BK%2B%2Bhouse%2B%2B40th%2Banniversary%2B%2BMonica%2Band%2BEldon%2B1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="972" height="227" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajIo3d1KPtg/XcxFb2IaYSI/AAAAAAAADAc/dLkRvOjF6x49oqGgmR-gUSxJa3jsOJzLgCEwYBhgL/s320/Betty%2BK%2B%2Bhouse%2B%2B40th%2Banniversary%2B%2BMonica%2Band%2BEldon%2B1996.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The moment has arrived.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwCpVlWIgw0/XcxJIjlBnzI/AAAAAAAADAw/38UXASEweKQ74GC8cOHthRYE4zA_H8z2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BMoms%2Bash%2Bgravy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwCpVlWIgw0/XcxJIjlBnzI/AAAAAAAADAw/38UXASEweKQ74GC8cOHthRYE4zA_H8z2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2BMoms%2Bash%2Bgravy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JB0HZaQhZfA/XcxMtRZsm-I/AAAAAAAADBE/EDoMfr1PQ_oiqs2ydpnPlGhYWl-PjdvowCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Blong%2Bash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="600" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JB0HZaQhZfA/XcxMtRZsm-I/AAAAAAAADBE/EDoMfr1PQ_oiqs2ydpnPlGhYWl-PjdvowCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Blong%2Bash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"> OH NOOOO .. she DIDN'T!</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAvXgAjjAxY/XcxKPf3x86I/AAAAAAAADA4/VVGtfx77fNQJ_CNvuKlAapwqzMB3vjyJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bgravy%2Bon%2Bstove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAvXgAjjAxY/XcxKPf3x86I/AAAAAAAADA4/VVGtfx77fNQJ_CNvuKlAapwqzMB3vjyJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bgravy%2Bon%2Bstove.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yep. She did. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> Although, the sound of cigarette ashes </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> meeting turkey gravy was inaudible ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2335Vgg8Fac/XcxO5jyyVCI/AAAAAAAADBQ/eanesDaAJtQJX9y5c9EUmfIDbqwmTkWggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bash%2Bin%2Bgravy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2335Vgg8Fac/XcxO5jyyVCI/AAAAAAAADBQ/eanesDaAJtQJX9y5c9EUmfIDbqwmTkWggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bash%2Bin%2Bgravy.jpg" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">for this we have been forever grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HiS3NEUo_rg/XcxP07k9GtI/AAAAAAAADBY/eJlyzrrlF0UBLCsaGmbJV0KcWEExKQVMACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bcigar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HiS3NEUo_rg/XcxP07k9GtI/AAAAAAAADBY/eJlyzrrlF0UBLCsaGmbJV0KcWEExKQVMACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bcigar.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">It could have been worse!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">With heavy hearts ... heavy grateful hearts ... Mom's Ash Gravy recipe has slipped away into the recesses of "When myth met reality" because family members have all quit smoking. Thanksgiving 2019 will come and go without one pot of turkey gravy bubbling on the stove in gleeful anticipation of that final ingredient. And with many sad hearts that she's no longer here to finalize her famous Turkey Ash Gravy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Oh Oh Oh .. did I ever tell you about the Christmas card she sent one year? Well, that's another "Myth meets Reality" story of Mom shopping at Walmart in a motorized cart smoking a cigarette! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EcKUaYRl2lw/XcxTw-lV1DI/AAAAAAAADBs/B_cdgl9ARsINp82zkLjaJincqZTkM6xHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Cropped%2BMerry%2Bmmmmmm%2BChristmas%2BMom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="784" height="162" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EcKUaYRl2lw/XcxTw-lV1DI/AAAAAAAADBs/B_cdgl9ARsINp82zkLjaJincqZTkM6xHACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Cropped%2BMerry%2Bmmmmmm%2BChristmas%2BMom.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-42508954327087179792019-11-06T13:44:00.002-08:002020-01-06T11:18:40.954-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> TURN BACK TIME</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="font-size: small;"> Nov. 3, 2019</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c-gy7Yupicg/XcM33EkoWiI/AAAAAAAAC_Q/qZkM3aavcr8IsSinR3Pc0WORfW_DgmpuQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bclock%2Bon%2Bbook%2Band%2Bglasses.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c-gy7Yupicg/XcM33EkoWiI/AAAAAAAAC_Q/qZkM3aavcr8IsSinR3Pc0WORfW_DgmpuQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bclock%2Bon%2Bbook%2Band%2Bglasses.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
"There is a time for every purpose under heaven ... "<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I delighted in God's word this morning while adjusting my clock back one hour when daylight saving time ended. While making that adjustment, I realized He is my most ardent Facebook friend.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VvBwK1wpBPc/XcM4GX10N3I/AAAAAAAAC_U/3hbXqgAagGQO6n2f34cU8Byo1gSg8AQUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bhourglass.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="387" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VvBwK1wpBPc/XcM4GX10N3I/AAAAAAAAC_U/3hbXqgAagGQO6n2f34cU8Byo1gSg8AQUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bhourglass.png" width="247" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">What is the connection between
Jesus, turning my clock back one hour, and my Facebook page? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At
times when I feel alone and don't get the "clicks" on Facebook I expected
(unfulfilled expectations) my sense of well being slips - based on
outside sources and acknowledgements. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His Holy Spirit strongly nudges me
to turn my sight back to Him ... see my reflection in His eyes and hold onto the
promises I have received; I am loved, I have eternal life, health and
well- being directing my path to Him. Now that's a friendship that will never leave or forsake me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Click click ... LIKE ... HEART ... and SHARE!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Ecclesiastes 3:1-8</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To Everything There Is a Season</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-1.htm"><b>1</b></a></span>To everything there is a season, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> and a time for every purpose under heaven:
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-2.htm"><b>2</b></a></span>a time to be born and a time to die, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to plant and a time to uproot,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-3.htm"><b>3</b></a></span>a time to kill and a time to heal, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to break down and a time to build,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-4.htm"><b>4</b></a></span>a time to weep and a time to laugh, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to mourn and a time to dance,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-5.htm"><b>5</b></a></span>a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-6.htm"><b>6</b></a></span>a time to search and a time to count as lost, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to keep and a time to discard,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-7.htm"><b>7</b></a></span>a time to tear and a time to mend, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time to be silent and a time to speak,
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="reftext"><a href="https://biblehub.com/ecclesiastes/3-8.htm"><b>8</b></a></span>a time to love and a time to hate, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> a time for war and a time for peace.
