tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89754453494074585802024-03-07T05:52:14.330-08:00Earthenware VesselVirgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.comBlogger302125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-44525710217022676212018-03-10T21:49:00.002-08:002018-03-10T21:49:47.692-08:00Poem: Will the True Inheritor Please Step Forward?<br />
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<i>Explanatory note: Okay, so, I feel like I must not be a very good poet if I have to write an explanatory note. But, well, so be it! I wrote this in January 2017 when my daughter was obsessed with Mother Goose rhymes (such as "This is the house that Jack built") and I was obsessed with Wendell Berry. </i></div>
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I.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the machine that Jack built.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the product, plastic and frail<o:p></o:p></div>
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Designed by the manufacturer to fail<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s made by the machine that Jack built.<o:p></o:p></div>
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These are the workers, all forlorn<o:p></o:p></div>
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Estranged from the product, plastic and frail<o:p></o:p></div>
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Designed by the manufacturer to fail<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s made by the machine that Jack built.<o:p></o:p></div>
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These are the dreams, all tattered and torn,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Obscured in the workers, all forlorn<o:p></o:p></div>
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Estranged from the product, plastic and frail<o:p></o:p></div>
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Designed by the manufacturer to fail<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s made by the machine that Jack built.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the world of poisoned streams<o:p></o:p></div>
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That aches for the workers’ forgotten dreams<o:p></o:p></div>
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That drown in a shake<o:p></o:p></div>
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Made with real ice cream<o:p></o:p></div>
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And Jack, never a great appreciator of irony,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Walks out of the movie theater<o:p></o:p></div>
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Saying “Wouldn’t it be awful if robots really did take
over the world?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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II.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the seed that sprouted<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the berry the little boy found<o:p></o:p></div>
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And planted with ignorant hope in the ground<o:p></o:p></div>
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Which held the seed that sprouted<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the wonder and this is the awe<o:p></o:p></div>
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He never forgot from the moment he saw<o:p></o:p></div>
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The stalk risen up at no human command<o:p></o:p></div>
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Designed by some other Invisible Hand<o:p></o:p></div>
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And everyone worried that Jack Jr. wasn’t<o:p></o:p></div>
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A go-getter like his father<o:p></o:p></div>
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But the silent spirits of the trees felt his quiet
attention<o:p></o:p></div>
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And in his darkness something was growing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-56636622598522190392017-10-20T22:43:00.000-07:002017-10-20T22:43:12.631-07:00Me, too. But ...<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned about the <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/the-me-too-campaign-was-created-by-a-black-woman-10-years-ago_us_59e61a7fe4b02a215b336fee">“Me too” thingy</a> by seeing friends’ Facebook
status updates and felt it was appropriate to add my own little drop to the
bucket. It seems like a good idea to help raise awareness of the prevalence of
sexual harassment and assault against women. But I have mixed feelings about
the, I guess “micromovement,” one might call it—as I have about a lot of
feminist statements and calls to arms and such.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It troubles me that the “Me too” thingy might exacerbate the
problem that people grossly, habitually underestimate the percentage of men who
have been sexually harassed or assaulted. This is much more widespread and
difficult to address because the stigma against men speaking out about their
experience of harassment and assault is so much more powerful than it is for
women. Probably no woman would be surprised if every single one of her female
friends said “Me too.” But if every man
who has been harassed or assaulted were to do the same, people of both genders
would most likely be deeply shocked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The other thing that is concerning to me is that often it
seems like feminists blame men in general for the inappropriate actions of
individuals. Yes, considering how many incidents of inappropriate behavior are
occurring, the percentage of men who commit them must be pretty high. But I don’t
see it really addressing the problem to lump them together with men who would
never even entertain the idea of cat calling a stranger, let alone assaulting someone.
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I think it’s interesting, looking at my own experience as a young
female pastor in a mainline denomination … I can think of three separate situations
in which, as a pastor (and pastoral candidate almost ready to be ordained) it
seemed to me than certain women in positions of authority exercised their power
over me in a manner that I felt was inappropriate. I cannot recall any similar
situations involving men. Overall, I have felt more respected and supported by
male colleagues in ministry than female colleagues. (I should note that the
instances of perceived abuses of power were minor and ultimately turned out, at
least in some sense, “okay.”)<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, anyway, I really question the value of talking about
abuses of power against women as if they were something that men do to women.
Rather, it seems like something that certain <i>individuals</i>, male <i>and female</i> have
particular problems with. And, I feel it's important to share, <i>I do not blame them for it</i>. Every single one
of us has some deep-seated resentment and confusion about gender issues (and when I say "confusion," I am referring to a whole host of confused feelings
people have about gender, not just ambivalence about one's gender role). The resentment and confusion is worse for some than others. But the more each
of us develops the capacity to look compassionately and honestly within
ourselves, the more we will be able to forgive others who are struggling and
bring grace into our discussion of these issues.<o:p></o:p></div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-86458951795525560122017-07-28T03:50:00.000-07:002017-07-28T03:50:02.792-07:00A Few Hours In Paradise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tj8womHshit47WUXQ9Ina0rkduLhIJCcqbp8w8VHmPcIiWVew1rg24xLH1kx5cVONSkhT65tZuOTkdF1g4Ft5TgZnPxgmjUlwsGRr1oeThzmruInUV0cNY3wXF5seY97q7iiFDKkwWo/s1600/DSC00446.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tj8womHshit47WUXQ9Ina0rkduLhIJCcqbp8w8VHmPcIiWVew1rg24xLH1kx5cVONSkhT65tZuOTkdF1g4Ft5TgZnPxgmjUlwsGRr1oeThzmruInUV0cNY3wXF5seY97q7iiFDKkwWo/s320/DSC00446.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Have I shared these pictures on my blog before or is it just deja vu? Maybe it's because I've been intending to write this post for so very long ...</div>
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Six years ago, we were living in California and on a trip up to Washington we visited Mt. Rainier. The area with the interpretive center--from which you can begin a very gentle hike through flowery mountain meadows, past pristine streams and waterfalls, all with a stunning view of the summit--is called Paradise, and on that day, it was living up to its name.</div>
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Wildflowers were blooming, the air was exquisitely fresh and sweet, it was the perfect temperature--just a shade cooler than warm, with a caressing breeze. It was like being inside of a Jehovah's Witness booklet, just minus the predatory animals snuggling with their natural prey. It was so utterly beautiful, so perfect ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWZH-AEmizgnmy64mvPHX65MFqlNJP50YC-h_ZRfssYYK52G0sVvL9Mef0u82gNXOz8d4z471GbpX7Ix115BL4jPOeBU-X_8kUTanP4lQMyw1VKLQJsRYqFzUkgy5N3CPnYrNSpXFzuU/s1600/DSC00452.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWZH-AEmizgnmy64mvPHX65MFqlNJP50YC-h_ZRfssYYK52G0sVvL9Mef0u82gNXOz8d4z471GbpX7Ix115BL4jPOeBU-X_8kUTanP4lQMyw1VKLQJsRYqFzUkgy5N3CPnYrNSpXFzuU/s320/DSC00452.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've wanted for six years now to share this on my blog. And I've been thinking of this, remembering the experience for six years. But I never really knew what I wanted to say about it. Other than, OH MY GOSH IT WAS SO WONDERFUL. But I don't like to write (or speak) without having a definite purpose for doing so. And I really was at a loss to say what this experience meant.</div>
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But now ... I am reaching a point in my life where I'm learning the value of leaving things undefined. Of refraining from analysis. Or returning to such a place, perhaps. During my dark and painful years in college I found great solace in a book called <i>The Cloud of Unknowing</i>, which describes a mystic path to union with God which leads through a place of darkness--a place where the senses, the intellect and even the emotions are left behind and the naked soul reaches toward the Mystery that cannot be contained by any human definition ...</div>
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So ... anyway ... I don't know what it all means. But I wanted to share these pictures and to describe what they recall to my mind: an experience that is ultimately beyond description but which can be alluded to, and perhaps recognized by someone who has also spent a few hours--or even a moment--in Paradise.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7KNRaEtfLxmtgqESmLGCTMXfkx5wxuQ-V3Ya-AVFCbeAhv7k7rRtz6CryuBzKuawIOhCuwkpaCgEbbK5pCF4N855Jy9DxFuY99zox-tY5MvlfFyZpvqE6fKyvCso7ybBCXKCz0WJ7BY/s1600/DSC00466.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7KNRaEtfLxmtgqESmLGCTMXfkx5wxuQ-V3Ya-AVFCbeAhv7k7rRtz6CryuBzKuawIOhCuwkpaCgEbbK5pCF4N855Jy9DxFuY99zox-tY5MvlfFyZpvqE6fKyvCso7ybBCXKCz0WJ7BY/s320/DSC00466.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-74296195724828590252017-01-15T18:31:00.000-08:002017-01-15T18:31:24.374-08:002016 Hattie Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Happy New Year!</div>
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For our friends who don't use Facebook, here are some Hattie photo highlights of 2016. Enjoy! And I hope your</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrGlAcb6NqcIxu_xEk_STgwDOjyK3jFST2Ck3suSE0v7bKDN4UJrW_mj8ZjNphpceKx7x1kDMZaY9l8H7BtHozLhybpj-V1ODeZIzv2ZNOoFBocgdR-O7SHDxqSb82XZvfUCACbtWoB4/s1600/069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrGlAcb6NqcIxu_xEk_STgwDOjyK3jFST2Ck3suSE0v7bKDN4UJrW_mj8ZjNphpceKx7x1kDMZaY9l8H7BtHozLhybpj-V1ODeZIzv2ZNOoFBocgdR-O7SHDxqSb82XZvfUCACbtWoB4/s320/069.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 2016: Hattie joins the fine Pickering and Way family traditions of standing in front of the heater.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 2016: enjoying Mama's birthday cake.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing in the sink: a favorite pastime.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiVw9Q2THSe9rpfshFxj_OA17Tc7B9lOt0VpXWtuTBLTZ275iYkuQJj7p65LU3rlYJoa8qJ58EnA7RjdMKnwSjEqMOgGUW7GPE68OvwcDUvfHfODuNGIGP1uoLXhcjgNPXqRz54vpPCQ/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiVw9Q2THSe9rpfshFxj_OA17Tc7B9lOt0VpXWtuTBLTZ275iYkuQJj7p65LU3rlYJoa8qJ58EnA7RjdMKnwSjEqMOgGUW7GPE68OvwcDUvfHfODuNGIGP1uoLXhcjgNPXqRz54vpPCQ/s320/035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial Day at the local cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father's Day hike.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreSKcQPdX5w8CDF2jCAgS9nguk3gwhdLEmQCTT3pLqrzx7td9-5-Ns8KsPOBPFEVrmJzWvmTIN8IG8eeQSo4P10phK0o7qc7y3dVBYBP6eGCJAbH5kFKoDR7Q_kRZPydbq3U-fby-S74/s1600/WP_000097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreSKcQPdX5w8CDF2jCAgS9nguk3gwhdLEmQCTT3pLqrzx7td9-5-Ns8KsPOBPFEVrmJzWvmTIN8IG8eeQSo4P10phK0o7qc7y3dVBYBP6eGCJAbH5kFKoDR7Q_kRZPydbq3U-fby-S74/s320/WP_000097.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a roadtrip to a friend's wedding in Portland, Hattie meets Big Mac. "Mmmm! Yummy!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo6qlN6Iax232eVrnKVzoWYftAqB9vNNkG7W5lAwcUHURG9t1SkcRL7dIT6xliVPmG8kCZ6fYF_exweM5bS9DOSLZHGNKXPV0zoFdDpVq3_0Ge4LPeFiIPo-_QPqniXq9bT3f4wkW8P0/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo6qlN6Iax232eVrnKVzoWYftAqB9vNNkG7W5lAwcUHURG9t1SkcRL7dIT6xliVPmG8kCZ6fYF_exweM5bS9DOSLZHGNKXPV0zoFdDpVq3_0Ge4LPeFiIPo-_QPqniXq9bT3f4wkW8P0/s320/046.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie flipped for summer foods: watermelon, corn on the cob, blackberries, and most of all, tomatoes and snap peas from Auntie Suzanne's garden.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ee2_JG_wN7db5QJviiV7MXFskDx-F6F286GB5d_x62tpCpRvoq9eyw0TFxaLQ4jqy5F0t0vaez87IorndyDazC0BUBeccp1Y5W6ql7SUbaqbvywo9-tzKEzfs0jbLGD_x92iNB3C3Tg/s1600/WP_000121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ee2_JG_wN7db5QJviiV7MXFskDx-F6F286GB5d_x62tpCpRvoq9eyw0TFxaLQ4jqy5F0t0vaez87IorndyDazC0BUBeccp1Y5W6ql7SUbaqbvywo9-tzKEzfs0jbLGD_x92iNB3C3Tg/s320/WP_000121.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer at the family's beach spot on the Snoqualmie River</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBw7B1o1cj8hEg8F0XPxnYgO8t4Sk-MMaMkQdUz7bYLeg098eiHJtEjWdreexacjiLVQ9JZtjcW84qrylHd3Mrw_RwWBD9Bo4ASvHN5vqebFEDKcqBmBtFY1egmHDXeZTYXavoxz8RBhM/s1600/WP_000122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBw7B1o1cj8hEg8F0XPxnYgO8t4Sk-MMaMkQdUz7bYLeg098eiHJtEjWdreexacjiLVQ9JZtjcW84qrylHd3Mrw_RwWBD9Bo4ASvHN5vqebFEDKcqBmBtFY1egmHDXeZTYXavoxz8RBhM/s320/WP_000122.