tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14390793532308212602024-03-16T00:08:17.270-07:00EVolutionYitter-Yatter, Odds n' Ends, Bits n' Pieces from the wee corner of the world that is my Eden.EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.comBlogger281125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-77882093888917979502018-01-03T07:01:00.001-08:002018-01-03T18:15:39.227-08:00The Word<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last year it was 'Streamline'; 2016 was 'Create', 2015 was 'Write'; before that it was 'Clarity & 'Simplicity'. It doesn't take a pyscho-analyst to see those damn ducks were trying to be rowed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh man, I have just unlocked the key to the frustrations I have had for decades in achieving so few of my annual goals. It was simply an unrealistic expection.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1wtqLaHfY4D0td-bj6xhsALp-kj7tp0ErWMCOk84d5ZJsOBU2nzVYPk33S8SxAGV-igg8G3BKH6Gl4iZmN24cM8coha7oZUjBqcAYI-LOZ2fFu1AbwmRb-y8nR0hBAiQqqxGiE_zpED_/s1600/cr0w.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="828" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1wtqLaHfY4D0td-bj6xhsALp-kj7tp0ErWMCOk84d5ZJsOBU2nzVYPk33S8SxAGV-igg8G3BKH6Gl4iZmN24cM8coha7oZUjBqcAYI-LOZ2fFu1AbwmRb-y8nR0hBAiQqqxGiE_zpED_/s640/cr0w.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now that I am not only content but downright excited to allow my ducks to be crows and embrace that, I am just going to follow them as they flit around from place to place. I am going to be amused and entertained with what they pick up and where they lead me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They just led me to my Word of the Year. I knew it would present itself when the time was right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's 'Crowth'.That is going to be my focus. Or lack of.</span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-19841222563946724542018-01-02T06:43:00.000-08:002018-01-03T18:16:47.689-08:00Crowing in the Right Direction<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Something else made me shift from writing this blog. The first years when I was doing it regularly I was doing it just for ME. I didn't expect anyone would read it. I just like to write. I was just yattering away to myself because it was an exciting new format to play with. It was an opportunity to exercise my passions of writing and photography..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then somehow I got to lead to the belief that it should be of 'value'; it should have a 'point'. What if someone actually read it and thought it was pointless. It became intimidating. I suddenly felt that it had to 'be something' ... that I had to 'be something'... entertaining, educational, informative ... Something.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well ... now that I have set my ducks free, I am also releasing any notion that I have to BE anything. I am going to go back to yattering to myself and see where it leads. It might lead in circles. Who really cares? There's more than enough on the internet for people who actually want to read something of value to find that without me. I am more than content to know that the only people who would ever read this are the ones who already know how off-centre I am; how 'crow-like' in being distracted by shiny ... or ANY objects.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hey ... that's what the problem was ... I never did have ducks. I had crows. No darn wonder I couldn't get them in a row. Crows are definitely rowless. You have never, ever heard someone say 'I am getting all my crows in a row.' For me I guess it was 'all my ducks in a cROW' and that obviously is just not going to work. All that time wasted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am going to embrace my inner Crow. This will be a year of Crowth.</span></div>