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<br />Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-22126495073285621062019-11-02T11:05:00.000-07:002020-02-01T09:31:22.612-08:00<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> LEAFY LIMBS OF FORTRESSES</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Of Squirrels </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: small;">JIBBERISH WITH INTENT </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z0u98FrsJZk/Xb22yPYVJ4I/AAAAAAAAC7U/ExCkKuiXo5cF11t1xNj-DrQCV4np7shoACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2Bnest%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z0u98FrsJZk/Xb22yPYVJ4I/AAAAAAAAC7U/ExCkKuiXo5cF11t1xNj-DrQCV4np7shoACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2Bnest%2B2.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Scampering 'cross a leafy cloak </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">of downy moss,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">a captive audience in delight, </span><span style="font-size: large;">while stashing, storing nuts of gold.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">'Twas mapped out three steps, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">past a fourth,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">then down a dewy treadmill lay,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">a knapsack torn askew, asunder</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'neath pitty-patty paws in clay. </span><br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NOSNbh8QWyE/Xb2_Qkjv0NI/AAAAAAAAC7g/X-dWThuiuM44mXo8gbKaydZEsCdp0pfjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2B4%2Bwith%2Bbag%2Bof%2Bnuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="364" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NOSNbh8QWyE/Xb2_Qkjv0NI/AAAAAAAAC7g/X-dWThuiuM44mXo8gbKaydZEsCdp0pfjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2B4%2Bwith%2Bbag%2Bof%2Bnuts.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And dusty hues of brownish fluff, their tails did signal one to another, "A feast, a feast from farmer's stash - he will not notice stores a'plundered."</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NgT6xpuz0qU/Xb3AfTsxE1I/AAAAAAAAC7o/N5KouNHcBi0ASxjqxoEoGD_LoC9Jbsm5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2B3%2Bshopping%2Bcart%2Bnuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="271" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NgT6xpuz0qU/Xb3AfTsxE1I/AAAAAAAAC7o/N5KouNHcBi0ASxjqxoEoGD_LoC9Jbsm5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2B3%2Bshopping%2Bcart%2Bnuts.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">A stronghold lest the winter siege would lay them numberless and dead, a fortress riveting skyward blessed, with chattering and jibbernishness.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ATNZ_Yoegyo/Xb3DcfiLDaI/AAAAAAAAC70/vsj4HM8TbD4nnPoQQFxrvRqOwaFKN8ADgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2Bin%2Bnest%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="203" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ATNZ_Yoegyo/Xb3DcfiLDaI/AAAAAAAAC70/vsj4HM8TbD4nnPoQQFxrvRqOwaFKN8ADgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2BLeafy%2Bcloak%2Bsquirrels%2Bin%2Bnest%2B4.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> Winter time, all tucked in close, lest cold and frost would numb their toes, a'waiting springtime's scampering thaw,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> they bid a cozy sleep to one and all. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> </span><span id="goog_1280145483"> ----------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> LEAFY LIMBS OF FORTRESSES </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> Of Robins</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> <span style="font-size: small;"> JIBBERISH WITH INTENT</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">T'ward skyward lay in downy nest,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">inside the leafy fortress lay,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and hidden neath a bark-formed bed </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">, </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q4-ySqLoeIk/Xb3aHkRqc-I/AAAAAAAAC8Y/0Lmq-YrUQgcKX_Z-LVjTJ_QFkPbR78OrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bbaby%2Brobins%2Bin%2Bnest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="264" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q4-ySqLoeIk/Xb3aHkRqc-I/AAAAAAAAC8Y/0Lmq-YrUQgcKX_Z-LVjTJ_QFkPbR78OrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bbaby%2Brobins%2Bin%2Bnest.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">three feathered infants have their rest.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeB4cEFRWVI/Xb3aXshnFpI/AAAAAAAAC8g/X5OOxedc-Vs-R3nzM2cFojSeZ8WzBnWjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bmother%2Brobin%2Bfeeding%2Bchicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="376" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeB4cEFRWVI/Xb3aXshnFpI/AAAAAAAAC8g/X5OOxedc-Vs-R3nzM2cFojSeZ8WzBnWjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bmother%2Brobin%2Bfeeding%2Bchicks.jpg" width="267" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">"Awaken," chirped a plea came forth, a mother Robin begged and warned, "still wiggling, squirming worms fresh dug, </span><span id="goog_1280145483">for all of you and some for me."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"> Three chirping, cheeping, peeping babes</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">awakened in the light anew, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">their manners leaving much askew</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483">while gobbling down their tasty food.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1280145483"><br /></span></span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-33887023039675920592019-10-31T10:45:00.002-07:002019-11-08T08:28:24.272-08:00<div class="_5pbx userContent _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message" id="js_fh5">
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_5dbb1b9a90e785440939403">
JIBBERISH WITH INTENT: <br />
Monica Lawson 1985<br />
<br />
October 31, 2019<br />
Not to be copied, used, reprinted,<br />
published without the author's<br />
written permission.<br />
<br />
Darkened Portals Of My Mind ..<br />
<br />
Once I heard a sound in flight,<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> across the new laid fallen snow,<br /> a sound encompassed to provoke,<br /> in ruby reddened field a'cloak.</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<br />
Twas not a sound of vastness, yet,<br />
it caused a ripple to provoke - <br />
a jesting, jossling, fibered rue,<br />
to taunt my troubled mind anew.<br />
A hideousness deeply rifted there,<br />
be-grudgened not by just a few,<br />
and lingered, lingered then took flight<br />
<br />
Mindful of its total-ness,<br />
upon the entrance to my mind,<br />
it lay there down its ghastly jest,<br />
to tether me in thoughts unrest.<br />
"Awake now!" a shout unheard,<br />
"a'fore cast blunders you anew,<br />
and tears asunder sanity,<br />
in darkened portals of the mind."<br />
<br />
STOP! That's enough, don't tarry there,<br />
nor linger on 'neath deathly bed,<br />
but shaken now and sleepy eyed<br />
to be awakened fast instead.<br />
__________________<br />
I took much license with my native language, delivering <br />
"Jibberish With Intent".</div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-43022850847474937022019-10-18T10:26:00.003-07:002019-11-26T12:58:55.148-08:00<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5;"> WISHING, HOPING, KNOWING WELL</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4FYOqxzRcw/XanxuTD0tMI/AAAAAAAAC6Y/FkBwOsinLOAqbYn6mH7_6AeB9u_ETrOOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2019%2Bwishing%2Bwell%2Bphoto%2BFB%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="412" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4FYOqxzRcw/XanxuTD0tMI/AAAAAAAAC6Y/FkBwOsinLOAqbYn6mH7_6AeB9u_ETrOOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2019%2Bwishing%2Bwell%2Bphoto%2BFB%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> This photo was posted on Facebook. No credits shown.</span><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Were I to wish at a wishing well, what wish would it be ... it's hard to tell: perhaps love and kisses for all of my days ... laughter and hugs and stories to amaze. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Or fragrant gardens, sumptuous and sweet, </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">edible nasturtiums and carrots and beets. </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MgR0ssAhTPY/Xan0HoehzqI/AAAAAAAAC6w/SMZg3KRf4eQECFZsbL3cky8eO7hrcHc0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ocKkW6sICLM/Xany7aGxtwI/AAAAAAAAC6o/AwPt1b0DN-M2j7xhk_1mGDLV1H0PlzVRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ocKkW6sICLM/Xany7aGxtwI/AAAAAAAAC6o/AwPt1b0DN-M2j7xhk_1mGDLV1H0PlzVRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Or a walk through the woods, a footfall's soft track, to her house for tea .. but there's no going back. Her sweet angel voice, dimpled laughter, heaven bound ... catching glimpses and shadows left round and about.</span><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I stand at the well, it's strength holds me up, I drop a carnation - her favorite flower - and watch as the petals slowly lower, descending, I see her face through my own eye's reflecting ... at peace as an echo assuredly spoke, "I'm okay Momma." Tears falling, stifled now broke. Thank you, dear wishing well, holding promises and tears, will remember this moment for the rest of my years, til one day another child of mine glances down the depths of the waters, sparkling and clear .. and drops a geranium petal in remembrance of me, and hears my echo, "I am near ... I am here."</span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-47758866467376659782019-10-01T20:52:00.003-07:002019-10-01T20:54:04.063-07:00<div class="_1dwg _1w_m _q7o" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 12px 12px 0px;">
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Today was a sad day.</div>
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We chose to put Jasper to sleep. He was almost 13 years old.</div>
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In early 2007, he came to me as a rescue puppy. He’d swallowed a sock! The owners couldn’t afford the cost of surgery, but the Vet wouldn’t allow him to be put to sleep at only 3 months old. His personality was already apparent. So the Vet performed the surgery and Jasper went into the Golden Retriever Rescue program. (His hair came from his Golden Retriever side but his pure black came from the Black Lab parent)<br />
He was my near constant companion in Alaska and still when I first moved down to Washington.<br />
He and Ryan were also Best Buds as they went through their “teen” years together.</div>
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When I left Alaska, Karen insisted on him living with her once she was settled in to her Chicago apartment.<br />
Jasper had boundless energy and could not keep his feet on the ground. He’d run everywhere and loved everyone. He “bounced” with exuberance! Needless to say, when she told me that maybe it wasn’t best for him to live with her, as overjoyed as I was, it left me with a dilemma: how would it be any better for him to live on a sailboat with me? I’d already removed the built-in table because I couldn’t step over him sprawled across the floor and maneuver around the large oversized table even when it was folded down.<br />
To my great relief, Jerri’s neighbor and good friend Robbie, who had come to adore Jasper from the first time she’d met him, (who didn’t?) came to the rescue and said (pleaded?<span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t7f/1/16/1f60a.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😊</span></span>) that he could live with her. That was perfect! She is a fantastic lady with a dog-friendly home and there was no doubt he’d have the best home, and love, and care that I could ever imagine. As he certainly has for these past 4 years. Since we get to visit Robbie often, I was able to get my Jasper “fix” now and then and see how wonderful he was being cared for. He’d explode with excitement, there’s no other way to describe it, when he’d see me! He was happy dog!</div>