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking from the river back to the house, through the fields. What a summer!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another favorite pastime--and a favorite series: Pete the Cat by James Dean.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLFeTEzVTOApuLB1m3ofhqdW9743b11L_6vS3lR3K3kGb0nU1AwU_OGIGk2te2fYxDDeKJeChG5aQVBoVHBOY56P4RgHJrY4lUESH8ARhHub6718w52t22syMcd_XlA626k_Bm3HohfU/s1600/WP_000200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLFeTEzVTOApuLB1m3ofhqdW9743b11L_6vS3lR3K3kGb0nU1AwU_OGIGk2te2fYxDDeKJeChG5aQVBoVHBOY56P4RgHJrY4lUESH8ARhHub6718w52t22syMcd_XlA626k_Bm3HohfU/s320/WP_000200.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wind and falling leaves were exhilarating.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaI4s1KiUCygkLdnnZS0WhfMZ8Wsp7pwJ1ojEdhoEqdApu3xhhSaWd5d2rex46coF8FZT_PBY3k41jiLLO31xbVHSLabRHeXWkg-SoqxQSEZUGDXQaZvDvQgyIeSydOEOrBP_JNTcNunQ/s1600/060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaI4s1KiUCygkLdnnZS0WhfMZ8Wsp7pwJ1ojEdhoEqdApu3xhhSaWd5d2rex46coF8FZT_PBY3k41jiLLO31xbVHSLabRHeXWkg-SoqxQSEZUGDXQaZvDvQgyIeSydOEOrBP_JNTcNunQ/s320/060.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't be fooled by this pose: Hattie was happily wading and splashing in that cold, cold water just minutes before.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyVs_FxZAggCuhyLTHuQGnsRMtiRPyWB77htpo3Nigmn2qEp9rTdOuV8lUijh-wmZ8waxm7OnCsO0Sp7wTC-f3dHiHDncAI4wBaj_OcgDczr1O27c3_4m_bL8JHgUNrLYZr-dcLyVwdk/s1600/098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyVs_FxZAggCuhyLTHuQGnsRMtiRPyWB77htpo3Nigmn2qEp9rTdOuV8lUijh-wmZ8waxm7OnCsO0Sp7wTC-f3dHiHDncAI4wBaj_OcgDczr1O27c3_4m_bL8JHgUNrLYZr-dcLyVwdk/s320/098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie lends a hand a the family pumpkin patch.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pyzHtAHgxc51NMFnot9a8KvuydTHwkhyWAcYNML3AxPG93zpaskZtPjZWuFYWla88OYL4O5pL-7pqUqOLgfz84_Nu2U3U1QPcpBqN3nZstP5R0sCtFjdXISwml78a-QA7iRf996K-Wc/s1600/117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pyzHtAHgxc51NMFnot9a8KvuydTHwkhyWAcYNML3AxPG93zpaskZtPjZWuFYWla88OYL4O5pL-7pqUqOLgfz84_Nu2U3U1QPcpBqN3nZstP5R0sCtFjdXISwml78a-QA7iRf996K-Wc/s320/117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TNCbZ6h6DJ5vzhu1TgCtcjHIi9MyO4oYT7Zl_f4LLO1OgQ96j9s7DLOX8KTNoqqTw2XFupIN56M_cliScyySu87NL5pv_PkY5PQQg4-I0kf_Pcz35bSVsDIlzCPDFe6V50Ie43ezlsU/s1600/WP_000211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TNCbZ6h6DJ5vzhu1TgCtcjHIi9MyO4oYT7Zl_f4LLO1OgQ96j9s7DLOX8KTNoqqTw2XFupIN56M_cliScyySu87NL5pv_PkY5PQQg4-I0kf_Pcz35bSVsDIlzCPDFe6V50Ie43ezlsU/s320/WP_000211.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We got Hattie a pumpkin costume to wear at the patch, but she screamed and screamed in it. So for Halloween I let her pick out a character hat and we did a simple Grover ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuEs_NL5JCEnagYJdLUe6RL8rhc4TI1TNojBL_FnMNnuASW5b4d3C9BT5kClM2iD656GYMfXLGomwzopiYC8znhVUCCPnnyoURFCBzxRa1qY2JXKj9yPcWbufjOpUdBxWpXODlV9NWdU/s1600/WP_000230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuEs_NL5JCEnagYJdLUe6RL8rhc4TI1TNojBL_FnMNnuASW5b4d3C9BT5kClM2iD656GYMfXLGomwzopiYC8znhVUCCPnnyoURFCBzxRa1qY2JXKj9yPcWbufjOpUdBxWpXODlV9NWdU/s320/WP_000230.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving 2016: after dinner, napping while Mama watches Elf.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38gjvSikIJtCcJYLW2ihRrN4BFui4RRNApJqhfli7mCz99ZrivlIpPuBxIXBPHdLYwgMyzSq9NOPbZ2s-34vEBN_tmfGfaMSLdS8Xk3lc09DRQvQG76vmGEZkaTyKxfAV0yyAqKvrFPw/s1600/052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38gjvSikIJtCcJYLW2ihRrN4BFui4RRNApJqhfli7mCz99ZrivlIpPuBxIXBPHdLYwgMyzSq9NOPbZ2s-34vEBN_tmfGfaMSLdS8Xk3lc09DRQvQG76vmGEZkaTyKxfAV0yyAqKvrFPw/s320/052.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decorating the tree as she does all things: thoughtfully, carefully.</td></tr>
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<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-35826026111873137452016-10-25T11:39:00.000-07:002016-10-25T11:39:01.745-07:00The Presidential Debate I Would Like To SeeSomeday I would like to watch a presidential debate in which the candidates did not spend the whole time attacking each other's policy proposals (even civilly) but instead discussed what they appreciated about the other person's perspective and vowed to honor the valid and important concerns that the other candidate's platform represented. I would like to see candidates (and a voting public) who feel that whichever of the nominees were to win would make a fine president, worthy of the full support of the nation.<br />
<br />
Right now, the debates don't seem worth watching because all we get to see is a big show of disagreement which obscures the hidden agenda that both of our reigning parties share: protecting the interests of big business. What we are seeing is the dominance of a tiny elite class over the rest of the world and somehow people don't realize they're being manipulated because they've been offered a spectacle of competition, much like a sporting event, in which they were encouraged to root for one team over the other. But in reality, both teams are owned by the same corporate conglomerates.<br />
<br />
Someday, I would like to see us move beyond this kind of farcical drama and begin an era of genuine collaboration between leaders who truly represent the diverse and varied interests, values, hopes, and aspirations of the American people--and the rest of world, on whom we have such a huge impact.<br />
<br />
Some people may think it's no use imaging such a world when that reality is so very far away, but picturing new ways of doing things is the only way that innovative change came come about. If everyone spent half the time that they currently spend complaining about the way things are discussing instead their vision for the way things ought to be, I think we'd start to see positive changes happening a lot quicker.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-9759156472705372302016-09-11T18:10:00.000-07:002016-09-11T18:10:24.442-07:00The Problem with Facebook and Politics<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In theory, it seems like Facebook could be a wonderful
tool for equipping the voting public with relevant information and analysis and
for generating political discussion at the grassroots level. And sometimes it
is. But at other times, political speech on Facebook seems to be doing more
harm than good. Here are some of the problems I see:</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Human beings have always been prone to make judgmental
(and often nasty) comments behind each other’s backs. And what better arena in
which to judge people than politics? The thing about Facebook is that somehow
people feel free to make exactly the kind of judgmental (and often nasty) comments
that have always been made in private, but now in a semi-public setting. People
on the left and right are now party to all the mean, uncharitable, deliberately
ignorant remarks made about them by the other side. The kind of ad hominem attacks
that would be considered extremely rude at politically mixed in-person
gatherings is normal online.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->The tone of righteous self-expression tends to
preclude discussion. People often feel they have a moral obligation to share
highly combative political statements. Such individuals feel that they are
standing up for a worthy cause. But what are they really accomplishing? The
tone of self-righteousness indicates to people who disagree that their views are
being summarily dismissed. It is apparent that the poster has no interest in
finding out why people might disagree with her or him and whether there might
be any merit in arguments against his or her position.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Even when discussion happens, it tends to be of
a strident, polemical nature. When we get into debates on Facebook, we are not
addressing each other as individuals—we are addressing the crowd. Whether
consciously or unconsciously, we feel pressured to write whatever will make us
look good to our imagined sympathizers in the audience, rather than actually
trying to communicate. We are less likely to admit we were wrong or ask for
clarification. We feel we should write concise “zingers” for the crowd to
applaud. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps others can add to this list. But anyway, what to
do? Well, for myself, here’s what I’ve come up with so far:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I try not to post or write anything that would
be rude to say in-person to someone who disagrees with me. (If you’re not sure
whether something is okay, you might picture someone you know personally who is
on the “other side” and ask yourself whether you would say this to their face.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I try to cultivate an attitude of humility. I make
it a point to actively fight the natural human inclination toward
self-righteousness. I remind myself that I don’t know everything, that I am
sometimes wrong, and that I have a lot to learn from people who disagree with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->When I engage in political debates on Facebook,
I repeatedly tell myself that I am not writing to make myself look good; I am
trying to understand what the other person is saying and to make myself
understood. I try to write only what is conducive to clear communication.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->If I find that a discussion has degenerated into
a polemical tit-for-tat, I call a time-out. I do whatever I can to clear the
slate and start over. This may include apologizing for my part in taking the conversation
down an unfruitful path; stating that it was not my intention to pick a fight
and what I really want is to understand what the other person is saying and to
share my thoughts and feelings; and my latest strategy, which I’m just now
developing is to TAKE IT OFF FACEBOOK(!)—perhaps by switching over to private
messaging, but probably even better, by meeting in-person, writing a physical
letter on actual paper(!!!), or even talking on the phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know a number of people who are very political on
Facebook because they have a strong desire to make a positive difference in the
world. That is highly commendable. I think it would help a little bit for such
people to move the tenor of online political discussions in a kinder direction.
And I think the biggest difference we can make in the world is by loving our “enemies”
one-on-one. That is, by taking the time and making the effort to communicate
meaningfully with someone we think needs to change. And if we’re doing it right, we’ll find out
from them what we didn’t know we were missing ourselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Comments?<o:p></o:p></div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-46457939987862506182016-07-28T00:30:00.000-07:002016-07-28T00:30:20.633-07:00Melancholy Poem with PostscriptIt's like a promiscuous lover,<br />
he said.<br />
How we kept moving all over the country<br />
Leaving a trail of broken friendships<br />
Every time<br />
It was a tragedy<br />
<br />
It had been a poignant meeting with friends<br />
only on our side of the continent for singular reasons<br />
<br />
Of course, he was right<br />
and we've been torn many a time<br />
<br />
But<br />
the little piece of you<br />
that was planted in my heart<br />
may keep on growing, however far we are apart<br />
<br />
And when we meet again<br />
--we will--<br />
may it be a gentle pleasure<br />
to see what has flourished<br />
of the seeds from your garden<br />
<br />
______________________________________<br />
<br />
<br />
For my dearly beloved faraway friends<br />
who have sown<br />
kindness, generosity, happiness, care,<br />
piety, reverence, and warmth.<br />
I will tend the garden<br />
as best I can.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-63015915942360180512016-01-02T00:20:00.001-08:002016-01-17T18:17:59.677-08:00End Of Year Retrospective<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For friends who use the internet but not Facebook, here is an end-of-year photo retrospective intended to serve basically the function of a Christmas letter.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVC-gkNHGjQiutoRSj4sjETBbCYpTKO2VMkzfsMIgA3ZpUHQlqo3XZkKo5yGG3j3isoS6mM-usROIT5gMSS-HlWb_7tIxzOgby1zWBg_0FQ9ihBJ7cbhEN-5bI9f19kr0S1VdpRFCicuE/s1600/z001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVC-gkNHGjQiutoRSj4sjETBbCYpTKO2VMkzfsMIgA3ZpUHQlqo3XZkKo5yGG3j3isoS6mM-usROIT5gMSS-HlWb_7tIxzOgby1zWBg_0FQ9ihBJ7cbhEN-5bI9f19kr0S1VdpRFCicuE/s320/z001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 20, 2014 - One sweet little Hattie-cake fresh out of the oven.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvoE04Bq9Ci6xk-YmisDA_ME8MLh4RXfPmYw4qAxOh3I5zjlkvHJyQgFG7LthggIUXC8Uu2uhlxMde-bcHMQ6K0rbQwU0V9Ifm4ReM6MWD9dqrVh95aOEMXW0UKUzXcea-sENDq4b4HM/s1600/10865937_10205686312060798_7280058435842611826_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvoE04Bq9Ci6xk-YmisDA_ME8MLh4RXfPmYw4qAxOh3I5zjlkvHJyQgFG7LthggIUXC8Uu2uhlxMde-bcHMQ6K0rbQwU0V9Ifm4ReM6MWD9dqrVh95aOEMXW0UKUzXcea-sENDq4b4HM/s320/10865937_10205686312060798_7280058435842611826_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpSVA5zGHzCuCWkcUyV9jEr45WM6-LW-qhu3S317AW96iDMxARHAj4_Jf-xBeuBU4xEbkvDm5heNqulwXhWofiMMCHml4hdpk4XyoTJakOwTDMxTlB8AMuNLJ0JH8S1kquE1qTCoShiY/s1600/z002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpSVA5zGHzCuCWkcUyV9jEr45WM6-LW-qhu3S317AW96iDMxARHAj4_Jf-xBeuBU4xEbkvDm5heNqulwXhWofiMMCHml4hdpk4XyoTJakOwTDMxTlB8AMuNLJ0JH8S1kquE1qTCoShiY/s320/z002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She was an early smiler.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbue1d6-54lPxYzXPhkc5CCb0qwnYA45ywXfps2WjyXgLaJaqkwyDOvroRdmc4XshNsm06fFfDNiXYm_3pDPSU48Ij3qy82kLCvNfkt908z5RRbCYHWqStEoEalWAbZThrlsBTQIa4pM/s1600/z003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbue1d6-54lPxYzXPhkc5CCb0qwnYA45ywXfps2WjyXgLaJaqkwyDOvroRdmc4XshNsm06fFfDNiXYm_3pDPSU48Ij3qy82kLCvNfkt908z5RRbCYHWqStEoEalWAbZThrlsBTQIa4pM/s320/z003.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 days old: best Christmas ever!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RBtrfePehXVjBe8NJKWZOnTChXqxbd-9E2p_DLo5fv6oQetGMBZ_QE53Tw43I3-7P6ktx_1-AhyLhgOlvFqNTqq57Nxw4NcQAoEE2BHE2ddZXdALdXhavGirMKSB2bnwvnQ40EAjkTc/s1600/z004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RBtrfePehXVjBe8NJKWZOnTChXqxbd-9E2p_DLo5fv6oQetGMBZ_QE53Tw43I3-7P6ktx_1-AhyLhgOlvFqNTqq57Nxw4NcQAoEE2BHE2ddZXdALdXhavGirMKSB2bnwvnQ40EAjkTc/s320/z004.