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</span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-19899894006366581042018-01-01T06:23:00.000-08:002018-01-03T06:28:04.664-08:00Duckless<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been eleven years since I started this blog. I really used to enjoy writing it. Then came Social Media, the 'hijacking' tool. It hijacked my thoughts and my time. It is more 'dialogue', connecting with friends, meeting new ones, gathering up information, being led from one interesting fact or site to another. Yes, the rabbit hole. I like it. A lot. But it leads me away from here. For long periods of time I forget this exists.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to laugh at myself. At the start of every year I am so keen to get all my ducks in a row. It takes less and less time each year before they scatter. Sometimes I think I should just get rid of the ducks. But then again, who would I be without my ducks? I might want to release a couple because they're fairly geriatric, but then again, I have been feeding those suckers for decades. And really, who even cares that I am an inefficient duck herder other than me. I am just going to totally turn them loose. My ducks are all officially now 'free range'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So ... here I go again. I am not, like I have in the past ... oh lordy - how many decades? ... giving myself a 'goal' to write 'x number' of posts and continue to not achieve that goal. I will just dump that, scatter the ducks and write because I like to write.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh ... second thought. I DO need a goal. I am not quite ready to be duckless and goal-less all at once. My goal ... Remember that I actually have this blog.</span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-51700003093239998732017-06-23T11:40:00.001-07:002017-06-25T06:30:36.837-07:00OBITUARY: Emma Sally Ann<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqQh-9bhM3TyiE8Gwg-EvnFTUl6hXW_V_I2EEn-zhSPXz2cUNZqMJHDguaTKYSaMaYL0UHU7QidLXR8MH_GhBQcQ2Sk620-ha0FNvULhAO_XautLkysenfgs2ByKhaCr8yUWTfBrpwD-4/s1600/ESA2frame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1209" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqQh-9bhM3TyiE8Gwg-EvnFTUl6hXW_V_I2EEn-zhSPXz2cUNZqMJHDguaTKYSaMaYL0UHU7QidLXR8MH_GhBQcQ2Sk620-ha0FNvULhAO_XautLkysenfgs2ByKhaCr8yUWTfBrpwD-4/s400/ESA2frame.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is
with profound regret and a measure of deep sadness that I mourn the
demise of Emma Sally Ann. Some, I suspect will be inclined to
celebrate rather than grieve her passing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">ESA had
been in robust health, thriving in fact, up until the last couple
years. Her decline had been gradual; a natural process of aging.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Emma
Sally Ann was born in the countryside in the early 60's, the daughter
of Necessity and Imagination. She was nurtured in the pre-craft store
era, long before the advent of garage sales and on-line anything. Her
ancestry undoubtedly involved crows and gypsies as she was especially
drawn to vibrant colour and shiny bits. She was a pioneer – a
Re-cycler before it was invented and a Hoarder before it was a
disorder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">ESA
spent her lifetime gathering and collecting anything and everything
that tickled her fancy. Indeed, her fancy was very ticklish so it
took precious little to delight and amuse her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Jello
and Red Rose Tea bear responsibility for her her lifelong propensity for
collecting. Their inclusion of car coins, airplane coins and
figurines in their boxes at a vulnerable age, set the stage for what was to become ESA's entertainment and passion. Her tastes ebbed, flowed and evolved over
the years, beginning with owls in the mid-seventies and moving on to
bears, rocking horses, quilts, hooked rugs, old windows, books,
fibre, fabric, chairs and anything donkey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The true
essence of Emma Sally Ann resided in the fact that she was born knowing that <b>'Everything can be Something'</b>. She saw potential in the smallest
tidbit and felt it her personal obligation and duty to amass it all
and file it under 'One Day' and 'Some Day'. It was all her fodder,
her life blood. There was nothing immune or off limits to the
possibility of possibility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Emma
Sally Ann leaves behind her longtime and closest friend, Jada. They
had shared a life partnership that was supportive and encouraging,
although may have been identified by some as 'enabling'. Inseparable
for decades, Jada has never felt that it would be possible to exist
without ESA. With encouragement and support from family and the
Board, she will continue to thrive autonomously. Also celebrating
her passing, perhaps more than mourning it, are the remaining members
of the 'Board of Directors for Voices in My Head', a division of the
'Sybil Syndrome'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A