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This past August, however, Robbie let us know he was losing energy really fast.<br />
I’m sure he’d burned up 20 years worth of energy in his 13 years of life! If you’d met Jasper, you’d understand.<br />
It wasn’t unexpected; anyone who’s brought a fur buddy into the home knows this eventually happens, but it was still so sad to hear. He held on and Robbie continued to go above and beyond whatever she could to help him recover or just make him comfortable. He even rebounded a little for a week or two. I visited him a few weeks ago. Although he could only stand and walk with great effort, he came to greet me as I got out of the car, with his typical Jasper “smile” and as much enthusiasm as he could find in his tired old body. I sat on the front steps as he laid down with his head on my feet, looking up at me and nudging my hand each time he thought I’d stopped petting him. He was still smiling!</div>
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I always like to say it was difficult taking his picture because he wasn’t so much “black” in color as he was the absence of all light! Until he got his gray whiskers he had no white on him at all. And definitely no “golden”. It was like he just absorbed all light energy, and that’s why he always had so much to release.<br />
Boy oh boy could he run! And run he did! Even on many of my marathon training runs. He’d do one and a half miles for every one I’d do. I finally had to leave him behind on the really long runs after I had to carry him home the last 1/4 mile of a 12 mile run because he never let on that he was tired. I felt horrible.<br />
He also loved to go for rides, especially in the back of my truck. Even at 40 below zero if I’d let him! Which I never did. (Well, once.... so he’d see what it was like. Didn’t work!) He’d seriously fight me when it was too cold and I’d force him inside the cab! He’d scowl at me from across the seat.<br />
I’m embarrassed to tell this story, but more than a few times he’d jump in the bed of my truck and I’d head out of the driveway. At the end of the driveway I’d hear a loud YELP! from the back and remember that I’d forgotten to take off his “Invisible Fence” receiver collar that zapped him if he crossed the buried wire around the perimeter of the property.... including the driveway! But he’d forget about it the next time I dropped the tailgate for him to go for a ride and jump right in. I got better at remembering though.</div>
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We bring pets into our life thinking it’ll be fun to have them around. Dogs especially. Inevitably they come to mean so much more to each of us, and our lives, and theirs, than we could ever imagine.</div>
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He was a good dog, a good Buddy, and a good companion through the years. Even as he became those very same things also to Robbie and her son RJ for the past 4 years. Jasper had enough excitement and love to give to everyone lucky enough to have met him.</div>
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Today I drove to Everett to help Robbie by taking Jasper to the Animal Hospital for a Dr. to take a look at him. The Doctor’s response was terribly sad, though not surprising. RJ was with me. It was a difficult decision, but we all knew it was the best one to make. RJ and I talked to Jasper as we rubbed his ears and stroked his hair. I’d like to think he was smiling up at us in understanding, as he drifted off to his final sleep.</div>
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Thank you Robbie, for the love and care you gave to him.</div>
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Here’s to you, Jasper: run and bounce, and smile again!</div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-84123874930935927372019-09-28T18:48:00.004-07:002019-09-28T20:04:39.602-07:00<ul class="_7791" style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; list-style-type: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
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<li class=""><span style="font-size: large;"> Calm ... Cheerful ... Delight ... Gladness and Joy...</span></li>
<li class=""><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Fraught with high winds, overpowering waves, anchors that didn't set, and noises outside our small vessel that went bump in the night. </span></li>
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<span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Eldon and I were cruising it was wise for us to have a Captain ... as do voyagers of large ships and small yachts. There has to be equal responsibilities according to each ones strengths and weaknesses - I had to know how to trim the sails, bring </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the boat around "Coming about" was the shout to crew. drop the anchor from the bow and know how much anchor rode to let out and yell for other shipmate to "Set the anchor." Learn and use celestial navigation, accurately read the charts and follow the depth sounder to pinpoint latitude and longitude, on watch for 4 hour on/4 off, climb the mast in a sling and trust my shipmate can hoist me to the top to change the masthead light and keep the line taut so I don't crash into the mast or fall from a great height into the water. We learned early on our strengths and weaknesses ... but we were equally "in charge" when the other was below getting rest or fixing a meal.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<li class="" style="font-size: 13px;"><span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> One harrowing entry across a jetty, high winds off our port side pushing us toward the rocks forming the jetty. I was at the helm and Eldon was adjusting the sails to get the most wind to propel us through the narrow passageway along with the small diesel engine .. but the conditions were severe and we continued to drift toward the high rock wall. In order to get the most power out of the sails we HAD to head toward the rocks, then at the last minute change the sails to 'COME ABOUT' and head away from the rocks. I couldn't steer toward those rocks .. I was petrified! He yelled, "COME ABOUT!" I screamed back at him, "I CAN'T .. I CAN'T!" He quickly realized my panic and reached for the tiller and steered for the rocks. I immediately took his place at handling the sails, which had winches and didn't take as much strength to make changes. We finished the harrowing journey in that zig zag pattern until we were safely into the bay. </span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li class="" style="font-size: 13px;"><span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The Captain of my ship was Eldon and I never doubted or assumed I could do what he was strongly capable of doing. He on the other hand never went below deck and, strapped into a safety harness, made bread in 20 knots of wind and high seas. </span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li class="" style="font-size: 13px;"><span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I had no problem submitting to the Captain. I was not a lesser person, a weak woman because I did so in our voyages and off the boat. It's a matter of confidence in yourself to walk beside your mate and acknowledge different but equal gifts to safely bring the ship to home port. Were there times of disagreement over who was Captain? Of course. Were we able to sort it out and continue our journey until "death do us part" Absolutely. Have I grieved over those times, out of stubbornness or pride that delayed what should have been a harmonious voyage .. yes. That scripture goes on to say men should love their wives as themselves. And the combination of submission and love makes for a long lasting, mutually agreeable and strong marriage. 53 years .. I would give anything to have Capt.E aboard my little ship now and tell him, "Aye aye Captain!"</span></span></span></span></span></li>
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<span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x" style="font-family: inherit;">In the picture above, I had hoisted Eldon up the mast so he could repair something I was not strong enough to do ... but using the winch I was as strong as I needed to be. He tried to talk me into going up and doing the repair. That was an instance where I told the Captain "You'll see me throw myself overboard before I go up that mast!"</span></span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-27036473753533100532019-09-26T14:28:00.001-07:002019-09-26T14:28:23.468-07:00<ol>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> GOD’S PERFECT SOLUTION </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">G.P.S</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> It's not that I'm undisciplined - just the opposite - I'm habitually task oriented, and often won't
budge from my daily, self-imposed schedule: wake up at 4 or 5, hopefully 6 a.m., hearing Thomas,
my cat, purring in my ear, “Get up! Feed me!” and Jack, my black Lab, - 80 pounds of drooling and
wagging delight - bounds onto the bed, now that I’m finally awake. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I roll out of bed, potty stop, a quick glance in the mirror, </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d__bkvKfK3g/XY0ppJLxNkI/AAAAAAAAC5Y/PF6mUm2tGYQxC8xXfGi2qvu1eqtj06STACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/widows%2Bpeak%2B4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="1284" height="162" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d__bkvKfK3g/XY0ppJLxNkI/AAAAAAAAC5Y/PF6mUm2tGYQxC8xXfGi2qvu1eqtj06STACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/widows%2Bpeak%2B4.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">reminding myself the dog or cat don't care that I look like I've been
run over by a semi during the night. Quick comb through, and onto my early morning rounds: feed
dog and cat; heat up day old coffee, or make new; let dog and cat out; sideways glance at my Prayer
Chair in the corner as I open fridge for yogurt breakfast with granola sprinkles. I let dog and cat back in before Thomas scratches the screen to shreds, or Jack howls and wakes the neighbors. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Thus begins my day.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Kk3c4GuXwI/XY0qfCJUyaI/AAAAAAAAC5g/Cp47KoS-fYoyXyMX5L9AhGpAADc9Dx7cwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2018October%2B005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Kk3c4GuXwI/XY0qfCJUyaI/AAAAAAAAC5g/Cp47KoS-fYoyXyMX5L9AhGpAADc9Dx7cwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2018October%2B005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I sit at my desk and open the laptop to Yahoo emails, which contains a daily reading of Christian Broadcast Network - C.B.N. -devotionals. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Some mornings I take a detour before I arrive at C.B.N. and check FOX news first,
then Facebook while munching my not-so-creative breakfast.
Before I know it, time passes quickly from 6 to 8 a.m. and I'm still giving the Prayer Chair in the
corner sideways glances (with Bible nearby and study books alongside). </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDTdoSyu9nQ/XY0rOozZmcI/AAAAAAAAC5s/Zgt2LcCeR0I7u5VOxpToBtIQ4G9HRF7-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDTdoSyu9nQ/XY0rOozZmcI/AAAAAAAAC5s/Zgt2LcCeR0I7u5VOxpToBtIQ4G9HRF7-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "<i>Something's off</i>," warning signs flash with growing urgency. The daily news makes me
sad/angry/disgruntled/frightened ... yet I’m drawn to that which brings me intense distress – like a
bug about to be splattered on a windshield. Decidedly, something is missing. I glance at my Prayer
Chair in the corner. The Good News is within reach, yet I've taken detours and parked God on a side
road until I travel through world news, Facebook, Yahoo emails and a rabbit-trail of other diversions.
The clock in the lower right corner on the laptop tells me it's time to get on with my day. A
sideways glance at the Bible and study books on the table next to my Prayer Chair. – like a billboard
alongside the road – draws me back to my emails. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I click on today’s email from C.B.N.’s inspirational moment: “I am the way, the truth and the life. No
one comes to the Father but through me.” John 14:6.
G.P.S.– “God’s Perfect Solution” - is set on cruise control as I sit back and take in the lush
scenery of God’s Word.