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPX6X4xd1f7dGk2o0oZBH60vjEQNvDIwYeMwjDECKuVkc-gDb2MkO5GPMYFAI85b8xVYoK1WQ8eqXumNJFB8Cdg3V0qxGlKf8hcpy8z21A6ZMNIjm7-twWuv0OkQzgnhG_ktH1Q8PKSU/s1600/z007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPX6X4xd1f7dGk2o0oZBH60vjEQNvDIwYeMwjDECKuVkc-gDb2MkO5GPMYFAI85b8xVYoK1WQ8eqXumNJFB8Cdg3V0qxGlKf8hcpy8z21A6ZMNIjm7-twWuv0OkQzgnhG_ktH1Q8PKSU/s320/z007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDf9XLa2NJcgJ4j1wCIVRI3d_8C3IYstdtP6gAaJPHayS8J0Asm63XhLwbZaVcM0mbLG1cR_nFXv6o6SJjMv4kKvE0eYevhygxnm_cSCdiBuE9Un4J9bjypk6VuVtRT8dit_VgcVTzp0Y/s1600/z009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDf9XLa2NJcgJ4j1wCIVRI3d_8C3IYstdtP6gAaJPHayS8J0Asm63XhLwbZaVcM0mbLG1cR_nFXv6o6SJjMv4kKvE0eYevhygxnm_cSCdiBuE9Un4J9bjypk6VuVtRT8dit_VgcVTzp0Y/s320/z009.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiufg7Xvc8ckPFM1tetCHgyOwOAXP15rvWxVhbW35eux6rM2d5W2LH1D3M4W4F7NuC2rQlJ1y9D2_g5q5piEU2dtIrIVoMxOtZgIrFhyiEH4PkQQ5a-dPAXDL0QcxtfsuzR3uyNGZxFU/s1600/z010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiufg7Xvc8ckPFM1tetCHgyOwOAXP15rvWxVhbW35eux6rM2d5W2LH1D3M4W4F7NuC2rQlJ1y9D2_g5q5piEU2dtIrIVoMxOtZgIrFhyiEH4PkQQ5a-dPAXDL0QcxtfsuzR3uyNGZxFU/s320/z010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuckered out from Game Night the previous day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56O844Le_khcDLttmTMO62UpgNbwSHkazU0JhdMkLRzxTtrRrwTMchHSf_XiA4CVohMai4lAE37s8mgQKRSC6GVX_6VEAake5jRVuEoxaOQj2y1UbD2tASQhP6x20lNB-YH9ZT6IaPUw/s1600/z011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56O844Le_khcDLttmTMO62UpgNbwSHkazU0JhdMkLRzxTtrRrwTMchHSf_XiA4CVohMai4lAE37s8mgQKRSC6GVX_6VEAake5jRVuEoxaOQj2y1UbD2tASQhP6x20lNB-YH9ZT6IaPUw/s320/z011.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chinese Lantern Festival at the zoo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2Gcm6KuPTP5eAWhfFY_DiVRZ7X8UxwJB3tvzLYtqwbW9VNiotfkUOa3b3NRpc_dNsxQosrI9Cm9OR_tYTJNfHN5aOK_7YMcfVBCp_and7K211yOVawkzC6FIyGJ3b2yIAV_QCRCr2c4/s1600/z014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2Gcm6KuPTP5eAWhfFY_DiVRZ7X8UxwJB3tvzLYtqwbW9VNiotfkUOa3b3NRpc_dNsxQosrI9Cm9OR_tYTJNfHN5aOK_7YMcfVBCp_and7K211yOVawkzC6FIyGJ3b2yIAV_QCRCr2c4/s320/z014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrJJOfgRAZnNvBOm-ln_KG9dPUaCsXUWDB_VgCCYknyWuN8mixto4QYca39Gorgq2js0KoILSU5FxReAdcAVVGYsVwsa99afB7wYIE5JusRZhVgxamvERnm_5SoiPakFLJj7DHp-hx3U/s1600/z015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrJJOfgRAZnNvBOm-ln_KG9dPUaCsXUWDB_VgCCYknyWuN8mixto4QYca39Gorgq2js0KoILSU5FxReAdcAVVGYsVwsa99afB7wYIE5JusRZhVgxamvERnm_5SoiPakFLJj7DHp-hx3U/s320/z015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDr9zN2mQTc5VQWd5Z9Wiel4A9zKndCK9N1Y6xEbB9E0GLDZD2AN3XJpdaTORKotjIqLHe4GHRX85IxunjF1EQU2CQHRWLO5BqAkDTPGvyoc_ORNDAqWrgTX3HNGT99A93S0dW_OAPak/s1600/z016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDr9zN2mQTc5VQWd5Z9Wiel4A9zKndCK9N1Y6xEbB9E0GLDZD2AN3XJpdaTORKotjIqLHe4GHRX85IxunjF1EQU2CQHRWLO5BqAkDTPGvyoc_ORNDAqWrgTX3HNGT99A93S0dW_OAPak/s320/z016.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeij927OQQkIo3BvyN1lLci8jDmgciHlyQg5sOiVtjSGN8lqzaTn6y6gTIaCsExbIL9CQbuTvGAHz_4xBR1iKP3YEIhtvlv9KyI3P0KafXoe7r1EdPsgI1nBKKTctptmlh3QjlzJfjEWk/s1600/z017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeij927OQQkIo3BvyN1lLci8jDmgciHlyQg5sOiVtjSGN8lqzaTn6y6gTIaCsExbIL9CQbuTvGAHz_4xBR1iKP3YEIhtvlv9KyI3P0KafXoe7r1EdPsgI1nBKKTctptmlh3QjlzJfjEWk/s320/z017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baptism</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPU9mbVMTRdiYOf1xpCnxmpF_f1eUmH_AbEeE3CyTTOIB4yBLwVeqz9TPL24TnlLBUFmEJC4qWt4VvHxwN2kTT0znr1vOVOihcKnY2ZkuEZ-HTpSKs-JEEdmDlHL0c75AGWD85Zo2H5E/s1600/z018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPU9mbVMTRdiYOf1xpCnxmpF_f1eUmH_AbEeE3CyTTOIB4yBLwVeqz9TPL24TnlLBUFmEJC4qWt4VvHxwN2kTT0znr1vOVOihcKnY2ZkuEZ-HTpSKs-JEEdmDlHL0c75AGWD85Zo2H5E/s320/z018.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-baptism fellowship hour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvsRNLmtSSuIjjnoKcLEzoUUzA3-F6eGnRI7S-cNfQ5_QBhvkMZ7JI8H-SGMtNRRCw99jIRGMZmREkfTqdu6QqyCVRbz3iMS00xOLXUZTz0hhYy-jXhUBLqqgnC7Lt3EN5KSc8yD1tb8/s1600/z019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvsRNLmtSSuIjjnoKcLEzoUUzA3-F6eGnRI7S-cNfQ5_QBhvkMZ7JI8H-SGMtNRRCw99jIRGMZmREkfTqdu6QqyCVRbz3iMS00xOLXUZTz0hhYy-jXhUBLqqgnC7Lt3EN5KSc8yD1tb8/s320/z019.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was at about 6 months, when Hattie's horrendous acid reflux issue was at its worst. During this period, she could only nap when being held in an upright position. She would still wake up choking and crying, but could be lulled back to sleep by walking/rocking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Rc8-vKZNjPn5KxedyLd6wGKsOmxInVtoHnDDq3xfAnNgiGsSfynSQXbmjIV1u4aMAjb6tIRovpUatQddRapjDpF23Sg-0gGDMzdiCMn0ZSbD0-SJDOj6LRZlkx-KA6z1UTAlKVxR0eQ/s1600/z020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Rc8-vKZNjPn5KxedyLd6wGKsOmxInVtoHnDDq3xfAnNgiGsSfynSQXbmjIV1u4aMAjb6tIRovpUatQddRapjDpF23Sg-0gGDMzdiCMn0ZSbD0-SJDOj6LRZlkx-KA6z1UTAlKVxR0eQ/s320/z020.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father's Day</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHjG6pD6z_oy0xA-8-aSF3JFfxzhiKhctuYKsoG9jS5BccwalBlsY7-lQZp1BRnBMroENDK_9wJEe1MaIA0KqY6ZPSdsC4TaHN8dNEfA9O-7sLTYax581HIW7EQ8eGLfoUPy01m-6yLQ/s1600/z021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHjG6pD6z_oy0xA-8-aSF3JFfxzhiKhctuYKsoG9jS5BccwalBlsY7-lQZp1BRnBMroENDK_9wJEe1MaIA0KqY6ZPSdsC4TaHN8dNEfA9O-7sLTYax581HIW7EQ8eGLfoUPy01m-6yLQ/s320/z021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying a beautiful sunset/twilight walk around our beautiful apartment complex in Florida. Such walks were always one of Hattie's favorite activities and often the only thing that could keep her happy. Unfortunately, it was often too hot and/or stormy to be out during the day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggqj66O466qE6mT6tF2M3J9UJvYlShCfqZLooslHYtR7_JiJTtZwNUVH8y2h3TxhgnVWHIkCQPISPG_dEHc4wZWevWO8fcm52cgdnS6KH4LRhzpAdu1nCD7hxqwu23o3jIyVuQ2RpJCQ/s1600/z022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggqj66O466qE6mT6tF2M3J9UJvYlShCfqZLooslHYtR7_JiJTtZwNUVH8y2h3TxhgnVWHIkCQPISPG_dEHc4wZWevWO8fcm52cgdnS6KH4LRhzpAdu1nCD7hxqwu23o3jIyVuQ2RpJCQ/s320/z022.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie was just crazy about the ducks that lived in the ponds outside our apartment.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisWaOBD5I1OVezzK_AIe4jBl48s2lYtSbbp9VV7_EV3YAe699K8La6QLDWkfFZ0o3lLRaV0jmdlWdZ-OujxVD1BX8czDldqtcJ2TXL1YwgmolAcS0fI9k454U5kuT0Rqh__8gjrIiPhY/s1600/z023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisWaOBD5I1OVezzK_AIe4jBl48s2lYtSbbp9VV7_EV3YAe699K8La6QLDWkfFZ0o3lLRaV0jmdlWdZ-OujxVD1BX8czDldqtcJ2TXL1YwgmolAcS0fI9k454U5kuT0Rqh__8gjrIiPhY/s320/z023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaP5tAy5tNdjRKVrbViClkmRyXtTv-L43IoGU5i8UaKQq6D-VtzQbIZMFWk4SreVf7qMZx9aoQWLUDy0QB5DFGqeqE3kUnR7Cfh7Rbhh1CHCkSao_FixVua-0oM_iAHfv9Ldv6x1ZT3Vw/s1600/z024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaP5tAy5tNdjRKVrbViClkmRyXtTv-L43IoGU5i8UaKQq6D-VtzQbIZMFWk4SreVf7qMZx9aoQWLUDy0QB5DFGqeqE3kUnR7Cfh7Rbhh1CHCkSao_FixVua-0oM_iAHfv9Ldv6x1ZT3Vw/s320/z024.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another of Hattie's favorite activities: grocery shopping. There was a checker at this Publix who was just nuts about Hattie. "She's my favorite baby that comes in here!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeV4oecrCIrbTtRctftyP_QhD87iiYxL-K1Auz40aUTKLMNL7agrZci49m9axHHmr9wC267T9v23dLq6MOVlz2LVpsUl9z0jIPW3-Jq7lE5tXwhaDqn8eHHKhvo6p5JoQJxch4wtCcZbI/s1600/z025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeV4oecrCIrbTtRctftyP_QhD87iiYxL-K1Auz40aUTKLMNL7agrZci49m9axHHmr9wC267T9v23dLq6MOVlz2LVpsUl9z0jIPW3-Jq7lE5tXwhaDqn8eHHKhvo6p5JoQJxch4wtCcZbI/s320/z025.JPG" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie's hair takes after her Dad's.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2TtLPZnCIQmTWDcfWi6crg3W4Ohg4QY2u9bwDTnZvRkHjgz5FPi3Gvb6AIiasc3GQqlB7Lruk0ORIrkPLwWtDythFFacwt8T20HVk32LK9DrJ6ze7tC1bqIi5-i2M3GkNgXNYc5FH09I/s1600/z026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2TtLPZnCIQmTWDcfWi6crg3W4Ohg4QY2u9bwDTnZvRkHjgz5FPi3Gvb6AIiasc3GQqlB7Lruk0ORIrkPLwWtDythFFacwt8T20HVk32LK9DrJ6ze7tC1bqIi5-i2M3GkNgXNYc5FH09I/s320/z026.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer in Florida was not a good time for Hattie. We were stuck indoors a lot.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Uw88peFO8LExHD5yQm3hwuc8-78P5x96BszqQQpRrONNUJf9KD4eVocO7k5OZlkrWRBYkGePKrF6XLaSeFb0ZyIMOH90etRoTR87BzD5We8Hm7WGw4fQ_KEcWBwTt1jTz1egJxyE-iU/s1600/z027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Uw88peFO8LExHD5yQm3hwuc8-78P5x96BszqQQpRrONNUJf9KD4eVocO7k5OZlkrWRBYkGePKrF6XLaSeFb0ZyIMOH90etRoTR87BzD5We8Hm7WGw4fQ_KEcWBwTt1jTz1egJxyE-iU/s320/z027.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last day of summer. Hooray!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMO_hap0VpYyavwJHD73W6Mbo-lGtZ_fGg_R0camaPaH4cDcMWFVzf_yqVfAFToPwQQMqPwmIxkoHjbk9Ttsph_-p8BCOrI_6MdV0Qi-8M7jRNVQbceyIzx12LeOkypcDfPjhi3bLVy4/s1600/z032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMO_hap0VpYyavwJHD73W6Mbo-lGtZ_fGg_R0camaPaH4cDcMWFVzf_yqVfAFToPwQQMqPwmIxkoHjbk9Ttsph_-p8BCOrI_6MdV0Qi-8M7jRNVQbceyIzx12LeOkypcDfPjhi3bLVy4/s320/z032.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First pair of shoes. Characteristic pose. I used to take Hattie into the church office with me and we'd hang out with the secretary and the treasurer, a delightful 80 year old gentleman who liked to sit back with his hands behind his head. Hattie would mirror his position. It was super duper cute. I wish I could have gotten a picture of them together.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCD8UQAgTnqZ-V8zk_ONjN-800ONswJFW6EWQLi9hFk4xVrga93OaDzAb9Pb3IbS-FTOfz1lrSMrB7S79Ai2sOLlj8PhcoNF-eKVp-xDUhaJgWb7AE5lVcx9zded4Mg5MGmf6Kb6UyyY/s1600/z033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCD8UQAgTnqZ-V8zk_ONjN-800ONswJFW6EWQLi9hFk4xVrga93OaDzAb9Pb3IbS-FTOfz1lrSMrB7S79Ai2sOLlj8PhcoNF-eKVp-xDUhaJgWb7AE5lVcx9zded4Mg5MGmf6Kb6UyyY/s320/z033.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wonderful folks at Keystone's final worship service.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaspJGRpIyCc0AzZx6kwO6UV4FUNShXfRDSHt80Jsvno9iApWJKpy75RzFwgJ2dzVsX9_NVawiN4SLbAfJVMObOnuY_Jgqv1CiFRYnk-30Sc1eMvu5FcvOAxlKP4uiSb7JmlCZsNcSPBY/s1600/z034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaspJGRpIyCc0AzZx6kwO6UV4FUNShXfRDSHt80Jsvno9iApWJKpy75RzFwgJ2dzVsX9_NVawiN4SLbAfJVMObOnuY_Jgqv1CiFRYnk-30Sc1eMvu5FcvOAxlKP4uiSb7JmlCZsNcSPBY/s320/z034.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last trip to the beach ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ql1yZOOf0LdF632k5DHulncQBxvm7-yBy7oVeQs_pyTQyX2HjnR3_LfFzQSwdsh74Js2WWHFlrQhiFcNG9YGD0ixnJMkWn1Qt1iUOXv1C4NHx1UgA1Zhy6LF5t7uLHx-_UWx68856iY/s1600/z035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ql1yZOOf0LdF632k5DHulncQBxvm7-yBy7oVeQs_pyTQyX2HjnR3_LfFzQSwdsh74Js2WWHFlrQhiFcNG9YGD0ixnJMkWn1Qt1iUOXv1C4NHx1UgA1Zhy6LF5t7uLHx-_UWx68856iY/s320/z035.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last trip to our local library ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC7AMhNRIR4ILLrTuxd1_l62Hy13JRpzKSutnnZofF8D6CmLINUuj7HUTbB8I08cr1rx6yMIdNJl9rbJCw8zfevFxDIpUyO3UxVl3VcVh-Xhp1P0xqVwF8JM8sgqR9UEFMmj4uzd6Pnw/s1600/z036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC7AMhNRIR4ILLrTuxd1_l62Hy13JRpzKSutnnZofF8D6CmLINUuj7HUTbB8I08cr1rx6yMIdNJl9rbJCw8zfevFxDIpUyO3UxVl3VcVh-Xhp1P0xqVwF8JM8sgqR9UEFMmj4uzd6Pnw/s320/z036.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our dear friend and one of Hattie's favorite people, over to help us with the move.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8F8RNLc97uskfaELpSsuyxexQKkOLIZC_efjviyo4qzU-3HDxivmSYXWfQaP631hkSLVcOJ7ML4-h1BOqT5ABi76s4pWd16fv9gxpFwsIQlTGUQjkc9MUbdGgeCB7MfTYRLWqH3NN_ZA/s1600/z037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8F8RNLc97uskfaELpSsuyxexQKkOLIZC_efjviyo4qzU-3HDxivmSYXWfQaP631hkSLVcOJ7ML4-h1BOqT5ABi76s4pWd16fv9gxpFwsIQlTGUQjkc9MUbdGgeCB7MfTYRLWqH3NN_ZA/s320/z037.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the road! At a rest stop.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQo57VhbWefvOEbDfWj7pDKL8dmtFc0hAVWt1r0K6El2Vsz17zFD9ZAuaVztQAlFADvSVgj5SCtVhxB2LIAP_Pu_dYZF25aje9sSD8S4s5brCFISQk7oAovS5r-cbr8MH3sIo-hOo8vYI/s1600/z038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQo57VhbWefvOEbDfWj7pDKL8dmtFc0hAVWt1r0K6El2Vsz17zFD9ZAuaVztQAlFADvSVgj5SCtVhxB2LIAP_Pu_dYZF25aje9sSD8S4s5brCFISQk7oAovS5r-cbr8MH3sIo-hOo8vYI/s320/z038.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tallahassee Auto Museum. (Costumes I ended up throwing together in the car on the drive there.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHjl5NvmbK9qTVym8l5l9N3EOZ8sroS2IYFH7PYKX9dPNGgNPYeW6UTBq47WIW7uRrMJhOihTzCs5I8aDmJl2n2JbOPnuR4ha5nzJjiuuIiJ-5WkRNH0YjK1sIxj34HP_84QWvP6WHFI/s1600/z040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHjl5NvmbK9qTVym8l5l9N3EOZ8sroS2IYFH7PYKX9dPNGgNPYeW6UTBq47WIW7uRrMJhOihTzCs5I8aDmJl2n2JbOPnuR4ha5nzJjiuuIiJ-5WkRNH0YjK1sIxj34HP_84QWvP6WHFI/s320/z040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie in the French Quarter.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYlU4hLCyYBHuZnlkmErL76eE34MLABbtCeb1ZM0sWiL9jLnmJe8jlBtsLDi3VXEah6U0qQ1Xn_bxkjm5o0k81YlSK05Sew5TN9l55riGbgJa8Wx1I6ZW4nLfndHC50Ctx35PnpbhyUM/s1600/z042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYlU4hLCyYBHuZnlkmErL76eE34MLABbtCeb1ZM0sWiL9jLnmJe8jlBtsLDi3VXEah6U0qQ1Xn_bxkjm5o0k81YlSK05Sew5TN9l55riGbgJa8Wx1I6ZW4nLfndHC50Ctx35PnpbhyUM/s320/z042.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Orleans again: reaching for Daddy's praline.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OxO8CQbbB0q_7HeJ5ch-zMPUG-XKKRmu5QXEiXmLOGoH1MDByZsq7AzoSkxNVLh0CGLcHTijSStxAy-51lDjC-qSdzLZbcslp9JVuqzVcay7sUMwWGk2IKriNldAjtbWHJEQzHahUns/s1600/z043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OxO8CQbbB0q_7HeJ5ch-zMPUG-XKKRmu5QXEiXmLOGoH1MDByZsq7AzoSkxNVLh0CGLcHTijSStxAy-51lDjC-qSdzLZbcslp9JVuqzVcay7sUMwWGk2IKriNldAjtbWHJEQzHahUns/s320/z043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stopped at a lot of grocery stores on the trip--both to eat cheaply and healthily and to make Hattie happy.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuGwWorYcji5-0TXlEzSfccWoyv0pEnTRgJJQ6W0O1OrwNM0TDGPmUcqD53P1CjuXQn6t3JjBKRnsg7Nx7eJTuh4AOY5hqFg_iJvXmeMhBjtyOGE-DkdbGKBWwwyY_l-5qSbjCo9QAb4/s1600/z044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuGwWorYcji5-0TXlEzSfccWoyv0pEnTRgJJQ6W0O1OrwNM0TDGPmUcqD53P1CjuXQn6t3JjBKRnsg7Nx7eJTuh4AOY5hqFg_iJvXmeMhBjtyOGE-DkdbGKBWwwyY_l-5qSbjCo9QAb4/s320/z044.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween in Dallas.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHEBWA4kZACDUZPYPgn6deDRrub7kmwsBGhK_m3CJBzt66NfkHxq_3KSKy8bbju5agvUHIlKa1Id4vYAhzg0goDXQ86rXYq6DYuoJYlKQYxS9kPvNlvX2eftVFXrLLrQ5iqyrH3WQLow/s1600/z048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHEBWA4kZACDUZPYPgn6deDRrub7kmwsBGhK_m3CJBzt66NfkHxq_3KSKy8bbju5agvUHIlKa1Id4vYAhzg0goDXQ86rXYq6DYuoJYlKQYxS9kPvNlvX2eftVFXrLLrQ5iqyrH3WQLow/s320/z048.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real dinosaur footprints in New Mexico. Incredible.