'Celebration of Life' may be held at some point in the future, after
it has been confirmed that she is truly gone for good. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNQILa7MauOY9V_bsCt4-qLJgJ50zhDGfpxzMzXj_DbM6BsEx72hM753s8DarKHTgeNWqOWYvOtGp6EyF6sJNV2mksTm8Wk3O2NKlKez262wCfllCeHo8ix4SrME-13UhxlPvOo6TZLTq/s1600/10+emma+sally+ann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1157" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNQILa7MauOY9V_bsCt4-qLJgJ50zhDGfpxzMzXj_DbM6BsEx72hM753s8DarKHTgeNWqOWYvOtGp6EyF6sJNV2mksTm8Wk3O2NKlKez262wCfllCeHo8ix4SrME-13UhxlPvOo6TZLTq/s400/10+emma+sally+ann.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Her
estate sale will commence immediately as in the past, she has been
known to be resurrected. An online album with offerings will be
available soon. A shed sale will be held on Saturday, July 9<sup>th</sup>,
after which everything that is left will have to vacate the premises
in some fashion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The story of Emma Sally is at: <span id="goog_1751970016"></span><a href="http://evscott1.blogspot.ca/2012/03/sybil-syndrome.html">SYBIL SYNDROME <span id="goog_1751970017"></span></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Her bio is at <a href="http://evscott1.blogspot.ca/2012/03/members-of-board.html"> BOARD OF DIRECTORS</a></span></div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-51071896312826032382017-05-10T11:27:00.000-07:002017-06-24T07:55:57.143-07:00I Am Going to Do This<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacvjEMg18ltrNx5GguFL_c40cZlS4vDPGpR6OUbRLZIJxAfK5Yqt4ObYwYwZ_JBlhFTy8l-6hMWWEpfgAQIkvzIHWTqjWxPcn5o2niwz8o0Qy0iZtIRKWpKq0X3fSS5Q7_qKRdE1LVTXy/s1600/IMG_0456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacvjEMg18ltrNx5GguFL_c40cZlS4vDPGpR6OUbRLZIJxAfK5Yqt4ObYwYwZ_JBlhFTy8l-6hMWWEpfgAQIkvzIHWTqjWxPcn5o2niwz8o0Qy0iZtIRKWpKq0X3fSS5Q7_qKRdE1LVTXy/s400/IMG_0456.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
suspect it's never easy ... letting go; well, at least for someone
like me who has that hoarder gene woven in my very being. I come by
it honestly. My mother died with the towels she got for a wedding
present never used. She was saving them for 'good'. 'Good' never came
and they went in the rag bag because after all, they were 38 year old
towels whether they were used or not.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm
not like that, because of her really. I have used it all. I have
valued and treasured and cherished it all. I have fed my imagination
and creativity with it all. I don't own anything that doesn't have a
story attached or is fodder for something that I plan on making some
day. Therein lies the problem.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5F_I6NG8uoDHIuqyQth-o9Ti9fsk1R8p8tTOCRwWqL1V9pTj6RUuGHJBNEIpWGETlp7sxHCn1Qwwh4-ofgtx0-wCxIdT71zzBhiPb_WrqiiV0iYXRXAwmmNdMFDfrayid6GZGfM2S3K2/s1600/IMG_0457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5F_I6NG8uoDHIuqyQth-o9Ti9fsk1R8p8tTOCRwWqL1V9pTj6RUuGHJBNEIpWGETlp7sxHCn1Qwwh4-ofgtx0-wCxIdT71zzBhiPb_WrqiiV0iYXRXAwmmNdMFDfrayid6GZGfM2S3K2/s400/IMG_0457.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
some days are closing in. It's not that I am in denial about that.
It's not that I don't have an abundance of exciting possibilities
that still excite and motivate me. It's just that I don't need as
much 'stuff' to accomplish those visions.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've
known that for a couple years now but I've been dragging my feet
about moving forward. Letting go needs to be a process for me.
Collecting and accumulating has been a major part of my life for a
half of century. It has fed my soul and fed my family. It's what I
did and I was. It's actually still who I am, but I can be that
without quite so much.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was two years ago when I was going on to one of my daughter's that I
needed to get '<i>rid of stuff</i>'. She said “<i>People like Estate Sales –
you should have one of those.</i>” I said: <i>“I don't particularly want
to die to get rid of my stuff.” </i>She said: <i>“Well, your hoarder is
dead.” “Yes she is.</i>” I confirmed and the seed was planted to
begin to let go.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
truth is, at that point she maybe wasn't fully dead, but she was on
life support. It was hard to pull the plug though even though I knew it
was time and I was getting closer to the point that I would be okay with it.