Taking short cuts, with a high chance of getting lost without engaging my G.P.S. to start my day,
is as empty as driving for miles after I see the fuel light flash; warning that my gas tank is nearly
depleted. A depleted supply of 'fuel' can’t see me through the trials, disruptions, joys and hazards
along the way. His road map, G.P.S., helps me bypass the early morning hazards and disruptions,
and steer directly toward the Filling Station in the corner. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Fill 'er up! Oh wait! This is a state where I
have to "fill 'er up" myself. It's Self- Serve!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Good morning, God. Thanks for being my Pilot and taking the wheel. I promise to navigate
toward the Prayer Chair in the corner before setting out on each daily voyage. Buckle up, Monica,
you’re going for a ride!</span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-51870080086329840142019-09-19T14:56:00.003-07:002020-02-04T12:32:25.729-08:00A SPARROW'S FLIGHT<div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">AN UNEXPECTED GUEST</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Not an expected visitor to my wee little home ... but one that gave me a glimpse into its life story - though fleetingly touching mine. It left a sweet, sweet presence in my storehouse of memories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> THE JAWS OF DEATH</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I heard a banging and crashing noise behind me as I sat at my computer desk. I turned and saw Jack, my 80 pound black Lab, and Thomas, my cat, chasing something. I dreadfully imagined it was a mouse! A flurry of feathers escaping from Thomas's claws, I watched horrified as a tiny bird flew across the room, crashed into the window at my art corner, and dropped behind the jar holding paint brushes. Thomas was right on its tail feathers and Jack barked madly, causing a ruckus. I brushed Thomas off the art table and reached behind the brushes to find a sparrow, cowering and shaking, terrified, but very much alive and not bleeding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I picked it up and held it close to my heart ... it didn't stir or open its eyes. I carried it outside, leaving the two attack animals inside, and scanned the garden for a safe place to set the frightened bird, in hopes it could fly away. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I set it on top of a huge wheel in the garden - an old tractor wheel. As soon as I set it down it flapped its wing - with a few feathers missing - and flew away, landing on a high branch in a nearby pine tree. Did it linger a moment and look down at me to say thank you ... or just long enough to catch its breath before flying off to a safer place. You are welcome, little sparrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> MY CHILD, MY SPARROW</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The dangers and pain that comes into our children's lives often breaks our own hearts. As in this sparrow's frightening near death encounter, we hold our children close to our hearts, walk hand in hand as they go through trials, and nervously set them on a high place, away from danger ( as in God's hands) before turning them loose. They will find strength to find their refuge and safe place to overcome the immediate danger, sadness, emptiness they face because we gave them wings and taught them how to soar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Did this sparrow have time to consider its potentially disastrous fate? How frightened it must have been, caught in the sharp claws and jaws of a cat, chased through an unknown realm, slamming into what looked like an opening into the garden, but crashing into its cold hard surface to hide behind a small array of bristled paint brushes. And how its tiny heart felt it would burst when plucked from its hiding place by a monstrous human hand. Did the sparrow feel any comfort or safety as I carried it close to my heart on our short journey to safety?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After releasing the bird and watching it ascend into the trees and disappear out of sight, I remembered the scripture, "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?" Mathew 6:26</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I sensed the fear and awe of the Lord as He carries us in the palm of His hand and sets on a high place to rest, then soar like an eagle - even though we are mere sparrows.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> EAGLE'S WINGS</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My own child Vicki flew on eagle's wings most of her life. The time came when she had to fly alone. My heart broke beyond what I thought could be mended. I held her close to my chest so she could hear the beat of my heart. Courage was kindled when she whispered, " God is good." And she flew gently, confidently into His care ... into His arms.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-5570990708264275632019-09-14T06:47:00.000-07:002019-09-14T10:51:27.409-07:00<br />
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TRUST YOUR INSTRUMENTS</div>
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It's early .. 0 dark hundred, translated to mean 4:58 a.m.. First cup of coffee goes down quickly - and Jack, my Lab, Thomas, my cat, want to go outside to survey their dark kingdom before sharply barking and insistently meowing to come back indoors for breakfast. First on my agenda is to read a daily devotional from CBN (Christian Broadcasting Network) posted on my email.<br />
This morning's inspirational post is about Trust. Maps. I'm particularly fond of maps, charts, GPS and God ... not in that order of importance.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> My first experience of "Trust your instruments and charts" was advice my father in law gave my husband, Eldon, and me as we were about to set out on our first short cruise from our home port of Winchester Bay, Oregon to Coos Bay, Oregon only a few hours journey sailing south along the Oregon coast. Easy maiden voyage for us on our 30 sailboat, Kharah.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> We hadn't owned Kharah for very long ... only a few months; and were busy outfitting her with sails, canvas covers, fenders, electronic gear and safety equipment boats have stored in case of emergencies.</span></div>
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The morning breeze and tides were favorable to set off across the notorious jetty - slack tide on our way across the bar and calculated return trip would have the tide returning into the bay. <span style="font-family: inherit;">There was a hint of clouds low on the horizon and bright sunshine as we set sail and headed south at two, three miles offshore. Our speed ... a mere 3 knots, closely 3 mph.</span></div>
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Our instruments? We hadn't purchased electronic navigation instruments yet; our trusted depth sounder built into the boat and compass would be sufficient to know the depth we followed on the charts, and the heading we calculated on the chart for a clear shot at arriving safely at Coos Bay, a mere three hours journey if our speed and wind calculations were correct.<br />
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Wispy clouds grew taller and closer as the morning cruise progressed. I had a thermos filled with hot coffee and muffins along with a few hard boiled eggs that we enjoyed in the cock pit.<br />
The sails furled and grabbed the slight breeze speeding us along ... some would consider at a snail's pace. Slowly, the sails became slack and flapped loudly. We drew in the sails and started the engine. The small diesel engine growled loudly without a sputter and hummed Kharah along at an accelerated speed of 3.2 knots. The ocean was calm as a gold fish filled pond. The sun blotted slowly out of view as fog erased the horizon and crept closer, threatening to blanket us in its cold embrace.<br />
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I double checked our location on the chart for our compass heading, and confirmed our depth on the depth sounder, showing we were right on course and heading for Coos Bay: and Eldon steered confidently trusting my calculation and his tiny ship.<br />
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The first tingling of moist fog surprised us as if a cold, wet, wave - soaked blanket draped across the bow. I went below deck and brought Eldon his sweatshirt and put mine on, a welcome sense of comfort from the increasingly frigid fog.</div>
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The description of fog as a chilling, cold and wet hand grasping you is not a clear enough description when you cannot see more than two boat lengths in front, beside or behind your vessel inching its way through the milky dense shroud.</div>
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Eldon turned off the engine and said, "We need to listen for the sounding of the bouy from Winchester Bay .. we should still be able to hear it."<br />
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It was as quiet as a viewing at a funeral.</div>
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Our decision came quickly - turn around and head back for the Winchester Bay harbor, instead of cruising on to the unfamiliar Coos Bay harbor.</div>
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A soft rumbling ... astern of our vessel became louder. We held our course. The rumbling became deeper and there we saw it. A fast moving fishing vessel mere boat lengths coming up astern. We held our course. The Captain of the encroaching boat headed off to starboard and waved as they speedily passed, causing a bumpy ripple in the calm sea.</div>
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Eldon and I thought the same thing at the same time! "Follow that boat!"<br />
Of course, our small engine could never keep pace with the swift fishing boat quickly merging into the dense fog and soon out of view. But we took a heading of its course and plotted on the chart ... Yes, this course would head us safely back to Winchester Bay's whistle bouy even though we were visually lost in the fog.</div>
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"Believe your instruments", took on a whole new meaning as we inched our way to the safety of the harbor. Stay on course .. don't deviate from the plotted course on the chart or the factual information from the depth sounder. Don't doubt your knowledge and that of your instruments.</div>
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Our calculations brought us closer to the harbor - still not out of the fog - where we should be coming up on the whistle bouy. Eldon turned off the engine. And we listened. From a not too distant direction, we heard the muffled sound. ' Whooo oooo. Whooo oooo." Right on course - so true to our calculations, we practically bumped into its welcoming embrace.</div>
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The fog diluted ... and images became familiar as we changed course and headed across the Winchester Bay bar .. an easy entry as the incoming tide was just beginning to churn across the jetty.<br />
Our adventurous journey became unfamiliar territory in a seascape clouded and shrouded in the unknown. We had our good instincts and seagoing skills, a trusted vessel, charts and believable instruments. And we stayed the course, making necessary adjustments along the way, and<br />