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga85ZdejVZQYUedncQFKyYSTLGYW9WA4sgrsaV0QRBQtUKq__tFxcEvMRCZaFlTTEdUnbaXamTh05l57Y-OzibqmdxCT5XRl0t8eZCydYp5Z6Uwi2N1nNtaVnD2mS-VZQBaq_TjkJVPT4/s1600/z049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga85ZdejVZQYUedncQFKyYSTLGYW9WA4sgrsaV0QRBQtUKq__tFxcEvMRCZaFlTTEdUnbaXamTh05l57Y-OzibqmdxCT5XRl0t8eZCydYp5Z6Uwi2N1nNtaVnD2mS-VZQBaq_TjkJVPT4/s320/z049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Largest model train store in the world (Denver).</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRljhRVIZnbZ7vFpzsvz7H9HgeqGOZE6qXEaN3kWrvYEHYdae8dgB5v8yMdw41Kf1NpBngi7iJSjscWsM5mZjgZ0gnPMTvxE2Le-Z5Nozo8-ZApM_ImDRp4JQ8rGXS165ri4yFwiRnALk/s1600/z050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRljhRVIZnbZ7vFpzsvz7H9HgeqGOZE6qXEaN3kWrvYEHYdae8dgB5v8yMdw41Kf1NpBngi7iJSjscWsM5mZjgZ0gnPMTvxE2Le-Z5Nozo8-ZApM_ImDRp4JQ8rGXS165ri4yFwiRnALk/s320/z050.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"IT'S SNOWING!" (Cheyenne, WY)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjf47wSBD1PbuC4rt5pRRc27bec4usJzIuzmPn-oqNO6OhwItvH2etKkBw3dl56gQKLNPArYoNOKTk6R9DnRNuGUJhTvl1U13qwruBt0PRftanQhz78MfkQPK1MfF3TjJ4iy_vhZAWHc8/s1600/z051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjf47wSBD1PbuC4rt5pRRc27bec4usJzIuzmPn-oqNO6OhwItvH2etKkBw3dl56gQKLNPArYoNOKTk6R9DnRNuGUJhTvl1U13qwruBt0PRftanQhz78MfkQPK1MfF3TjJ4iy_vhZAWHc8/s320/z051.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antique in the hotel lobby (Jackson, WY)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdChvWu8Jv_to_oB8L9-CQU8p8amhhvA8YvB5geoLAHV-NxSYaTRp9WB2nmQq0R6CzM_tYPc0MgDVEnfJ30FVi0uQoQqBY_mtfxfBNiA7Cvrg-2Oy9dIHP0mxz8xcFYyznnNVNJI0UrBc/s1600/z052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdChvWu8Jv_to_oB8L9-CQU8p8amhhvA8YvB5geoLAHV-NxSYaTRp9WB2nmQq0R6CzM_tYPc0MgDVEnfJ30FVi0uQoQqBY_mtfxfBNiA7Cvrg-2Oy9dIHP0mxz8xcFYyznnNVNJI0UrBc/s320/z052.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butte, MT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxDKTKZFa5hCt-7dv3trm_ASyRUDg7FSqlY0Qq77-Z0m2zPMN8M35VoEEcwcrqkX7t_gJ8_E6Q8awi62YKW59dhRxWBYaMbuPLt0CnH-Kru48mGvWcq4RoF16UqQfmbtYL6UxEynZ400/s1600/z053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxDKTKZFa5hCt-7dv3trm_ASyRUDg7FSqlY0Qq77-Z0m2zPMN8M35VoEEcwcrqkX7t_gJ8_E6Q8awi62YKW59dhRxWBYaMbuPLt0CnH-Kru48mGvWcq4RoF16UqQfmbtYL6UxEynZ400/s320/z053.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie was just charming the socks off people all the way across the country. This guy at a diner in Butte was particularly taken with her--she reminded him of his fourth(!) daughter (and he also has 3 sons!). Super sweet guy; bought us breakfast! </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ILgk2dsP3T-8t9Nez4DABRAIQ0bAnGWaGfud5fFbsd9PhK5qbYbnbLm8IVWltpaxuZra-1pW_g66vgKU7AnohhxovXfiBOhAWA7350DwLnPeWeLGkepVcl7yTYhf-uCIZElPIN9Wce0/s1600/z054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ILgk2dsP3T-8t9Nez4DABRAIQ0bAnGWaGfud5fFbsd9PhK5qbYbnbLm8IVWltpaxuZra-1pW_g66vgKU7AnohhxovXfiBOhAWA7350DwLnPeWeLGkepVcl7yTYhf-uCIZElPIN9Wce0/s320/z054.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie visits Whitworth (where her parents met).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_8S5F-HOhLFMbX7n4HgPfFlGaP9hhJhESh_N0NZ5N5Wov2kTu8R-Hnn9JrMAUuHDyRmBgFHF9fDZhzImINkl7-AzjKED7BQ5IYB_pHYqGH4f04OEXXiFiui70PePULPtEo6BGaFY0Wk/s1600/z055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_8S5F-HOhLFMbX7n4HgPfFlGaP9hhJhESh_N0NZ5N5Wov2kTu8R-Hnn9JrMAUuHDyRmBgFHF9fDZhzImINkl7-AzjKED7BQ5IYB_pHYqGH4f04OEXXiFiui70PePULPtEo6BGaFY0Wk/s320/z055.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4zF2xrajdFszZLniu5CmAUc8vlO_f1vNA7bXGKA-LHBNlPBYRmPd7qWzhIy-sf7yZGi97cObBkrB7Lu_tZso8iYw55yZqqLFF0jaR2maPHMUl-JE1TF4rCNQiYENZvjbG9ugChBzA8k/s1600/z056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4zF2xrajdFszZLniu5CmAUc8vlO_f1vNA7bXGKA-LHBNlPBYRmPd7qWzhIy-sf7yZGi97cObBkrB7Lu_tZso8iYw55yZqqLFF0jaR2maPHMUl-JE1TF4rCNQiYENZvjbG9ugChBzA8k/s320/z056.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving - with turkey and stuffing.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXT7tKCt3pF50sdEsIFAvJNjsgpj_iicoCA1iMeyarnTAntXWcAeT37j-fx3idDyXfpKLVhI6HTdTK2wC5J62Fog8NIGKzKsmkcwVDmY5ZnKRWsaE6OoosXudd87Dt3VkYFwf4ur5xxJY/s1600/z057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXT7tKCt3pF50sdEsIFAvJNjsgpj_iicoCA1iMeyarnTAntXWcAeT37j-fx3idDyXfpKLVhI6HTdTK2wC5J62Fog8NIGKzKsmkcwVDmY5ZnKRWsaE6OoosXudd87Dt3VkYFwf4ur5xxJY/s320/z057.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super excited ...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlStlQo71RrS_HmxLeKhbuBVIA1pN9t1PP5tb4Wn_N28c7bec4EPNnWpCgYy0XjcUNR1h8epDHVQjNLvdd3UGX_S-AHTu1TiOZHH9A-_zsDdvbPnEidVvDqOHycd2Mi9d10Ighj0JSYbw/s1600/z058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlStlQo71RrS_HmxLeKhbuBVIA1pN9t1PP5tb4Wn_N28c7bec4EPNnWpCgYy0XjcUNR1h8epDHVQjNLvdd3UGX_S-AHTu1TiOZHH9A-_zsDdvbPnEidVvDqOHycd2Mi9d10Ighj0JSYbw/s320/z058.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... about the Christmas tree!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbzmGeGEHzEMXEpkOXN49DQY93vknCRIpN7U8npu4cVQTneiPJBGVbEdG7bK32hV1TlijitG9s7DSnzNl_WT9JTT1abUGWa2_pV8IjY7LP4FKIW_AcqmfxWqHGiBLVbhJKr9ATzOa7Z8/s1600/z059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbzmGeGEHzEMXEpkOXN49DQY93vknCRIpN7U8npu4cVQTneiPJBGVbEdG7bK32hV1TlijitG9s7DSnzNl_WT9JTT1abUGWa2_pV8IjY7LP4FKIW_AcqmfxWqHGiBLVbhJKr9ATzOa7Z8/s320/z059.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We moved from one rainy locale to another ... This was during a period of flooding. Impressive volume at Snoqualmie Falls.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fGmQJQTffpc-nj9W6l4kdTIGjzE2d95cS2livmSKonyaSJRl_-Kh9Yhyphenhyphen6AxWsIHWagZIwSTd0XDgXFyMLsS04TLYatK9tcm2_sarg2LPFIEDSu2Bf_RnAbqYIJYtOuUuj9DqHU2T9IQ/s1600/z060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fGmQJQTffpc-nj9W6l4kdTIGjzE2d95cS2livmSKonyaSJRl_-Kh9Yhyphenhyphen6AxWsIHWagZIwSTd0XDgXFyMLsS04TLYatK9tcm2_sarg2LPFIEDSu2Bf_RnAbqYIJYtOuUuj9DqHU2T9IQ/s320/z060.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie helps sell Christmas trees at the family farm.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrEV75cEWBDcnzip6fMMOSbvxZHcsLYz1SiU2rMN6ScjmlapbEGWTn56_6NbZIpepWD8YyUyOmhRVs1fQp8RgiUS0YISsz11yKlsNAbkFQ2h7XUNtUnSc45Jl_Loeeg5YZO6B0MY5jUk/s1600/z061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrEV75cEWBDcnzip6fMMOSbvxZHcsLYz1SiU2rMN6ScjmlapbEGWTn56_6NbZIpepWD8YyUyOmhRVs1fQp8RgiUS0YISsz11yKlsNAbkFQ2h7XUNtUnSc45Jl_Loeeg5YZO6B0MY5jUk/s320/z061.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 20, 2015. Happy birthday! You've got lots of family around now, Hattie!</td></tr>
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<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-81676006196641844972015-12-15T12:50:00.001-08:002015-12-15T12:50:49.266-08:00What ISIS Can Teach Us About The True Meaning Of ChristmasI don't have much time to compose this, so it's going to be really slapdash. Sorry!<br />
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- Many Americans think of "the true meaning of Christmas" as something to do with the spirit of giving and spending quality time with loved ones. More-religious types often point out that it's "really"about the birth of Jesus. Very few discuss the connection between the festival's pagan roots as a winter solstice celebration and the traditional Christian understanding that the time leading up to Christmas is actually a season called "Advent" (NOT Christmastide), which is a time of looking forward to the end of the world (Armageddon).<br />
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- Christians adopted and adapted the pagan winter solstice festival as a time of celebrating the first advent of the Messiah and anticipating his second coming because the original meaning of the holiday was the hope of light and life returning to a world shrouded in darkness and death. Advent was traditionally a solemn season wherein people felt more keenly aware of the world's need of a savior.<br />
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- ISIS is actually much closer than many Christians to getting into the true spirit of Christmas. Most American Christians have no burning desire to see Christ return because they are so comfortable with the way things are now. They are aware that other people are facing problems, but their preferred response to this is to denounce from a place of complacent indolence the "bad people" whom they blame for all the world's problems. They may be blaming terrorists, members of an opposing political party, corporations, politicians, immigrants--you name it. As long as it is someone other than themselves, they can continue living the same way they always have and feel no compulsion to make significant sacrifices.<br />
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- Members of ISIS, on the other hand, are people who feel profoundly the world's need of political, economic, and spiritual renewal. They are experiencing so deeply the world's need for radical transformation that they are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to hasten its coming. Strange as it may sound, that is about as close to the true meaning of Christmas as it gets.<br />
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- On the other hand, trying to hasten Armageddon <i>by killing people</i> is about as far from the true meaning of Christmas as it gets. Clearly, their methods are shockingly evil. Westerners are generally agreed on that.<br />
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- But if we dismiss members of ISIS as out-and-out evil people with not a shred of humanity left in them, we will fail to learn the vital lesson they have to teach us. The fact is, they are a mixture of good and evil, just like us. They have some noble hopes and worthy aspirations, just like us. And they are making some fatal mistakes, <i>just like us</i>.<br />
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- Americans desperately need to wake up to the fact that our secure and comfortable lifestyles are artificially produced at the expense of countless living beings, from the sweatshop workers who make our clothes to the cows held in pens so small they can't turn around; from the "collateral damage" of "precision drone strikes" to the ailing honey bee.<br />
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- We will not be able to overcome our enemies until we understand them--and until we are able to see ourselves in them. Often times people take up causes by making an "I am" statement that identifies them with the victim of some kind of injustice. I think it would be even better (but probably way too spiritually advanced for the general population to understand) if people were to start saying "I am [insert name of person who committed an atrocity]." The fact is, we are all one. The darkness we see in the hearts of mass murderers is a part of all of us. And WE are making the world a terrible place of pain and suffering every day with hundreds of little decisions.<br />
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- Here's something more to the true meaning of Christmas that ISIS <i>cannot </i>teach us because they don't know the Lord Jesus: the kingdom of God is going to come like a thief in the night, in a manner that people do not expect. Even now, the new world order is growing like a tiny seed in the hearts of people who have beaten their swords into plowshares. God himself is hastening the second coming by turning people away from the ways of hatred and violence, softening the soil of our souls so that something fresh and new can grow. It is not our job to violently impose our will upon others. Instead, we will see the life of Christ springing up again and again when we return goodness for evil and return hatred for love. The good news is that just like the latent spring beneath a winter frost, as the world hurtles along the course of its destiny, it's already happening and nothing to can stop it.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-76535375046409167552015-05-05T00:02:00.001-07:002015-05-05T00:02:13.196-07:00Worth Doing Badly (Pastor Mom Devotion #4)G. K. Chesterton famously said that anything worth doing is worth doing badly. I thought about this while I was pregnant and I tried to prepare for the fact that soon it would be even more the case than ever that there is not enough time to do everything I want to or to perfect things. I worked to get myself into the habit of "just doing it," whatever "it" was--usually household chores--like deep cleaning the oven--which I did(!), though in a half-assed way (case in point). <div>
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I'm still working on this lesson. The fact I still need improvement is, in part, how I got out of the habit of doing these devotions. When Joshua died, I wanted to write something in his honor, but I was afraid of doing a poor job of it, and what I posted eventually was not as good as what he deserved. But it was what I could manage. And it was better to write something than nothing.</div>
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It's the same with most writing that I do. I could probably improve by revising and editing further--or even starting over. But I don't have time for that. So I just have to trust that readers will be forgiving and perhaps fill in the missing pieces.</div>
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I'm only just starting to see how I should be doing this career-wise. I have all kinds of ideas for ministry, but I am hesitant about trying a lot of them because I feel I don't have the credentials or experience, or because I haven't thought it out well enough. But I can only expect to be on this earth for so much longer, and the needs out there are great and I don't want to waste any more time.</div>
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This week's devotion: Dear God, please help me to stop waiting and preparing and imagining instead of actually jumping in and getting things done, right now, today, immediately. Relieve the fear of criticism that holds me back, and keep before my mind's eye the real needs that are going unmet and that I could help to address. May I not be too embarrassed or ashamed, but trust that even my half-baked ideas and slap-dash efforts are worth offering. In the name of Jesus, leader of a rag-tag band of misfits, Amen. </div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-89056255509599242015-04-19T17:49:00.003-07:002015-04-19T17:49:58.434-07:00A Meditation on Joshua Horky's Passing<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes when<o:p></o:p></div>
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at our cry<o:p></o:p></div>
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God stretches out his hand<o:p></o:p></div>
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it is not to pull us up<o:p></o:p></div>
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but to push us down<o:p></o:p></div>
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like a gardener’s finger<o:p></o:p></div>
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pressing firmly<o:p></o:p></div>
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seed into soil<o:p></o:p></div>
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“And let us consider how to provoke one another to love
and good deeds …” Hebrews 10:24<o:p></o:p></div>
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At funerals and memorial services, there’s kind of an
unspoken rule that you only talk about the deceased in positive terms (which is
one reason I suspect that when it comes time for my father to bury his Dad, he
will not want to have a service at all). My husband’s best friend—who was also
a friend to me—died of cancer a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been considering this.
I think at least one reason for it is that we can honor the dead, not just by
remembering their highest virtues, but also by emulating them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I guess that needs a little more “unpacking”: <o:p></o:p></div>
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A friend is normally someone whose company you enjoy,
with whom you have shared interests. But a Christian brother or sister will
build you up. That’s one of the most important things about regularly gathering
for worship and fellowship: the Christian life is not easy, and you need other
people who are on the same path to “provoke” you to love and good deeds. (And
what was Joshua, if not “provocative”?) Not all friends are a positive
influence, but Joshua certainly was for us. He was not just a friend, but a
brother in Christ. And in this world, we need as many such friends-and-more-than-friends
as we can find, which makes it all the sadder that he’s not here any longer. So,
anyway, we can honor Joshua’s friendship now by continuing to spur (spurring?) each
other on to continue growing in faith and in love, even in Joshua’s absence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I think most people found Joshua to be very odd. I also
think most people don’t realize that homeschoolers are members of a subculture
significantly different from the mainstream American middle-class. It’s a common
worry of parents that homeschooled kids will not be socialized properly, and it’s
somewhat valid. But it’s not that homeschoolers end up lacking social skills—it’s
more that we end up with somewhat different social values and intuitions. Surprisingly
enough, though, there seems to be a kind of uniformity in the strangeness of
homeschoolers—and so, case in point, I found Joshua to be very “normal” and “familiar”
as a fellow homeschooler. And in a way, to me, it makes his death all the more
poignant. If that doesn’t make sense to you, try to imagine what it would be
like living in a foreign country. The death of a friend who was a fellow expatriate
would probably be particularly affecting to you, since there’d be one less of
your own “kind” in your social circle. Anyway, I feel that way about Joshua—there
is a wistful sense, “Alas; he was one of us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I think being a member of the homeschooling subculture encouraged
one of Joshua’s virtues which we who've survived him would do well to imitate:
he was extremely rational. To the best of his ability, he did not evaluate suggestions
based on the usual emotional considerations of how they might cause offense to
someone (especially oneself), usually by injuring pride. Instead, he considered
as objectively as possible whether something seemed to be in line with biblical
principles (according to the interpretive tradition in which his faith was
formed).<o:p></o:p></div>
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That may not seem like a huge compliment, but it is
nothing to sneeze at. Very few people are that consistent or sincere at
striving toward objectivity, and the result is all manner of self-deception and
fruitless posturing. When it comes to cutting through frivolous niceties and
irrational social expectations, Joshua should be an inspiration to us all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But, as my father always said, your greatest strengths
are also your greatest weaknesses. As I mentioned above, there is a “rule” that
(at least in public) you only say nice things about the dead. And in some ways,
that makes sense, because the deceased are not able to defend or explain
themselves in response to criticism. But at the same time, it can get to be a
bit dishonest. We’re all human—and when we acknowledge that someone was flawed
and messed up, it stirs up that sense, “Alas; he was one of us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hope that when I die people will not pretend that I
didn't make mistakes or have character flaws. I would much rather that they
acknowledge the things I did wrong, and forgive me. And in the same way that I
think we can best honor the dead by living as if they were still here to
inspire us with the virtues they embodied, we can also honor them by avoiding
and correcting the kind of mistakes that they made in life. They are not here
to work on those problems any longer—so we can do it on their behalf.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When Joshua was in a bad mood, he often felt free to
share it with others. But I forgive him for being irritable—not least of all,
because I am often the same way. And I can honor Joshua’s memory by making an
effort to notice and stop myself when I’m peevishly trying to bring others down
(well, it’s usually just Brandon—and I am sure he will approve of this method
of honoring Joshua’s memory!).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway, I thank God for Joshua’s life, for the friend he
was to Brandon, for the chance to get to know him, for the example that he was,
and for the praise and glory I trust he is offering to God even now. We miss
you, Joshua. But “love never ends” and we hope to see you again, someday.<o:p></o:p></div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-54268925664096857912015-03-28T19:05:00.002-07:002015-03-28T19:05:28.337-07:00"Sad" Is Not "Bad" (Pastor Mom Devotion #3)Earlier this week, the Teacher got very upset in the evening and screamed and cried inconsolably. Nothing would calm her down. So, after trying everything we could think of, I just rocked her and, after what seemed a long time, but I'm sure was less than half an hour, she fell asleep. She dozed for maybe five minutes, then opened her eyes, and smiled like everything was just wonderful!<div>
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She's been similarly cranky every night this week. Best we can tell, she's just getting overtired and then has a hard time settling down. It's not fun for us being unable to calm her, but thinking about it, I remember: a few times during my academic career, there were some short periods of time when I stayed up all night or almost all night working and became miserably sleep-deprived--much worse than what I've experienced as a parent of a newborn--and at the end of each of those stints, when the papers had been sent in, the exams completed, etc., I couldn't immediately go to sleep. First I needed a good hard cry. And if someone had been there and tried to stop me from sobbing and weeping, I would not have appreciated it at all.</div>
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Since the Teacher's lessons do not yet come in verbal form, I'm not certain I've comprehended correctly, but I think she's teaching me that I shouldn't expect to prevent her from suffering. Of course, I will try to save her unnecessary, pointless suffering, but no one's life will ever be pain-free. </div>
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Actually, this is something my mother talked about when I was a kid. There was a PBS program called <i>Lamb Chop's Play-Along</i> whose theme song had a verse that talked about living by the rule that "sad is bad and happy is cool." And I remember my mother commenting something like, "I don't live by that rule. It isn't bad to feel sad; it's just a part of life." </div>
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This week's prayer: Dear God, please help me to recognize when it's best simply to accept that life comes with some unhappiness and suffering. May I become less anxious and let go of the need for control when it becomes apparent I've already done as much as I can/should to relieve someone's pain. Amen. </div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-73371382651153195592015-03-20T21:03:00.000-07:002015-03-20T21:03:41.844-07:00Being A Benevolent Despot (Pastor Mom Devotion #2)I have experienced nothing worse than being at the mercy of someone who abuses their position of power. I guess you could interpret every evil committed by humans as some kind of an abuse of power. But in some cases there is mutual negotiation because the power dynamics are relatively equal. Other times, you are helpless. And having no choice but to suffer the consequences of someone else's selfishness, laziness, denial of reality, irrational fears, and/or vindictiveness is unspeakably infuriating (to me, at least).<br />
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In such situations, I have always told myself that the pain I am suffering is teaching me never to do that kind of thing to others when I am the one in a superior position. And oh my gosh, being a parent puts you in the ultimate position of power and authority over someone--especially at the beginning, when your child is completely helpless. So here I am with the opportunity to do as I have vowed in the past and be a benevolent despot.<br />
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It's very easy to do right now; the Teacher is three months old today and it feels very natural to rush to meet her need every time she cries. I'm sure that's what Mother Nature intended by making us perceive babies as adorably pathetic.<br />
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They say you can't spoil a baby this young--it's only after they've figured out cause-and-effect (yes, by dropping a spoon for you to pick up seven thousand times) that children realize they can manipulate you into giving them things they don't really need.<br />
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I wonder, though: is it really the case that children ask for things they don't need at all? I suspect not. Which is not to say that I'm planning to give my children chocolate cake for breakfast or buy them the latest video game as soon as it comes out. But in a sense, there must always be a real and valid need behind any request (whether from a child or an adult), or else they never would have asked for something. The emptiness and lack is there; they just may not have properly identified something that can fill it. I think part of being a benevolent despot is to recognize that; and not to be dismissive of requests that seem unreasonable or inappropriate.<br />
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Thankfully, the Teacher is only very gradually easing me into the challenge of learning to exercise authority judiciously.<br />
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My prayer for this week: Thank you, God, that I am blessed with the resources to provide for all of my baby's needs. You know it makes me nervous having someone who depends on me so completely, but I can rest my heart, trusting that you are taking care of me so that I can take care of her. Grant me wisdom as the baby becomes more independent so that I may still respond with compassion and understanding even when I have to tell her "no." In the name of Christ, in whom all things find their "yes" ... Amen.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-71065838146399881202015-03-13T13:55:00.002-07:002015-03-13T13:55:42.412-07:00Class Is Now In Session (Pastor Mom Devotion #1)"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 18:3 (ESV)<br />
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There's nothing like being part of a family to teach you all kinds of lessons--about yourself, human nature, the divine, the diabolical, etc., etc. In fact, you learn so much, you may be a bit overwhelmed by the time you reach adolescence. A nice long summer recess could be in order. And if you do escape the refining furnace of family life in early adulthood, marriage can be a good way to ease back into your studies. It usually means a gentle start, with challenges of gradually increasing difficulty. But when children arrive, it's like entering an accelerated learning program. At least, that's how I think of it.<br />
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So, as one of those people who's always reached for the "A" (even if I haven't always attained it), and having recently welcomed a darling little daughter into the world, I want to make the most of this opportunity. I'm giving myself a little writing assignment. I will try to post little devotions every week about the lessons Hattie has for me. To keep my head in the right space, I think I'll just refer to her as "the Teacher" for now. Not sure what I'll do when (God-willing) we've got a second child, but I'll figure out my new terminology when that happens. Hopefully that won't be for a while!<br />
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The focus of this, my first devotional reflection is that I am learning to learn(!). Yes, of course, we all start our lives learning very rapidly and naturally--but humans are also very lazy and prefer to do things the stupid old way for no good reason. So, I do have to work on my learning skills if I want to keep them sharp.<br />
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And as someone wise once pointed out (and probably pointed out many times, actually): people do not learn from experience; they learn from reflecting on their experience.<br />
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My prayer for this week: Dear God, I know that I am a poor student of life. It can take many repetitions of the same foolish mistake before I finally start to wise up. Please help me to become a faster learner--to hold more lightly to old ways of doing and thinking--to be open to what you have to teach me, especially through my little almost-three-month old daughter. Amen. </div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-62092001128316417422015-02-28T19:37:00.000-08:002015-02-28T19:37:48.406-08:00How Can We Pray Boldly For Healing, Knowing God Might Say 'No'?<div>
<b>How The Question Came Up</b></div>
My husband's best friend recently found out that his recurrent cancer is inoperable and likely to kill him in the very near future. He and his wife have been encouraging friends and family to read <a href="http://www.desiringgod.org/articles/dont-waste-your-cancer" target="_blank">this insightful article by John Piper</a>. And they have asked loved ones to join them in praying for a miracle, even as they prepare for "the worst."<br />
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<b>"Not What I Will, But What You Will"</b></div>