arrived safely back at home port to prepare for the next seagoing destination.</div>
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My real life journey? I know where I'm heading, how to get there, and excitedly await untying from the dock to sail onto the next anchorage marked on my chart.</div>
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Stay the course. Sail on with sails fully unfurled!</div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-60214930019858423042019-08-23T07:42:00.000-07:002019-08-23T07:42:16.116-07:00<br />
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A SHORT STORY ABOUT VISITING VICKI'S GARDEN</div>
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<a aria-hidden="true" class=" _3mf5 _3mg0" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002380180412" href="https://www.facebook.com/littleoldwidderwoman" style="border-radius: 50%; color: #385898; cursor: pointer; display: block; font-family: inherit; margin-right: 6px; position: relative; text-decoration-line: none;" tabindex="-1"><img alt="Monica Lawson" class="_3me- _3mf1 img" src="https://scontent-sjc3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-1/p32x32/68930823_2470275623061753_4104942047150997504_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&_nc_eui2=AeELgD9LHpTOu1oQ6jVHPXcQqUGY8qtjY0rzPuuKI0750VzEg3Aw8IHbD9YowkR6NoxpQaUXvZJiiE4MIfKrKG8ANgMOt9eNj9FusbI-vd0KgQ&_nc_oc=AQm01LYTbWxD_xHPLaUUiZ0XuY_Lb70LIQcAv-Jr2256mYS5LSaw_CvVSUrTSS2ov1bNrn3WetyYH-EdM3ocwKjg&_nc_ht=scontent-sjc3-1.xx&oh=2b622b2779535cf8c2af949bc3a140b7&oe=5E14954C" style="border-radius: 50%; border: 0px; display: block; height: 32px; overflow: hidden; width: 32px;" /></a></div>
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<a class="_6qw4" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002380180412&extragetparams={"directed_target_id": " "}" href="https://www.facebook.com/littleoldwidderwoman" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; text-decoration-line: none;">Monica Lawson</a> <span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x" style="font-family: inherit;">A zig-zaggedy, pine shrouded walk through the woods from my house to my daughter Vicki's garden showed me I was not alone amidst the trees. Down the path, past the garden swing, over the grassy knoll and a sharp right turn .... bear scat right in the middle of the sharp right turn. Are you sure it was bear scat? Not at first. The hand sized mound was hard - the bear had passed this way quite a while ago. If you're wondering how I surmised it was hard ... I poked it with a stick. How long since the bear made a potty stop here in my woods ... I wasn't certain. I followed my tracks at a quick pace back to my house and grabbed my camera. Snap .. snap at different angles. Raced back home to my computer to Google 'bear-scat-in-the-woods .' Sure enough, there it was ... all 25 different angled photos of bear poop matched my photo exactly - right down to the little round berries the furry woods dweller had for dinner in the not too distant past. I still walk the path to my daughter's garden to water the few flowers and cherry trees left in my care after her death last year. But now I bring my 80 pound black Lab Jack. As the saying goes .. I don't have to outrun the bear .. I just have to outrun Jack!</span></span></div>
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<a class="_6qw4" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002380180412&extragetparams={"directed_target_id": " "}" href="https://www.facebook.com/littleoldwidderwoman" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; text-decoration-line: none;">Monica Lawson</a> <span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x" style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. I've written about my daughter's death in many different ways ... heartbroken, nostalgic, stoic, and humor. How could there be anything humorous to write about the death of a daughter? You would have to have known Vicki. She would have nudged me to humorously retell stories about her because she had the most vibrant sense of humor and laugh that you could feel from your toes up. Healing and peace come with acknowledging the life ... and passing of those we love. And I am healing in God's grace and knowledge of where she is.</span></span></div>
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<a class="_6qw4" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002380180412&extragetparams={"directed_target_id": " "}" href="https://www.facebook.com/littleoldwidderwoman" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; text-decoration-line: none;">Monica Lawson</a> <span dir="ltr" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="_3l3x" style="font-family: inherit;">Vicki Rose Williams Garden Marker ..1957 - 2018 Over the meadow and through the woods to Vicki's garden I go.</span></span></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-90196335817770817872019-08-22T17:49:00.000-07:002019-08-22T17:49:03.222-07:00<div class="_5pbx userContent _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message" id="js_2l6" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 6px;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> THE COLOR OF SKIN</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Red, white, brown and </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> PURPLE?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is not a human interest story ... the color of people's skin; but the color of potato skin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Early spring of 2019 I was on my hands and knees poking around in the bottom of a kitchen cabinet and felt a familiar object hiding almost out of reach. Once you've held a potato in your hand you recognize the shape and feel of it instantly. </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NRdh78V-1tg/XV8tRK1n6lI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/jHhrbVa_Pe8-V64AOKQ3PzNWCmD9qa8xQCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2Bsprouting%2Bpotato%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NRdh78V-1tg/XV8tRK1n6lI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/jHhrbVa_Pe8-V64AOKQ3PzNWCmD9qa8xQCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2Bsprouting%2Bpotato%2B2.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I pulled out eight potatoes that had green and dark shoots sprouting from shriveled skins. My first thought was to toss them to the chickens ... but on the other hand, why not plant them? So I did.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I found a likely spot at the far end of the Flower Garden to plant the potatoes. I raked the ground in a straight line for about 8 feet, cut each potato with a healthy looking sprout into three or four pieces, and set them on the cleared ground. I piled dirt over the row and watered it. And went off forgetting about the row of 'taters I had planted.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sq2WqF4wdQU/XV8p0QxB1hI/AAAAAAAAC14/jWsPW851eUgSISRw0fJEb-wjfpXslpZZACEwYBhgL/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sq2WqF4wdQU/XV8p0QxB1hI/AAAAAAAAC14/jWsPW851eUgSISRw0fJEb-wjfpXslpZZACEwYBhgL/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until one day, while watering the Flower Garden, I noticed a row of green shoots poking through the dirt and remembered the forgotten potatoes I'd planted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, well, well," I told the pokey little green plants, "You made it! Let's see what lovely little potatoes you will grow into." I usually talk to my flowers and plants - seems they perk up and grow more beautiful.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Talking to the sunflowers in my garden reaped rewards .... they grew and grew until they were 10 feet tall! </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4t8Kwlq5epM/XV8t7SMv_yI/AAAAAAAAC2Y/EopQuoIptO8RpQLB59_BR3JEmD3BS0zIQCLcBGAs/s1600/2024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4t8Kwlq5epM/XV8t7SMv_yI/AAAAAAAAC2Y/EopQuoIptO8RpQLB59_BR3JEmD3BS0zIQCLcBGAs/s320/2024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mBXlewwowVU/XV8vAtLBO8I/AAAAAAAAC2k/qxuk8PdgTZ05EwWyiD5HLozJkVDT-HVVwCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2BAugust%2BHarvest%2Bveggies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mBXlewwowVU/XV8vAtLBO8I/AAAAAAAAC2k/qxuk8PdgTZ05EwWyiD5HLozJkVDT-HVVwCLcBGAs/s320/2019%2BAugust%2BHarvest%2Bveggies.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Harvest time: Happy gardens produce tomatoes and carrots, string beans and squash ... a cornucopia of hearty vegetables nurtured by sunshine and rain, hand watering, speaking lovingly to them, and weed patrol, slug control and yellow jacket extinction. No pesticides or weed poisoning allowed in this garden! </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZIaOpSMPNLw/XV8vr-DCzmI/AAAAAAAAC2s/trSIqkyJxYUE0cFFfWR2ukJBsqvRpSSZQCLcBGAs/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZIaOpSMPNLw/XV8vr-DCzmI/AAAAAAAAC2s/trSIqkyJxYUE0cFFfWR2ukJBsqvRpSSZQCLcBGAs/s320/004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: large;">Slug extinction:</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Low container filled with cheap beer enticed slugs to "belly up to the bar" and have their fill ... they die in intoxicated bliss.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f-aUUUcb06k/XV8vx8jNobI/AAAAAAAAC2w/wlKfGjvU6N4cTm-ajjsK0wsI8yU8JGULwCLcBGAs/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f-aUUUcb06k/XV8vx8jNobI/AAAAAAAAC2w/wlKfGjvU6N4cTm-ajjsK0wsI8yU8JGULwCLcBGAs/s320/005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yellow jacket traps stuffed with bologna (the brand you wouldn't serve to your family!) and they swarm in ... lulled by the alluring aroma of rot-gut bologna and are trapped! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> HARVEST TIME .. FALL IS IN THE AIR</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One potato, two potato, three potato, four ...... Just dug up a few potatoes from the Flower Garden patch and they were .... PURPLE! How did I grow purple potatoes? No really .. I don't have a clue how I dug up purple potatoes since I planted only white and red ones; come to think about it .. these were some of the potatoes I found sprouting inside a dark cabinet last spring, so I planted them. Had to have been a purple one in the bunch. I'm going to save them, let them sprout and plant next spring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And God provides sunshine, spring rains, blue skies ... and rainbows. A perfect blueprint ... life sustaining cooperation between the Master Gardener and Gardener in Training.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyqDsZqU45g/XV80BkOnapI/AAAAAAAAC3A/niGPfSrHpykSRij8pChO2plTVdxXepmxwCLcBGAs/s1600/100_2111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyqDsZqU45g/XV80BkOnapI/AAAAAAAAC3A/niGPfSrHpykSRij8pChO2plTVdxXepmxwCLcBGAs/s320/100_2111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-88294580445699105222019-08-09T07:53:00.000-07:002019-08-09T07:53:46.442-07:00<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <span style="color: #0c343d;"> BOUNTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL, BENEFICIAL</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-size: large;"><b> Three out of many benefits to growing your own veggies and tending flowers in your garden .... or someone else's garden.