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So, I've been considering the question of how to pray for someone's healing, knowing God's answer may be "No." I've mostly seen people following the example of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, asking that a painful fate be averted and adding, "nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done." Obviously, this is an excellent way to pray, since it was modeled for us by Jesus himself.</div>
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<b>Faith That Moves Mountains</b></div>
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But elsewhere in scripture, it is indicated that one should pray boldly--and, in Mark 11:23-24, even with supreme confidence: "Truly I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and cast into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says is going to happen, it will be granted him. Therefore I say to you, all things for which you pray and ask, believe that you have received them, and they will be granted you" (NASB). </div>
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<b>Kicking People When They're Down</b></div>
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Some people take a passage like that and end up using it in a way that just discourages or angers those who are already desperate and in pain, telling them that they simply don't have enough faith, and if only they would believe in their hearts, then God would heal them. That's one reason people who are more kind and sensible try to sweep that passage under the rug.</div>
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<b>Don't Throw Out The Baby</b></div>
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But perhaps Jesus' teaching on mountain-moving faith really can help us in our hour of need. I say "perhaps" because apparently it requires a deeper understanding of the things of God than many people have today--and I have not yet experienced the power of this teaching myself, so I am just trying to piece together a hypothesis from what I have seen, heard, and read.</div>
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<b>"Your Heart" = Your Unconscious Mind</b></div>
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To start with, here are some ideas I've taken from a woman named Agnes Sanford (who really had experienced the healing power of faith): believing in such a way that you "do not doubt in your heart" and "believe that you have [already] received" what you're asking for means believing not just with your conscious mind, but with your unconscious mind. And that's tricky, because you do not have direct control over your unconscious mind. So, Sanford recommends that you pray by creating mental images and painting pictures with words of the healing you are asking for, in order to change your unconscious mind. She also recommends thanking God for the healing as if it had already occurred.</div>
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<b>Freedom <i>Is</i> Coming; No Doubt About It</b></div>
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I don't like to do anything that seems logically inconsistent, and thanking God for healing that has already occurred when, in fact, it hasn't--and when I know that it may not happen at all--is not something I can do easily or in good conscience. But I can see why that would be helpful to the unconscious mind. So, my thought is, I can thank God for the fact that any ailment someone has today will ultimately be healed--whether in this life, or in the Age To Come (as Jesus liked to call it). And I can thank God for saving them from death, as well--anticipating either restoration in the present or resurrection in the future. </div>
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<b>Sometimes Faith Is Blind</b></div>
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And the other little thing that niggles at my mind is that I'm afraid of putting God to shame by asking for the intervention of the Holy Spirit and then seeing no results. But if I truly believe that God is all-powerful, all-wise, and all-loving, then it follows that whatever his answer to prayer, it is the best thing possible. It may not look like it, but sometimes I just have to make that assumption. Some people heap scorn on the concept of "blind faith," but if the alternative is to put absolute trust in my puny little brain (which has been proven a profoundly unreliable organ), then I would rather trust a mysterious Someone who is bigger than me. In Luke 11:11-13, Jesus says that no good Father would give a child a snake when they've asked for a fish--and I've always thought it must work the other way around: sometimes we don't realize we're asking for a scorpion and get upset when God hands us an egg. (And an egg is a symbol of the tomb in which Jesus lay between Good Friday and Easter ... How's that for a poetic ending?!)</div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-3116789763666416082014-11-20T17:59:00.000-08:002014-11-20T18:03:50.322-08:00My Neighbor Totoro Crib Mobile<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLs_TBODit-vspW6aFJ8KIFD8tVUrGzjcZI_nqj65oDO6nVn8zQLXd2kUuMg4fs_W_sjlRRwJQrXiWnW3eSw8E6X-Khz5ulsO1yd7wiYFzLEWevZVlTYjG70UDR0j6u0NXMh4StkJxgE/s1600/dr+who+mobile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLs_TBODit-vspW6aFJ8KIFD8tVUrGzjcZI_nqj65oDO6nVn8zQLXd2kUuMg4fs_W_sjlRRwJQrXiWnW3eSw8E6X-Khz5ulsO1yd7wiYFzLEWevZVlTYjG70UDR0j6u0NXMh4StkJxgE/s1600/dr+who+mobile.jpg" height="158" width="200" /></a><br />
So, did you know you can get all kinds of cool handmade mobiles for a baby's crib (or changing table) on etsy? (A "must-have" for every new hipster parent!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtE0di3q4gbS_8cggqvbCU6sOfhYn16MwOVQFx_LZiKv4rovu_Mpj-HzbIjg6IE5Hi7sjTwR5u3SE4jKNwJsaet0jIlq-u5ul_yWOJNvXh7Unz2P3mpkOQ2O101WRkFGCP2wkmp3p2Nyw/s1600/super+mario+crib+mobile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtE0di3q4gbS_8cggqvbCU6sOfhYn16MwOVQFx_LZiKv4rovu_Mpj-HzbIjg6IE5Hi7sjTwR5u3SE4jKNwJsaet0jIlq-u5ul_yWOJNvXh7Unz2P3mpkOQ2O101WRkFGCP2wkmp3p2Nyw/s1600/super+mario+crib+mobile.jpg" height="158" width="200" /></a></div>
You could buy a Dr. Who mobile, a Super Mario mobile (after all, it is VERY important that your child begin to recognize a Fire Flower and Goomba before they start solid foods--not to mention how vital it is to implant a sense of nostalgia for these figures) ...<br />
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... You could even get a three-toed sloth mobile (!!!) ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLx7CoefhW-ac9qNZBFRVagEj1inPbXimDLqHQD2iyq4KG8oU12QRsDOdCoJ84FgoOcIQeBjYgmUzqe-a1vGdmdsIaKB8e_uEx_tqbDUxw_EO6ClNju1bkKNiayGhQ3gnvGQXKAu1UNqs/s1600/sloth+crib+mobile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLx7CoefhW-ac9qNZBFRVagEj1inPbXimDLqHQD2iyq4KG8oU12QRsDOdCoJ84FgoOcIQeBjYgmUzqe-a1vGdmdsIaKB8e_uEx_tqbDUxw_EO6ClNju1bkKNiayGhQ3gnvGQXKAu1UNqs/s1600/sloth+crib+mobile.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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So many enchanting designs! Only one crib! And a limited budget. So, I took my inspiration from this <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/182248373/baby-crib-mobile-forest-mobile-animal?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_query=my+neighbor+totoro+crib+mobile&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery">excellent My Neighbor Totoro mobile</a> (available on etsy for $95 -- yeah, not gonna happen for me) ...</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4hEjgs9Ih3e14ns88HEziha3wOogz6KSecgROv46GdBQsXYatj6-JcG25U9de5MtlUS3Ad58txKnowm-ZWNAruPcA8u_luPfIh-HFmYHpqoAOe161_px7ny9j-SqJ6p_o_tLEbk_aow/s1600/my+neighbor+totoro+mobile+etsy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4hEjgs9Ih3e14ns88HEziha3wOogz6KSecgROv46GdBQsXYatj6-JcG25U9de5MtlUS3Ad58txKnowm-ZWNAruPcA8u_luPfIh-HFmYHpqoAOe161_px7ny9j-SqJ6p_o_tLEbk_aow/s1600/my+neighbor+totoro+mobile+etsy.jpg" height="254" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my model ...</td></tr>
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And I tweaked the design a bit to make my own. For example, the catbus (nekobasu) in the above mobile does not have enough legs. Mine has more--actually, I guess I somehow miscounted and thought it was supposed to be eight on each side; really should be six. Whoops. Oh well. The more legs, the better, right? Also, I tried to show a little bit more of the different personality of each Totoro. Overall, I would say the model I used was more abstract and professional looking (and bigger), but I think mine ended up having more "character."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUo8sWPPYO2Uny1QCQI-dQHPxmYUB8A813jEJNKYfD4QbM2v3QM5paCk6H5E5PEsHLYfMcmVpfJ9C-bcL1kF3fFaoBO9lnkTvtY5_jKJ7esW-YI7rAPT2yRq6DG8S5xw5wJfN-tkmA0A/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUo8sWPPYO2Uny1QCQI-dQHPxmYUB8A813jEJNKYfD4QbM2v3QM5paCk6H5E5PEsHLYfMcmVpfJ9C-bcL1kF3fFaoBO9lnkTvtY5_jKJ7esW-YI7rAPT2yRq6DG8S5xw5wJfN-tkmA0A/s1600/002.JPG" height="203" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are the elements before I put them on strings ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oL63pCVZ1uVP8ixGqbTUDFVw7vVdsvTU-sHnxTwSY_Fhp41GfdDjRYbCtpAQaZCw3B79z3T4lWEx_gr5KZHgvuAivFgq0jwY0qmBxVOp3OUtw_R4SLtMp3zDx0bPxjOiAZCi9D22w5M/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oL63pCVZ1uVP8ixGqbTUDFVw7vVdsvTU-sHnxTwSY_Fhp41GfdDjRYbCtpAQaZCw3B79z3T4lWEx_gr5KZHgvuAivFgq0jwY0qmBxVOp3OUtw_R4SLtMp3zDx0bPxjOiAZCi9D22w5M/s1600/008.JPG" height="229" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here, hanging above baby's crib.</td></tr>
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Anyway, I wanted to leave this on the internet in case anyone else out there is looking for more inspiration/ideas/examples for a felt handmade Totoro crib mobile.<br />
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I hope the baby likes it! She should be "arriving" somewhere around a month from now ...Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-47712274790189931352014-10-17T11:35:00.001-07:002014-10-17T11:37:30.662-07:00The Legend of Charles Plumier and the Tree of Riches<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitrOU7d-_vd3R60D8kbr6gL1vbyZgkMFh9wfkzFm7kY2XQNkTq7AW_UfoF-qGlt9bNR7653ejSk8NZA7M_mAs4pYB-unV_2u4zf93TgEfKAqVEqgFWov7BHJrdx6uatbNcxPYRfeiNws/s1600/hidden+stories+in+plants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitrOU7d-_vd3R60D8kbr6gL1vbyZgkMFh9wfkzFm7kY2XQNkTq7AW_UfoF-qGlt9bNR7653ejSk8NZA7M_mAs4pYB-unV_2u4zf93TgEfKAqVEqgFWov7BHJrdx6uatbNcxPYRfeiNws/s1600/hidden+stories+in+plants.jpg" height="200" width="153" /></a>Several months ago, I came across a delightful little book called <i>Hidden Stories in Plants</i> by Anne Pelowski. The sub-title is: "Unusual and Easy-To-Tell Stories From Around the World Together With Creative Things To Do While Telling Them. "</div>
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My favorite story is the pseudo-historical tale of Charles Plumier. He was a real person, but the story is, apparently, completely made up. I don't remember the details exactly, but here is a "creative" retelling for you:</div>
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There was once a restless young man named Charles Plumier. Ever since he was a small child, he loved to hear stories of sailors and travelers who had visited strange and exotic places and he dreamed that someday, he would find hidden treasure on a daring adventure in a faraway land. So, as soon as he was old enough, Charles set out to explore the world.<br />
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Charles became first an experienced sailor, and later a well-to-do merchant, traveling far and wide and seeing many new and fascinating sights. But he never felt that he had found what he was looking for. Then, one day, having just arrived in the West Indies, he met a kindly old woman who invited him to share a cup of tea. He found himself surprisingly at ease with this woman and spoke to her about his restless search.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi22Iswwq5_Rrz6_I1iScKCm_zetK005NgH69y1i4vCHQPyrfE85WajTFv5JqkIBcLE7X4n8QnJ74fqNJV8qljnYn0ipFuLIo8dBi3nNO-I0lLGxCtfZ75PZHEgypsDHPuvjpBPkV5ofrw/s1600/cemetery+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi22Iswwq5_Rrz6_I1iScKCm_zetK005NgH69y1i4vCHQPyrfE85WajTFv5JqkIBcLE7X4n8QnJ74fqNJV8qljnYn0ipFuLIo8dBi3nNO-I0lLGxCtfZ75PZHEgypsDHPuvjpBPkV5ofrw/s1600/cemetery+night.jpg" height="203" width="320" /></a></div>
The woman smiled and looked directly into Charles's eyes. "On the next full moon," she said, "Go to the cemetery at midnight. Find the tree with white blossoms growing beside the south wall. Give the trunk a good shake and you will find the treasure you are looking for."<br />
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So, Charles waited for the next full moon, and when it came, he went to the cemetery and found the tree growing beside the south wall. He took hold of the trunk and as he shook it, a shower of blossoms fell all around him, filling the air with an intoxicating fragrance.<br />
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Charles breathed deeply and realized that in the stillness of the cemetery, the beauty of the moonlight, and the loveliness of the flowers, he had found true riches.<br />
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With a new sense of wonder, Charles Plumier dedicated the rest of his life to studying the natural world, becoming a distinguished botanist. And the "tree of riches" with the fragrant night blossoms is now known as "Plumeria" in his honor.<br />
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[the end]<br />
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It's also called "Frangipani," by the way. And here's what it looks like:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJOb5PFkujxvK9HeaajpiS7QEsUhv6jvOm0ltvEeq47piFst2AWUQdH6KaSfsAqcBet_fjF6NlXGtGyQF1ZEQy-LoKbUTBsYUHDo8kFDc3yjUHXIvLBSUuNfbN7qUBJLZkdaCDL8AYn0/s1600/frangipani+white+plumeria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJOb5PFkujxvK9HeaajpiS7QEsUhv6jvOm0ltvEeq47piFst2AWUQdH6KaSfsAqcBet_fjF6NlXGtGyQF1ZEQy-LoKbUTBsYUHDo8kFDc3yjUHXIvLBSUuNfbN7qUBJLZkdaCDL8AYn0/s1600/frangipani+white+plumeria.jpg" height="166" width="200" /></a></div>
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So, now, whenever I see this lovely little ornamental, I think of the apocryphal story of Charles Plumier. Apparently, the tree really is traditionally planted in cemeteries in certain countries (in the <i>East</i> Indies, though). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2TwuqgLh8Em-ohbDDeVjl8YIAhUdIDci6LWbsvfo8jKg4VPRatbA7kgZLSRP2G1WiR_BErX8IeLZvFf0qKx-izmQ-YXzjkJvYEpmkiymksq4zQgWVLvaxrVRaybpbDeLkoNY1FxGgJU/s1600/Charles+Plumier+stamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2TwuqgLh8Em-ohbDDeVjl8YIAhUdIDci6LWbsvfo8jKg4VPRatbA7kgZLSRP2G1WiR_BErX8IeLZvFf0qKx-izmQ-YXzjkJvYEpmkiymksq4zQgWVLvaxrVRaybpbDeLkoNY1FxGgJU/s1600/Charles+Plumier+stamp.jpg" /></a></div>
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And Plumeria really is named for the botanist, Charles Plumier who did, in fact, travel to the West Indies. But, (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Plumier">according to Wikipedia</a>) rather than starting out as a fortune-seeking sailor, Plumier became a monk at age 16 and studied math and physics before making his botanical expeditions. Oh well. It's still a nice story, and because it's already a total fabrication, it doesn't really matter if I change the details in my own re-tellings of it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqGljB6CGFE230Lqt9fzTJKkQ3juHqfQNkuBltLEnHhp7GgI-dsHwC1I9kPDoRHHbtygFiBMkUMukjBYIqW4FX1YsutZU94zHvLs5BYN5I2eQK4L9X_UhGyIDJa_FTBIpDaNheqm4WNU/s1600/frangipani.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqGljB6CGFE230Lqt9fzTJKkQ3juHqfQNkuBltLEnHhp7GgI-dsHwC1I9kPDoRHHbtygFiBMkUMukjBYIqW4FX1YsutZU94zHvLs5BYN5I2eQK4L9X_UhGyIDJa_FTBIpDaNheqm4WNU/s1600/frangipani.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-50976929048641216882014-07-28T16:51:00.003-07:002014-07-28T16:51:35.321-07:00Celebrating TodayOn rare occasions I have had the blessing of being nudged, shoved, or tumbled headlong into a new way of being, such that it feels as if I've only just begun "really living." Recently I've had a not-dramatic kind of learning experience, just gradually wandering into a state of greater enjoyment of everyday life. I used to like to sign off emails "Happy Ordinary Day!" Now I'm sort of saying it to myself inside all the time (though not literally).<div>
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Here are some ordinary things I saw and noticed how beautiful they were:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkM0fy3NCt3i9fCs7WPTcnVlBGulotxcgcQCoo2s51__aLq-TgFVCJgbmwq5QURYZtRvqydSQU4Ft-OTnfrduAU8i5Xyj-sgvFBL08xVCaJ-gSG1EBsLUwnSa1K5TRCbdixX9Qk9Nf3I/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkM0fy3NCt3i9fCs7WPTcnVlBGulotxcgcQCoo2s51__aLq-TgFVCJgbmwq5QURYZtRvqydSQU4Ft-OTnfrduAU8i5Xyj-sgvFBL08xVCaJ-gSG1EBsLUwnSa1K5TRCbdixX9Qk9Nf3I/s1600/015.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soft, verdant moss and a sprightly weed in a concrete frame with obscure abstract symbolism!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtw8e3tTObjV0qZNHGXIteNyOzN4EokpKcLQKAJrYhkFtc-gm7xGrGoRkJeYtIUG5NDXfhYvER5VQu6ugeOYAwE0OgRbXp6ZEBX3q96EnMTsOOz7hE95T-ZlarQBqr7uCrPvkcGz5zhKk/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtw8e3tTObjV0qZNHGXIteNyOzN4EokpKcLQKAJrYhkFtc-gm7xGrGoRkJeYtIUG5NDXfhYvER5VQu6ugeOYAwE0OgRbXp6ZEBX3q96EnMTsOOz7hE95T-ZlarQBqr7uCrPvkcGz5zhKk/s1600/017.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers like fireworks caught in mid-explosion, steadily and quietly displaying their brilliant color-burst for the mostly oblivious passersby </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4e4ubPIkR_ntZCf5C3DybNXToxMH6UMgxr6ua0SUPj4t-otZw-1LWhMSVljOwLPQEOqPIzCmopZnJC-3ZhtOalDVlO4JhNaVvs9npGXNI3ugWiVhu9S26bWEsmWmkqr9QwsrZ20-DjTg/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4e4ubPIkR_ntZCf5C3DybNXToxMH6UMgxr6ua0SUPj4t-otZw-1LWhMSVljOwLPQEOqPIzCmopZnJC-3ZhtOalDVlO4JhNaVvs9npGXNI3ugWiVhu9S26bWEsmWmkqr9QwsrZ20-DjTg/s1600/019.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cascade of wild green curves!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZQnrrgohq4hwXfDmh3ZxB4RZGJXofxrP3cvxM9uhRvLMBbAEd8VifZiHxvRVP3_V0Uut1Oss0xBsCXd9TS65tsNgB3mIkk00fIXkFcuGJDFlsAcc1x4Zx37_ygJo_5RLYLdepo0j4no/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZQnrrgohq4hwXfDmh3ZxB4RZGJXofxrP3cvxM9uhRvLMBbAEd8VifZiHxvRVP3_V0Uut1Oss0xBsCXd9TS65tsNgB3mIkk00fIXkFcuGJDFlsAcc1x4Zx37_ygJo_5RLYLdepo0j4no/s1600/022.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An insect of elegant symmetry who appears to have died peacefully, in a zen-like position on the sidewalk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Hope you're having a happy Ordinary Day, too! Now it's time for a walk without the camera. (-:</div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-28791248470730104542014-06-17T15:24:00.000-07:002014-06-17T15:24:01.291-07:00The "Real Story" Behind the Recent SCOTUS Gun Control RulingI don't watch any kind of televised news program, but I do listen to NPR. And that means I am most often exposed only to the leftist bias in the media. So, this post is for anyone else who gets their news from a liberal source, but is interested in hearing more from "the other side."<br />
<br />
Yesterday, NPR was reporting on Abramski v. United States and the way they introduced and explained the facts made it sound so obvious that Abramski was in error, I wondered why the court would have heard the case at all. Then they mentioned the conservative justices had dissented and I guessed there must be more to the story than any good progressive journalist would want to tell the public.<br />
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So, today I looked up the case on <a href="http://www.scotusblog.com/case-files/cases/abramski-v-united-states/">scotusblog.com</a> and skimmed the petitioner's brief and the dissenting opinion. The way the story was told on NPR was basically like this: current gun laws state that you cannot buy a gun on someone else's behalf and so, at the point of sale, one must sign a statement identifying oneself as the "actual buyer." This is in order to keep people from buying guns and then selling or giving them to individuals who would not be able to pass a background check. Abramski bought a gun, certifying himself as the "actual buyer," but then gave the gun to his uncle. Abramski argued that this should have been fine because his uncle was eligible to have bought the gun himself.<br />
<br />
Okay, so, that version of the story doesn't sound too good for Abramski. But here is the story from the petitioner's brief (<a href="http://sblog.s3.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Brief-of-Petitioner.pdf">found here, on the SCOTUS blog</a>--I'll put it in purple because it's easier than trying to indent with blogger):<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;">"In the fall of 2009, Petitioner Bruce Abramski’s elderly uncle decided he wanted a gun to protect himself </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;">inside his home. He went to petitioner for advice because petitioner was a former police officer and had experience with firearms. Petitioner told his uncle that he could obtain a law enforcement discount at gun stores and offered to buy the gun for his uncle to save him some money. Pet. App. 3a; JA 26a, 28a.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">"Petitioner’s uncle wanted to ensure that they 'do things by the book,' so he spoke to three different licensed</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;">gun dealers to ensure that petitioner could buy the gun for him and legally transfer it to him at another gun dealer near his home. JA 27a-28a, 31a. <b>All three gun dealers confirmed that petitioner lawfully could purchase the gun for his uncle in Virginia and then transfer title to his uncle through a licensed gun dealer in Pennsylvania.</b> Pet. App. 3a; JA 28a, 31a.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">"After determining that the gun transfer would be legal, petitioner’s uncle sent him a check to cover the cost </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;">of the gun. Petitioner then went to a local gun store and bought the gun. As part of the necessary paperwork and background check, petitioner filled out ATF Form 4473, discussed supra at 8-10. Petitioner checked the 'Yes' box in response to question 11.a, indicating that he was the actual buyer. SA-1.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">"After buying the gun, petitioner traveled to his uncle’s hometown and met him at a nearby gun store. </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><b>Petitioner and his uncle filled out all the necessary federal paperwork to resell the gun to his uncle. <i>His uncle passed the required background check</i> and petitioner and his uncle paid all the necessary transfer fees.</b> At a hearing in the district court, an ATF agent testified under oath that petitioner’s transfer of the gun to his uncle was lawful." </span>[Boldface and italics added by me for emphasis.]<br />
<br />
Different story, eh?<br />
<br />
I also thought that the <a href="http://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/13pdf/12-1493_k5g1.pdf">dissenting opinion</a> made an excellent point with the observation that a person is lawfully deemed the "actual buyer" even if they purchase a gun that is intended as a gift, or intended for resale, or even intended to be given away at a raffle. In none of those cases would the person at the counter be considered a "straw" for calling themselves the "actual buyer."<br />
<br />
Also interesting is the following from the "<a href="http://www.scotusblog.com/2014/06/opinion-analysis-no-stand-in-gun-buyers-allowed/">opinion analysis</a>" on the SCOTUS blog by Lyle Denniston:<br />
<br />
"The practical effect of the ruling is likely to be shutting down, or at least cutting back on, an active market in gun-buying by 'straw purchasers' — that is, mere stand-ins for the real buyers. The Court cited data that about half of all federal investigations of illegal gun trafficking involve such purchasers."<br />
<br />
Denniston implies that it's both common for people to act as "straws" in cases of "illegal gun trafficking" and (until now) difficult to prosecute them. But if that's true, why didn't any of those cases make it to the Supreme Court? Why is the issue only coming up in a situation like this, where the poor gentleman convicted of a crime had only positive intentions <i>and</i> had taken reasonable measures to ensure that everything was above-board?<br />
<br />
Well, anyway, I don't have a personal opinion on whether the majority or the dissenting opinion was right on this case. But I do like to find out some of the additional details of stories which are reported upon in a biased manner in major news sources. And now I have shared some findings, in case anyone else is interested.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-11693832161214377262014-06-09T19:23:00.002-07:002014-06-09T19:23:44.896-07:00Why Have Children?Some recent conversations got me thinking about why I want to have kids--a relevant topic as I've been enduring some miserable symptoms of early pregnancy--good to remember what the point of it all is.<div>
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And the main thing, for me, is that I had a very happy childhood and I cannot imagine a greater gift I could give to another person. That's not to say that it was perfect; far from it--there was quite a bit of unhappiness, too--and that's probably inevitable. But I have so many memories of beautiful, joyous moments.</div>
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It's true that I was plagued from a very young age (if not from the beginning of conscious life) by a deep and pervasive sense of shame--as if there was something wrong with me for which I deserved punishment that had not yet come, but surely would. And <i>thank God</i> that's gone away by stages later in life.</div>
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But in spite of that anxiety-producing and ever-present backdrop to all experiences, I nonetheless also felt secure and loved by God and my family, enjoying a kind of peaceful trust and faith that all was well and would be well. Maybe those two things sound contradictory or mutually exclusive. It's always seemed strange to me, as well, that the two feelings about the universe and my place in it could coexist, but as I recall, they just did.</div>
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I hope that my children might have even less anxiety and even more happiness--but I know it will be some kind of mixture of the two. Anyway, I will do my best.</div>
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Every person who comes into the world is a glorious gift and for the few that I'll have the honor of parenting, I just want to give the very best chance I can offer them at realizing their potential. It's what my parents did for me, for which I am genuinely grateful, and I'd like to pass on the favor to the next generation.</div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-58232447205601795352014-05-30T21:47:00.002-07:002014-05-30T23:04:46.163-07:00A Foresty Excursion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Earlier this week I got to visit (very briefly) a Presbyterian retreat center in Montreat, NC.</div>
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The air was so fresh and clean, I felt all vivified and renewed.</div>
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A few pictures from the trip:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GopaWmTHcUJ0PWJlrqgW6owPZLr82VaSwb7B55t9PvN-IR0cz5dmzh6I8jTIHZ9xbdjcBZc8KctpuFjruxwSy5FS1j0aEIpqH3C6WTJ5uRg3dsN7RbnQkDFzMao416tSmTY4ENu0twY/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GopaWmTHcUJ0PWJlrqgW6owPZLr82VaSwb7B55t9PvN-IR0cz5dmzh6I8jTIHZ9xbdjcBZc8KctpuFjruxwSy5FS1j0aEIpqH3C6WTJ5uRg3dsN7RbnQkDFzMao416tSmTY4ENu0twY/s1600/003.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Takeoff in Tampa</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0XZiZlb2GitdoZGFWgGnxoqOP8Er93VRLhqxNBA-qFsvgx4hKyBbE_VjfpnAJKhbxZcOev6XBKm6Ol1Jfb7kQU9hzOYpIKotQlHaqVLYtNpSZ9JLMb92OVr54ltrC0MLV-By3rJ62iQ/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0XZiZlb2GitdoZGFWgGnxoqOP8Er93VRLhqxNBA-qFsvgx4hKyBbE_VjfpnAJKhbxZcOev6XBKm6Ol1Jfb7kQU9hzOYpIKotQlHaqVLYtNpSZ9JLMb92OVr54ltrC0MLV-By3rJ62iQ/s1600/006.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSlUx-rtbtP6wI3RxeYG9NjGCODsECTOSttcdk4dxtNAg0HLkRV5yb75m4Hr8Ck7wjNkIn65hIWqtcgQnYhZf4FDi9Dp1QQ5eFNzboe__-LeZUIc9iLAgM0QixrFpZOqDgBBgxROCK4M/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSlUx-rtbtP6wI3RxeYG9NjGCODsECTOSttcdk4dxtNAg0HLkRV5yb75m4Hr8Ck7wjNkIn65hIWqtcgQnYhZf4FDi9Dp1QQ5eFNzboe__-LeZUIc9iLAgM0QixrFpZOqDgBBgxROCK4M/s1600/007.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRCl0qIRBTsnjuqN-U4esXHB-cG7mJlnBCeLhZMMII6EXeMtSkqdzTHRZqfVtzEGAYPwtunLYBcpw_Ao-jP8g-t6NfkwV_7zsrG70XXsMIOQ031pEYmDNeP8fb5JnLQJkb2U_jMSqT2U/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRCl0qIRBTsnjuqN-U4esXHB-cG7mJlnBCeLhZMMII6EXeMtSkqdzTHRZqfVtzEGAYPwtunLYBcpw_Ao-jP8g-t6NfkwV_7zsrG70XXsMIOQ031pEYmDNeP8fb5JnLQJkb2U_jMSqT2U/s1600/012.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mystery tree on the right with white flowers. Wondered if it could be dogwood (state flower) but seems the leaves are too wavy(???). If anyone knows, please help!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNv-Dus9d8n7QwSa5zgfeW7JS9lNI8whGYyUgH4r9OrI-YUDdEfiu_VbsTzGb-GYUksIueZUEUnB9IHgpMvdDQ52OEWga2gAaXGpF5JzzVgJaP8f04Sso8U-42TB6Eg04VaI9U8sdARc/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNv-Dus9d8n7QwSa5zgfeW7JS9lNI8whGYyUgH4r9OrI-YUDdEfiu_VbsTzGb-GYUksIueZUEUnB9IHgpMvdDQ52OEWga2gAaXGpF5JzzVgJaP8f04Sso8U-42TB6Eg04VaI9U8sdARc/s1600/019.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuliptree</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLHQQrc70zh836XRRTVTC-MQvH9zl67yCSRpFWpNMkpKJWJ9C7S6nGEFmPlnIgN9HAJoi5uAQxUnIbboez0XRClefVfAlkb4K1EUdYbRNDzAf7hpkp6Mcqg_TQ2vpElQkpfddBc5qC9U/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLHQQrc70zh836XRRTVTC-MQvH9zl67yCSRpFWpNMkpKJWJ9C7S6nGEFmPlnIgN9HAJoi5uAQxUnIbboez0XRClefVfAlkb4K1EUdYbRNDzAf7hpkp6Mcqg_TQ2vpElQkpfddBc5qC9U/s1600/025.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Pc3qVahZg0PtHKNsVZHdmIsQU3hWYYg-alYelX5wdNV9vqA9YsvvqYaKdv8iOTaqcCrmquFvsb6oeUHOvigT2nEXm-t92nwDHUXLfomH26HbqrXeGo743AWQv6lW_JeV8ZQH2O7TWWQ/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Pc3qVahZg0PtHKNsVZHdmIsQU3hWYYg-alYelX5wdNV9vqA9YsvvqYaKdv8iOTaqcCrmquFvsb6oeUHOvigT2nEXm-t92nwDHUXLfomH26HbqrXeGo743AWQv6lW_JeV8ZQH2O7TWWQ/s1600/027.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fraser magnolia? (Or maybe bigleaf magnolia?)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3odwkWvG4eNnzxC62uOXGtuR5jGy05c8BUW-wGkI96FH4woYhsJcsAysGYNd9x7bwCNAhma_cApNHoKwMMunp_Qbz9cHoJ1KexwThEZ-jVNPRckLr8J0V03YAiHIN7bmB7A398Yr7yXg/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3odwkWvG4eNnzxC62uOXGtuR5jGy05c8BUW-wGkI96FH4woYhsJcsAysGYNd9x7bwCNAhma_cApNHoKwMMunp_Qbz9cHoJ1KexwThEZ-jVNPRckLr8J0V03YAiHIN7bmB7A398Yr7yXg/s1600/034.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this is some kind of "mountain laurel"</td></tr>