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>First and foremost article of garden garb would be comfy, though worn and torn, garden shoes.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cli1DexeA-U/XU2CKOslUgI/AAAAAAAAC0E/MKiX36oSrZ8QLYqjfS97tKu9f3tiJYovwCLcBGAs/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cli1DexeA-U/XU2CKOslUgI/AAAAAAAAC0E/MKiX36oSrZ8QLYqjfS97tKu9f3tiJYovwCLcBGAs/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A cap to shield the rays, long sleeve shirt and comfy jeans ... camera at hand at all times to chronicle garden progress from dirt pile to a haven for butterflies,</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>bees, and birds.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iVq6J4n0fv0/XU2C9mDDJnI/AAAAAAAAC0M/cBM6fnOPAaY34vaRXYqav4Rv24Rr2M8KACLcBGAs/s1600/test%2B004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iVq6J4n0fv0/XU2C9mDDJnI/AAAAAAAAC0M/cBM6fnOPAaY34vaRXYqav4Rv24Rr2M8KACLcBGAs/s320/test%2B004.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There will be invaders in your garden ... stinging and slithery creatures bent on taking their share out of the garden's produce, flowers, plants and shrubs .... AND A NIP OR TWO OUT OF YOU!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>SET TRAPS!</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8-0c4alNas/XU2EQD2KEEI/AAAAAAAAC0c/ByYJbDSsNF4TAi7tIZ0VbvYMKSIVpvwMwCLcBGAs/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8-0c4alNas/XU2EQD2KEEI/AAAAAAAAC0c/ByYJbDSsNF4TAi7tIZ0VbvYMKSIVpvwMwCLcBGAs/s320/016.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yellow jacket traps and </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iUmaowmr-94/XU2EcwFhgYI/AAAAAAAAC0g/8IlpmkF_afgd9PUvjO3SxdVsBv_biMyrACLcBGAs/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iUmaowmr-94/XU2EcwFhgYI/AAAAAAAAC0g/8IlpmkF_afgd9PUvjO3SxdVsBv_biMyrACLcBGAs/s320/009.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UfgDeE4wB54/XU2FmXsEUwI/AAAAAAAAC0w/dlTUJV04Ee8qHWtGWWz9DR-ZThA9HYl_wCLcBGAs/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UfgDeE4wB54/XU2FmXsEUwI/AAAAAAAAC0w/dlTUJV04Ee8qHWtGWWz9DR-ZThA9HYl_wCLcBGAs/s320/012.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Slug- baited beer traps ... eeeoooooo! Belly up to the bar boys and drink your fill. This trap also attracts yellow jackets. These hearty, slithery creatures were attacking a raised bed with a tomato plant and nasturtiums .... making their way toward two artichoke plants. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lawson Family Flower and Vegetable Gardens have never been poisoned by insecticides or pesticides. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Drum rolllllllll !!! The results are serenity</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>and beauty ...</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JARFZD5NBm8/XU2GetzSVaI/AAAAAAAAC04/ET0mJIrm5QQvwX_U2vgcmnbYxWW2OnWkQCLcBGAs/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JARFZD5NBm8/XU2GetzSVaI/AAAAAAAAC04/ET0mJIrm5QQvwX_U2vgcmnbYxWW2OnWkQCLcBGAs/s400/010.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>and my first ever</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>delicious, delectable and </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>darling little artichoke!</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQ-Yi1Bb6VQ/XU2HARGFXkI/AAAAAAAAC1E/EG572THb2y0LzBripQsGEWN5EMQJRVudQCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2BArtichoke%2BAugust.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQ-Yi1Bb6VQ/XU2HARGFXkI/AAAAAAAAC1E/EG572THb2y0LzBripQsGEWN5EMQJRVudQCLcBGAs/s320/2019%2BArtichoke%2BAugust.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Clouds ... rain ... rainbows ... sunshine - </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> God's participation. </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bhko7cCkDZU/XU2H00cCadI/AAAAAAAAC1M/mimP_wbPzdwHnCNO3WhPiZ6cBrIZKo8agCLcBGAs/s1600/Rainbow%2Band%2Bclouds%2B%2Bfor%2Bmoms%2Bbrithday%2Btribute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="1101" height="283" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bhko7cCkDZU/XU2H00cCadI/AAAAAAAAC1M/mimP_wbPzdwHnCNO3WhPiZ6cBrIZKo8agCLcBGAs/s400/Rainbow%2Band%2Bclouds%2B%2Bfor%2Bmoms%2Bbrithday%2Btribute.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0c343d; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-27703338927002805592019-08-02T06:15:00.000-07:002019-11-26T13:04:55.161-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">SEPTEMBER 2019</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I'm happy to say my old garden shoes served me well throughout 2019 garden season .. broken down, dirty and tattered as they are. I may begin garden season 2020 with a new old pair of garden shoes. But old 'friends' are hard to say goodbye to when they have been close (so to speak regarding garden shoes) Rain and muddy flower beds force me to wear boots during the remainder of this season ... trimming, collecting seeds, turning over the flower beds, ripping out 8 feet tall sunflowers ... mmmmm, 2019 Garden, I will miss you and the beauty you have given so freely, only asking I deadhead blossoms once spent, water lavishly, remove weeds and harmful bugs and creeping destructive creatures. And off to the compost pile to begin the cycle of life all over again. Sleep well, 2019 Lawson Family Flower Garden. See you next Spring.</span> </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7m7yp5KN1EE/XYZKBNQS6bI/AAAAAAAAC5M/fFb-ja-tP-s9LrT2oke4BiLx5KTdJ7FDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7m7yp5KN1EE/XYZKBNQS6bI/AAAAAAAAC5M/fFb-ja-tP-s9LrT2oke4BiLx5KTdJ7FDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/2028.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Being Barefoot Benefits Brain Development"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Walking barefoot stimulates infants brains ... and the world is so new to them, each step is taken carefully - eyes downward to negotiate new territory ... often in bare feet.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDbsszjgJj8/XUQ08kHCU4I/AAAAAAAACzk/pdo2NF_bf-ETstEcPpqZ6aVT0Eq_QvXywCEwYBhgL/s1600/2019%2Bbarefoot%2Bbaby%2Bwalking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="222" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDbsszjgJj8/XUQ08kHCU4I/AAAAAAAACzk/pdo2NF_bf-ETstEcPpqZ6aVT0Eq_QvXywCEwYBhgL/s1600/2019%2Bbarefoot%2Bbaby%2Bwalking.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wonder how important going barefoot is at the other end of </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CqT57MWt6O4/XUQ0poaTmQI/AAAAAAAACzY/zIAdVSmfZIwDK2_j7gs6eeWZ5lK_q6UGwCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2Bbarefeet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="151" data-original-width="230" height="210" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CqT57MWt6O4/XUQ0poaTmQI/AAAAAAAACzY/zIAdVSmfZIwDK2_j7gs6eeWZ5lK_q6UGwCLcBGAs/s320/2019%2Bbarefeet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the life cycle... old age. As well as facing the ground as we walk instead of head up straight looking ahead.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSCkLVd_o9g/XUQ10LksRSI/AAAAAAAACzo/OIPA4SVJ3KokCoOsqIc9VF04wb1NJbz1wCEwYBhgL/s1600/2019%2BOld%2Bperson%2Bbent%2Bover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="285" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSCkLVd_o9g/XUQ10LksRSI/AAAAAAAACzo/OIPA4SVJ3KokCoOsqIc9VF04wb1NJbz1wCEwYBhgL/s1600/2019%2BOld%2Bperson%2Bbent%2Bover.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uiC9Sls9C1I/XUQw40965GI/AAAAAAAACzE/xh31JUpk3TAH0CSzD0HM1DMQMDyV7tpfgCLcBGAs/s1600/2019%2BVickis%2BGarden%2BMonica%2Bpulling%2Bweeds%2Bin%2Benclosure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uiC9Sls9C1I/XUQw40965GI/AAAAAAAACzE/xh31JUpk3TAH0CSzD0HM1DMQMDyV7tpfgCLcBGAs/s320/2019%2BVickis%2BGarden%2BMonica%2Bpulling%2Bweeds%2Bin%2Benclosure.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Most old people - and I am an old people - walk with face down watching for the objects that could cause us to stumble and fall. Logical. But perhaps it would be beneficial for seniors to go barefoot </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">for the very reasons this article points out..... I won't go barefoot in my gardening rounds - too many rocks, and garden debris to stub my toes on .. But I do the next best thing: My garden shoes are worn and torn, thin soles, holes and gaps where stitching has come loose ...and dirty .. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkoDTMoA8rw/XUQ2afe55gI/AAAAAAAACzw/Xo3-Ujp_Dj8SWxbjwT_miAnN3IbDwA0NACLcBGAs/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkoDTMoA8rw/XUQ2afe55gI/AAAAAAAACzw/Xo3-Ujp_Dj8SWxbjwT_miAnN3IbDwA0NACLcBGAs/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh my are they dirty. Small pebbles and garden dirt easily find the soles of my garden shoes a good place to settle down into ... if left out in the sun and watered daily they would sprout daisies and sunflowers! I can feel the paths and and pebbles in my garden through my Garden Shoes. I will mourn their demise when it's time to bid them goodbye. Such a nuisance - it's so uncomfortable breaking in a new pair of Garden Shoes!</span></span></span></span></span></span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-52170103886628526032019-07-31T07:09:00.000-07:002019-07-31T07:09:36.399-07:00<br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">New Post: Getting Back On Track</span></span></span></span><br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aug. 1, 2019</span></span></span></span><br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Journey .. begins with a few steps .. down a wooded path, alone or with friends. Destination in sight ... but what happens when you get off track? Take a side path away from the company journeying with you ... off to find the warbling bird in the forest trees ... or follow the fawn that had darted out in front of you. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The saying, "You can't get there from here" is not true as long as you set your sites on the destination God has indicated ... He is behind you with hands on your back and encouragement ..."I am on this journey with you...." </span></span></span></span><br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I recall taking public transportation for a "destination" when I visited Portland last year with my daughter and </span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hjM6Lp3MYeY/XUGf9TwBsWI/AAAAAAAACy4/-KcY7743weQVBvXZQ7_P8JWE0oFHXi7XQCLcBGAs/s1600/2016%2BIreland%2BDean%2BNeal%2BDAvid%2BGaffney%2BIreland%2B2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="362" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hjM6Lp3MYeY/XUGf9TwBsWI/AAAAAAAACy4/-KcY7743weQVBvXZQ7_P8JWE0oFHXi7XQCLcBGAs/s320/2016%2BIreland%2BDean%2BNeal%2BDAvid%2BGaffney%2BIreland%2B2015.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">granddaughter. We did well in making our first connection .. watching as the train sped past stops after stop that weren't ours. Suddenly,</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">my daughter realized we were supposed to have gotten off at the LAST stop to continue our journey . We hastily got off at the next stop, crossed the street to catch the next train going in OUR direction. As long as we're on the right "track" ..if a change needs to be made ... a decisive move in the right direction will continue the journey set before us. As the Holy Spirit prompts by visual and spiritual assistance, we will never miss His route to reach our destination ... it's an adventure, often confronting detours and roundabouts ... but having a clear vision of His purposes and ready to jump off and connect. We have been stalled at one stop way longer than is comfortable or comforting....He is the engine to get us moving (even while looking back with love and memories) onto the next station. Ticket has been bought and paid for ... we just take the halting but decisive steps to go forward.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span dir="ltr" style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="_3l3x _1n4g" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-68676780645504475082019-07-21T22:00:00.001-07:002019-07-22T12:37:45.314-07:00THE CHAIR<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> "from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> by that which every joint supplies, according to the proper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> for the building up of itself in love."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Ephesians 4:16</span><b style="clear: right; display: inline !important; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="clear: right; display: inline; font-size: x-small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b style="clear: right; display: inline !important; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="clear: right; display: inline; font-size: x-small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gyHCaxgBBEY/XTU4JHzvnwI/AAAAAAAACxA/KgM0z5inNCA7Ixa2gQHDEm9iuzaNwUB4gCLcBGAs/s1600/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Brecovered%2Bby%2BKarissa%2BJessica%2Bnow%2Bhas%2Bit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">"THE CHAIR"</a></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_8CALynHBcg/XTU4E6rYxGI/AAAAAAAACw8/dy8KCEeDY1krfTl4PI091i0q0nmXXp-nwCLcBGAs/s1600/2015shabby%2Bchair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="471" height="190" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_8CALynHBcg/XTU4E6rYxGI/AAAAAAAACw8/dy8KCEeDY1krfTl4PI091i0q0nmXXp-nwCLcBGAs/s200/2015shabby%2Bchair.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">With the passing of four generations of babies,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> held and comforted in the chair's strong arms </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> and squishy cushions, it became shabby and sad </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> looking. </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Until, toward the twilight years of it's usefulness,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> a Master Upholsterer saw the value and beauty in the</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> tired old chair and restored the fabric of its being,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> timelessly hidden, but deeply etched within its frame.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDqcL3UoUZU/XTXRIR151GI/AAAAAAAACxk/jOJtv6zvc-kHCmsuYUfdMeZHw1f8odOGQCLcBGAs/s1600/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Brecovered%2Bby%2BKarissa%2BJessica%2Bnow%2Bhas%2Bit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDqcL3UoUZU/XTXRIR151GI/AAAAAAAACxk/jOJtv6zvc-kHCmsuYUfdMeZHw1f8odOGQCLcBGAs/s200/2015%2BOld%2Bchair%2Brecovered%2Bby%2BKarissa%2BJessica%2Bnow%2Bhas%2Bit.jpg" width="110" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9qHAaWYPWtw/XTXSMZSUThI/AAAAAAAACxs/aqF6yLa8EoAcyXk8IvnsqkhgRrs0dJ_dQCLcBGAs/s200/2017%2BPrincess%2BTea%2BMonica.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"> Monica Lawson</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"> whowanewlife.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"> mlanclado_final@yahoo.com</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">Monica is a 79 year old Christian widow, artist, and story teller to four adult children, 13 grandchildren, 15, and soon to be 16 </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">great -grandchildren. Tender, true-life stories tell of a beloved old chair, exhilarating sailing adventures, whimsical garden friends, and her personal acquaintance </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">with a butterfly named Alice. The loss of her husband and oldest daughter shook her faith in soul searching stories in her blog. She has written and taught women's Bible studies - illustrating them with imaginative art. Current residence is an expandable R.V. encircled by a dense pine forest in Washington state. Vim and vigor, and faith describe her, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"> "for the building up of itself in love." Ephesians 4:16 </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">Children and adults will understand The Chair's loyalty, willingness to adjust, and you're never too old to become brand new.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Word count not determined yet</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Children's picture book 5-8</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Adult nostalgia. Researching publishers for appropriate venue</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6mZNMRoh_eY/XTYLbtX-oGI/AAAAAAAACyk/M3knA6TSGckX3MNNKd1xohxSX-t4ngQgQCLcBGAs/s1600/OLD%2BCHAIR%2B2015%2BJessica%2BAiden%2BCevon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6mZNMRoh_eY/XTYLbtX-oGI/AAAAAAAACyk/M3knA6TSGckX3MNNKd1xohxSX-t4ngQgQCLcBGAs/s200/OLD%2BCHAIR%2B2015%2BJessica%2BAiden%2BCevon.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-44609467643382191732019-06-23T12:43:00.001-07:002019-06-23T12:46:46.143-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Melissa's Rose, 2019</h2>
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<span style="color: #00509f;">I Come To The Garden Alone Hymn</span></h2>
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<b><span style="color: #00509f;">I come to the garden alone<br />While the dew is still on the roses<br />And the voice I hear falling on my ear<br />The Son of God discloses.<br /><br />Refrain<br /><br />And He walks with me, and He talks with me,<br />And He tells me I am His own;<br />And the joy we share as we tarry there,<br />None other has ever known.<br /><br />He speaks, and the sound of His voice,<br />Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,<br />And the melody that He gave to me<br />Within my heart is ringing.<br /><br />Refrain<br /><br />I’d stay in the garden with Him<br />Though the night around me be falling,<br />But He bids me go; through the voice of woe<br />His voice to me is calling.<br /><br />Refrain</span></b></div>
Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-29922975545412667302019-06-15T12:32:00.002-07:002019-06-15T12:32:17.288-07:00<div class="_1dwg _1w_m _q7o" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 12px 12px 0px;">
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What could possibly be keeping Monica so busy? Hmm ...<br />Thinning the turnip patch. Delicious greens for dinner tonight.<br />Strawberries and cherry tomatoes almost ripe. And a stroll to chat with the flowers and tell them they are exceedingly beautiful this year.<br />"The Nursery" .. where I start my garden from seeds. There's only a few left to plant.<br />Snap peas growing beside my garden bench .. also green beans and cucumbers.<br />I don't know what the plants are in the large black bucket. I found a bunch of seeds wrapped in a napkin from last year's harvest ..no name on the wrapping.. So I planted them anyway ... surprise! Behind the black bucket of surprise produce are other greens - lettuce and chard - that I pick a few leaves daily as they grow.<br />Soooo .. now we know what keeps Monica so busy!</div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557508388005951329.post-11109506963482853062019-06-12T18:50:00.000-07:002019-06-12T18:50:13.825-07:00<div align="center">
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<span style="color: black; font-size: medium;">Part 2: A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON MY WAY TO</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">OLD</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">(the Winter season of my life)</span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URHs0Bn4rvk/VEaXx9zBLPI/AAAAAAAAB24/BBbcTE8Em8g/s1600/100_3827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URHs0Bn4rvk/VEaXx9zBLPI/AAAAAAAAB24/BBbcTE8Em8g/s400/100_3827.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summer in a fawn's life ...</span></div>
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birth, </div>
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discovery,</div>
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spending time in gardens,</div>
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gleaning nourishment to grow and be strong and healthy, </div>
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accompanied by siblings,</div>
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and parents,teaching, encouraging, leading </div>
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<br /></div>
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........ and<em> destroying</em> like <em>ravenous locust</em></div>
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all that is planted, colorful, green and growing....</div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">but wait</span>, that's another story!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Springtime .....</span> birth, new life, vigor, awareness</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summer</span>..... discovery, growth, strengthening, bonding</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fall .....</span> wisdom, regrets, satisfaction, encouraging insights</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Winter</span> .... recollections and memories, acceptance or despair</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The seasons of all creature's lives. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NIrqSbvsxq4/VEaZ6Kq4hFI/AAAAAAAAB3E/mhDzxwog5WU/s1600/100_3854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NIrqSbvsxq4/VEaZ6Kq4hFI/AAAAAAAAB3E/mhDzxwog5WU/s320/100_3854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Personal Life-Experience Model in the Seasons of my life:</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Spring</span></div>
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Parents </div>
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" ..... male and female, He created them....." Genesis, the Bible</div>
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<br /></div>
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together following well worn paths labeled: </div>
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dedication</div>
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choices</div>
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mistakes</div>
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bonding</div>
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trust</div>
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companionship</div>
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difficult choices</div>
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sadness</div>
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joy</div>
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satisfaction</div>
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encouragement</div>