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<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-85961060993589343822014-05-09T12:35:00.002-07:002014-05-09T12:35:56.204-07:00Why Americans See Fewer MiraclesThere are primarily two explanations I've heard as to why we seem to see fewer miracles in the U.S. (and other developed nations) than in third world contexts:<div>
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1. People there are more credulous--they describe things as miracles which westerners would explain in a more scientific manner.</div>
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2. We have less faith.</div>
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Neither of these explanations has ever felt entirely satisfactory to me. In my experience, it's usually been western missionaries who make the comparison between the prevalence of miracles here vs. there--so a kind of culturally conditioned credulity wouldn't completely explain the difference. And as for faith: it's such a poorly defined term, it just doesn't seem very meaningful to use as an explanation without further elaboration.</div>
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But I was thinking the other day about the utility of religion (in general) as a sociological phenomenon. And as I asked myself whether "secular humanism" should be considered a religion, since it is a set of beliefs and values, I considered that there are no ceremonies or rituals associated with it. And I then thought to myself that religious rituals and ceremonies are primarily a way of putting people in touch with, and perhaps shaping, the unconscious mind. Chanting, singing, meditation, memorizing and repeating liturgical statements in unison with a group, symbolic actions, dancing, "speaking in tongues," etc. are all intended to help people enter something of a trance-like state in which the power of the unconscious can be accessed. </div>
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And that's actually very important. As we learn very definitely from the (scientific) study of hypnotic states, some things that are impossible for the conscious mind are quite easy for the unconscious mind to accomplish.</div>
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But most Americans don't seem to be at all aware that trance or trance-like states are desirable or even possible. I wonder if people in other countries who experience more miracles may have cultural practices that help trance states to become a normal, everyday occurrence. If so, it would make sense that they'd be able more easily to access the unconscious mind in their prayers for healing.</div>
Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-60589434655048096942014-04-04T22:15:00.000-07:002014-04-04T22:17:10.629-07:00Winter (poem and pictures)Okay, so I started writing a poem about winter a while ago and only just finished it this evening. Here it is with some wintry photos from earlier this year. Sorry it's so unseasonal now.<br />
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Winter<br />
<br />
I.<br />
<br />
Why should I not welcome<br />
the bitterness that bites<br />
all that was lazily flowing<br />
pinched and dry?<br />
My heart has learned to wait<br />
on flames that rise from cinders;<br />
to pulse with, sense the latent sap.<br />
I have seen many winters.<br />
<br />
<br />
II.<br />
<br />
Falling mercury understates the slowing down of<br />
—molecules in stately waltz—<br />
the things of earth, reduced, distilled:<br />
the undisturbed reflection<br />
of their former selves yet more:<br />
the thing of which the self is a reflection.<br />
Be still and know.<br />
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III.<br />
<br />
Imperious ice demands its due,<br />
wind whipping subjects to submission.<br />
No hint of summer’s warm inviting<br />
stirs the hardened air itself.<br />
Yet flame and frost as any pair<br />
of lovers at their heart are one:<br />
at winter’s core, a blaze must roar.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhW3BsSs4a1mrQw2LlNpGstQ85chyphenhyphenayfQpBquvej81pDUFvLFxhU3v8yL0lwUGdGsJvsOo_jM-_VG-aQ4Msf6Mm2HjHu2MGcCY9OLIjXVU6h_uvWGVSvSuDQXVlzfVNVdFnzlkjd0pp7o/s1600/040+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhW3BsSs4a1mrQw2LlNpGstQ85chyphenhyphenayfQpBquvej81pDUFvLFxhU3v8yL0lwUGdGsJvsOo_jM-_VG-aQ4Msf6Mm2HjHu2MGcCY9OLIjXVU6h_uvWGVSvSuDQXVlzfVNVdFnzlkjd0pp7o/s1600/040+(2).JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Lanier, Georgia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqB_L3GhRkTmcamOBOAP1NzDeKj3KFxQDRWp6htTG0dfUwNkbDpnyKjBAjZl6RDuIu8xlFR_Q212cVdYFlnJi8YvqX-2f8zv3CvS_9uStJJDfxomT4YygDGfO29ze09UAcXdKmPf-DJoU/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqB_L3GhRkTmcamOBOAP1NzDeKj3KFxQDRWp6htTG0dfUwNkbDpnyKjBAjZl6RDuIu8xlFR_Q212cVdYFlnJi8YvqX-2f8zv3CvS_9uStJJDfxomT4YygDGfO29ze09UAcXdKmPf-DJoU/s1600/031.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minneapolis</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0APDFTqv37e97KfhK-EfkDMVWum4aXO3yQt5oqSifbqDB7G3Z3mnIMaZZBBc80UK0hwDu1t2UPAT7llxYR3gIEfSnY1LXC3It1Pjuz0oJeucug9Y9fWznhr0sWNuaU7HaagGYkdBtYY/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0APDFTqv37e97KfhK-EfkDMVWum4aXO3yQt5oqSifbqDB7G3Z3mnIMaZZBBc80UK0hwDu1t2UPAT7llxYR3gIEfSnY1LXC3It1Pjuz0oJeucug9Y9fWznhr0sWNuaU7HaagGYkdBtYY/s1600/040.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Duvall, WA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvmYuaC_Bnn-yAYPxizMBVyHO5mjJqhKMHmGy9aPav01CK47BZnzPlXhOHqUcQUgAohbt1IwTV49YHRFkOTHEY_S_IxFuUDjA9gvX5FzwRMlZCsRIdVOqzDQ86SKhWEacS_5uAaTUctY/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvmYuaC_Bnn-yAYPxizMBVyHO5mjJqhKMHmGy9aPav01CK47BZnzPlXhOHqUcQUgAohbt1IwTV49YHRFkOTHEY_S_IxFuUDjA9gvX5FzwRMlZCsRIdVOqzDQ86SKhWEacS_5uAaTUctY/s1600/042.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Duvall, WA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqogGN_JznghQPTAhSf1rhIryIid7HP8UmXo1S9VCwg9HhAgpQYesNRpuKgnuuKDoMp2o9Vf7NGarhzWlMhh4VYv_E4TikX2XUbRo7ulQB1V9usAxyok_GNQTsEeULg5faZhy2znGNLw/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqogGN_JznghQPTAhSf1rhIryIid7HP8UmXo1S9VCwg9HhAgpQYesNRpuKgnuuKDoMp2o9Vf7NGarhzWlMhh4VYv_E4TikX2XUbRo7ulQB1V9usAxyok_GNQTsEeULg5faZhy2znGNLw/s1600/045.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Lanier, Georgia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNlSYGq6fM95mJK7VZijrwchwIsAGCZX0e1aemfF_seG-jSk8Ai4_9_Rs7cUyiW-IXsqDwf1IKZFIBVnDuB097iOmTcJw5TxPSpG11rgxRxkUiGnfNiWutPxj__q2g6E8DnPhfewCzv4/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNlSYGq6fM95mJK7VZijrwchwIsAGCZX0e1aemfF_seG-jSk8Ai4_9_Rs7cUyiW-IXsqDwf1IKZFIBVnDuB097iOmTcJw5TxPSpG11rgxRxkUiGnfNiWutPxj__q2g6E8DnPhfewCzv4/s1600/043.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elementary school garden, Duvall, WA</td></tr>
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<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-50727927724067721192014-02-03T22:15:00.001-08:002014-02-03T22:15:34.441-08:00Rest In Peace, Philip Seymour HoffmanWhen Brandon told me last night, I was ... well ... shocked. I guess you could say "of course," but I've never been so affected by the death of a celebrity. It's not just that I'm sad I won't get to see him in more movies (which is very sad, indeed). Before yesterday, if his name had come up, I would have said that he was a phenomenal actor, which is true. But I didn't realize until I heard he'd died what a unique and powerful presence he had. His performances spoke so directly to the heart. (Being habitually cynical/suspicious about emotional ways of "knowing," I doubt myself even as I write this, but I tell you, I don't think I would be so grieved if Hoffman hadn't communicated something especially "real" through his movies--more so even than other great practitioners of his craft.)<br />
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Rest in peace, Philip Seymour Hoffman. Your loss is felt.Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8975445349407458580.post-80577233161121547872014-01-13T20:06:00.000-08:002014-05-10T02:32:19.731-07:00World's Largest Entertainment McDonald'sWe finally made our pilgrimage to the World's Largest Entertainment McDonald's (located in Orlando). It was ... well .. let me <i>show</i> you ...<br />
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As I understand it, an "entertainment McDonald's" is a McDonald's that contains an arcade. And the World's Largest Entertainment McDonald's also has a "gourmet bistro" with special menu items not available at a normal McDonald's.<br />
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While you wait in line to order, you can look into these glass cases that display plastic incarnations of the novel offerings.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNV1d6zZvjjsaZh7VjD0G6l_e9xmPxxWGLCZtHYvSuF4VEP8ABAHdyuQ-KlpGgMtQP_wFYYqdYCuYM_CYl5KKFqvveM5IVE0StUmE-wQEvFj4SmPCcVfiXcGSQyZZ3FvAOH54aci2aGYg/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNV1d6zZvjjsaZh7VjD0G6l_e9xmPxxWGLCZtHYvSuF4VEP8ABAHdyuQ-KlpGgMtQP_wFYYqdYCuYM_CYl5KKFqvveM5IVE0StUmE-wQEvFj4SmPCcVfiXcGSQyZZ3FvAOH54aci2aGYg/s640/035.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZSqzOxydEZqAYhPZqxbOvsfkabR1zzRTXVEp6Yefw9iB5SqyL34W09Ny7m6Y6RwHoP_pT-zGW0KDZ1xRsHMtmJt1aAPl-1yONgz5SR0qXOn2LsWpPv_isMeWdJRcd4LFT4Etilr5a_U/s1600/038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZSqzOxydEZqAYhPZqxbOvsfkabR1zzRTXVEp6Yefw9iB5SqyL34W09Ny7m6Y6RwHoP_pT-zGW0KDZ1xRsHMtmJt1aAPl-1yONgz5SR0qXOn2LsWpPv_isMeWdJRcd4LFT4Etilr5a_U/s640/038.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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(The "play food" looked even more unappetizing in real life than in these photos.)<br />
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After ordering, we waited about 20 mins to pick up our food. Luckily, the ordinary large fries we ordered was given to us immediately, so we didn't starve. But the fries were old and stale. The only sense in which I can say it was worth the wait for the unusual food items is that we then knew what the food was like (and no longer had any reason to order there again.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwDLCLg7vKh0DM7VO111VUDFoYCcnarEsO_g5JUad4py_9_y159xgdwAWPObKikCGkxoAVbm3hoC8gswaSMQLaUjEGk0noD78XAotPQROXTsPwwm_kq8Q-ySh4OLFRjG7CmR4SqYxbDZg/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwDLCLg7vKh0DM7VO111VUDFoYCcnarEsO_g5JUad4py_9_y159xgdwAWPObKikCGkxoAVbm3hoC8gswaSMQLaUjEGk0noD78XAotPQROXTsPwwm_kq8Q-ySh4OLFRjG7CmR4SqYxbDZg/s320/043.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Reuben looked better than it tasted.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandon got some kind of patty melt. It was also kind of gross.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQnyraWy5-Y7KVWx4do0wg0h-LhoNIeYjiPfW2JmMz3Wnb9Z-wLdXjNJd3ii7g8IUuk_Xg9KtTJq0j6GzJwPqyz7Q8kswWpISR8ajUgNMS6MsltBnsmU17xN44X9JqE-Vo3bjVoJClHU/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQnyraWy5-Y7KVWx4do0wg0h-LhoNIeYjiPfW2JmMz3Wnb9Z-wLdXjNJd3ii7g8IUuk_Xg9KtTJq0j6GzJwPqyz7Q8kswWpISR8ajUgNMS6MsltBnsmU17xN44X9JqE-Vo3bjVoJClHU/s320/045.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We probably should have tried the pizza. It looked okay.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwCV95C46LlINkTKeIV8c1PzxiIq8xj3yqDyCKYfWvO_oRruwQ5Gvzz3O6B2ea9QsPLcDPQb3DhNSKO5N5jmWOzX0mPtp3fTlzLhWhXEe8hQOGpQFwo2xnys_AvrI1eOCYZnZBKRZGqc/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwCV95C46LlINkTKeIV8c1PzxiIq8xj3yqDyCKYfWvO_oRruwQ5Gvzz3O6B2ea9QsPLcDPQb3DhNSKO5N5jmWOzX0mPtp3fTlzLhWhXEe8hQOGpQFwo2xnys_AvrI1eOCYZnZBKRZGqc/s400/040.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandon was surprised I knew the name of this old mascot: Mac Tonight. <br />
(Sadly, he doesn't actually make music or anything--just a statue.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjctrx2e5c1TfPYw1K1nd2D8GpQFzlf3AjYkVUTvnapj9KcWgHnAGtNbGYSt6HCdD43EVuAIiir9VhZgaGO9N8OAZ1ThNS3KfwaACs2Awk6q3NMpuq5WGqp73SIbU0UI38CDckUHHZkc/s1600/052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjctrx2e5c1TfPYw1K1nd2D8GpQFzlf3AjYkVUTvnapj9KcWgHnAGtNbGYSt6HCdD43EVuAIiir9VhZgaGO9N8OAZ1ThNS3KfwaACs2Awk6q3NMpuq5WGqp73SIbU0UI38CDckUHHZkc/s400/052.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The second floor of the building is an arcade.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2ssCLe_6LgQxHHe18ML9qrhx3kBZcxWJpnW84JRsMRdXjgG1AugM7UUUD22_1Kf_hZbKhF24AUf8UFvFQwLjY5ErShPvHC-LPbwPHUxKLYmIntZ_mttLddGHPNRoImjh_ISPdpM98Q4/s1600/048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2ssCLe_6LgQxHHe18ML9qrhx3kBZcxWJpnW84JRsMRdXjgG1AugM7UUUD22_1Kf_hZbKhF24AUf8UFvFQwLjY5ErShPvHC-LPbwPHUxKLYmIntZ_mttLddGHPNRoImjh_ISPdpM98Q4/s400/048.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It has some interesting decorations.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Oa2xXSjIRz-YSayUpXhmoBiUgXPMWDpZ-AsCTM09RUCdAeyDQfJC2nq-YRlBNInprxd_jRKur4zvsQiqQwkJIM5oxrHYbtt5BXl2swhEuDFZ0jcoR-UjrHZ2Ha4gZBhBo33qaadDVs/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7Oa2xXSjIRz-YSayUpXhmoBiUgXPMWDpZ-AsCTM09RUCdAeyDQfJC2nq-YRlBNInprxd_jRKur4zvsQiqQwkJIM5oxrHYbtt5BXl2swhEuDFZ0jcoR-UjrHZ2Ha4gZBhBo33qaadDVs/s400/046.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was tempted buy the Fry Kids wall clock in the gift shop, but I somehow managed to resist.</td></tr>
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To fully appreciate the place, I think you'll have to witness it in person.</div>
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<br />Virgie P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518011349978725414noreply@blogger.com0