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rejection</div>
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separation</div>
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forgiveness</div>
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peace ..... contentment</div>
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approaching the Fall of life together</div>
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(remember, this is MY model... other's will be different)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IC_h9EdsyzI/VEacwjBuiyI/AAAAAAAAB3Q/c7XdCgqVlu8/s1600/100_3850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IC_h9EdsyzI/VEacwjBuiyI/AAAAAAAAB3Q/c7XdCgqVlu8/s320/100_3850.JPG" width="318" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A strong</span></div>
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brave</div>
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vigorous</div>
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proud</div>
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male</div>
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who may follow- at times -</div>
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the female's</div>
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instinctive sense of caution</div>
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in preservation of the species.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YRYfhYlZrrU/VEaddEwS5vI/AAAAAAAAB3Y/yA3JdM8Ter0/s1600/100_3853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YRYfhYlZrrU/VEaddEwS5vI/AAAAAAAAB3Y/yA3JdM8Ter0/s320/100_3853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summer and Spring of life</span></div>
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brings strength and vigor,</div>
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vitality</div>
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preservation of the species</div>
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through offspring ......</div>
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companionship and solidarity if no offspring.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fall preparing for Winter</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9qsKpGohTN0/VEa_1itqPHI/AAAAAAAAB4g/FQ6aQ7LtF3U/s1600/100_2667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9qsKpGohTN0/VEa_1itqPHI/AAAAAAAAB4g/FQ6aQ7LtF3U/s320/100_2667.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The shedding of Fall leaves after fruitful harvest,</div>
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the stripping away of fruit, preserved in jars on shelves in pantries,</div>
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stored fruits of labor.</div>
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Settling in for a season of rest </div>
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while partaking of the fruits of that labor. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Scurry of activity to prepare for a long cold Winter,</div>
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(the Ant stored up much ... not so the Grassphopper)</div>
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Storing garden tools - once important, but this season unneeded -</div>
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to have at your touch when needed ...... such as the snow shovel.</div>
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Protect the fragile new life to come by covering with bark and straw,</div>
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(as we do our children..... our gardens ......for they hold the promise of</div>
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blooms and fruit to come.) </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyDrdtvSPIQ/VEbCSp_jw9I/AAAAAAAAB4s/Vm-BvzbBe_4/s1600/wheelbarrow%2Band%2Bhands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyDrdtvSPIQ/VEbCSp_jw9I/AAAAAAAAB4s/Vm-BvzbBe_4/s320/wheelbarrow%2Band%2Bhands.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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......... mulch, enrich, and protect</div>
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against the elements ......</div>
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that which would seek and destroy</div>
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what is not prepared.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Winter</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iZrVlVnaWss/VEafc0NQsjI/AAAAAAAAB3k/ddx0nKB2c34/s1600/2007%2BCHRISTMAS%2BEldon's%2Bstocking%2Band%2Bdeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iZrVlVnaWss/VEafc0NQsjI/AAAAAAAAB3k/ddx0nKB2c34/s320/2007%2BCHRISTMAS%2BEldon's%2Bstocking%2Band%2Bdeer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After a season of wise Fall preparation, </div>
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CAUTION is needed as we approach Winter ,,,,</div>
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never having experienced what is </div>
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lurking</div>
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in the </div>
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windows of other creature's lives...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The chill of Winter</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--q6WkV4ygrk/VEa3E-z25SI/AAAAAAAAB4Q/96XYFd_XMw8/s1600/2007WinterNewTractorShopStoveSnickersDeer%2B018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--q6WkV4ygrk/VEa3E-z25SI/AAAAAAAAB4Q/96XYFd_XMw8/s320/2007WinterNewTractorShopStoveSnickersDeer%2B018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The dormant .... hibernating season of rest: </div>
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<br /></div>
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Slow, sometimes painful steps trod along these barren paths;</div>
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strength .... warmth ..... encouragement ,,, companionship</div>
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often wanes from others who are engaged elsewhere.</div>
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Unexpected health challenges disrupt plans,</div>
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advise from loved ones often go unheeded;</div>
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the shroud of fog and chilling snow </div>
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enclose and chill ... seemingly frozen in time.</div>
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Small bursts of sunshine, </div>
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in a heart filled with memories,</div>
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warm and melt, making Winter paths easier to follow.</div>
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Set-in-our-way comfortable paths, known and trusted, and once followed </div>
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assure us we can go on. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The shroud of Fall </div>
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and chilling barrenness of Winter </div>
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moves us away from Spring and Summer </div>
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that once provided</div>
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invigorating life challenges.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1pzlbAHwzwU/VEag5WGYrsI/AAAAAAAAB3w/G7F7AI2-omk/s1600/100_2746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1pzlbAHwzwU/VEag5WGYrsI/AAAAAAAAB3w/G7F7AI2-omk/s320/100_2746.JPG" width="209" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Life becomes more challenging in the Winter of our lives....</div>
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nourishment</div>
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shelter</div>
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injury</div>
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health</div>
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discouragement</div>
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frigid elements</div>
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companionship</div>
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faith</div>
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separation </div>
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from loved ones </div>
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whose paths have lead them elsewhere.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Encouraging elements of the Winter season in our lives:</div>
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Memories </div>
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Loved ones</div>
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Faith</div>
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Wisdom</div>
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Grace and resolve to follow this season's paths</div>
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to wherever it leads.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Your child whispering in your ear, </div>
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"You showed us how to live,</div>
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but Dad showed us how to die."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Now... I have a favorite saying:</div>
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"I'm OLD</div>
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but not</div>
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OLD, OLD!"</div>
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<br /></div>
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And when </div>
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old, old</div>
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is the </div>
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culmination of the seasons of my life</div>
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I'll unhesitatingly walk down that path</div>
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to meet Jesus .......</div>
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and the one</div>
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who accompanied me </div>
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through the other seasons of my life.</div>
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AanrB--99Is/VEasq-7SNII/AAAAAAAAB4A/slqcPuY-Bx4/s1600/Closed%2Bthe%2BGate%2B2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AanrB--99Is/VEasq-7SNII/AAAAAAAAB4A/slqcPuY-Bx4/s320/Closed%2Bthe%2BGate%2B2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original drawing by Monica Lawson not to be copied or used without her permission 10/20/14</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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In a twinkling of an eye it fades and grows dim</div>
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but is never lost......</div>
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because love never ends</div>
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and memories live on .....</div>
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Little Old Widder Womanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096522638665232556noreply@blogger.com1