Actually, at moments I was excited about having an estate sale.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeytFksR1XfyhEtFy16jtjAfRhuJ88x-uCWryWRgK820ZtR6Zsbb9ePjymDao3PA1xA4SAJDyHxn5yNuQozgzE3sKekY3FOb-vM02scKloZg3ZAh-RgTCv956Td5e1b4HkrZ3XpHz0xnn/s1600/IMG_0461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeytFksR1XfyhEtFy16jtjAfRhuJ88x-uCWryWRgK820ZtR6Zsbb9ePjymDao3PA1xA4SAJDyHxn5yNuQozgzE3sKekY3FOb-vM02scKloZg3ZAh-RgTCv956Td5e1b4HkrZ3XpHz0xnn/s400/IMG_0461.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two
years have passed, and even though I wrote her obituary, I have found
all kinds of reasons not to move ahead with it. 'It's going to take
too much time and I'm busy.' is at the top of the list. I will always
be busy.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spoke the other day of 'Emma Sally Ann' being dead. Another daughter
said carefully: “<i>IS she, Mom? IS she really dead? I don't think she
is.” “OH YES ... she is definitely dead.”</i> I confirmed and
offered two occasions that were proof. I had gone to the Antique
Warehouse and found all kinds of things that would have given me
heart palpitations and caused me to load my car with so many things
that I loved and collected. I walked out of there with nothing.
Nothing. And with my recent trip to New York City, I came home with
only two things – a journal and 2 yards of fibre ... yards not even
a whole ball. That was in spite of being in many cool shops and
fabric stores in the Garment District. There's proof of her passing –
fabric was a major addiction for Emma Sally Ann.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Brian
meanwhile has been trying to encourage the process with all kinds of
tactics ... bribery, guilt. “<i>If we don't do something with this stuff,
our kids will hate us.”</i> he says 'The '<i>we</i>' part is a tactic. It
would take him about 2 hours to disperse with his entire
accumulation; he has always been good at releasing. “<i>How much do
you want for it, I'll buy it all.</i>” he responds to my statement that
I plan to have a sale. “<i>It is not about the money.”,</i> I tell him,
“<i>It is about the process, about honouring that part of my life as
having value – not just taking it all to the dump.</i>” Which is
exactly what he would do with everything ... with ease and relief.
“<i>You've been at this for ten years</i>.”, he accuses me. “<i>TWO. Only
TWO</i>.” I argue.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Okay.
Okay. I am going to do this.”, I tell him. And he laughs.</span></span><br />
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-3940249958206755382017-04-02T08:52:00.001-07:002017-04-03T18:36:26.993-07:00Wading Through the Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqO1v5RAaGIGQCJS1irVKPRnR_izGZrO2z5T6nlO9_Dgydd9gANnMe9YfN-RVwpwv14wy5elr6ICE4wDWmEOkNnZBjmUCtw3K0dM711XSTB6YhLRa91uz78ETbVvEdD6fko99UT9-phu6B/s1600/dad+Heiress+jpb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqO1v5RAaGIGQCJS1irVKPRnR_izGZrO2z5T6nlO9_Dgydd9gANnMe9YfN-RVwpwv14wy5elr6ICE4wDWmEOkNnZBjmUCtw3K0dM711XSTB6YhLRa91uz78ETbVvEdD6fko99UT9-phu6B/s640/dad+Heiress+jpb.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZvuZcv5F8iCb6nAKrZhUqk7iEAjgBhFP2nLE7rlaVF9fiakDC1ReSqfE0VCXuKvTzchV1cv4Tm9l3n8fxYdPCvA9QXmAKAJroMqbzgWQ8mudONejYk8Caea6ON-uVrOyVGVZfproh4fm/s1600/IMG_0011+%25282%2529.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/AVvXsEgWZvuZcv5F8iCb6nAKrZhUqk7iEAjgBhFP2nLE7rlaVF9fiakDC1ReSqfE0VCXuKvTzchV1cv4Tm9l3n8fxYdPCvA9QXmAKAJroMqbzgWQ8mudONejYk8Caea6ON-uVrOyVGVZfproh4fm/s320/IMG_0011+%25282%2529.JPG" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad's portrait hangs above the chair where I write.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have
been sitting with my dad a lot lately. It's not always an easy thing
to do. One minute I find myself smiling and chuckling, then the
emotion of loss and remembrance wells up. It starts as a knot down in
the gut and travels up, squeezes my chest, tightens my throat and
seeps through my eyes. I breathe deeply, it passes and a smile returns.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Memories sometimes behave that way. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I am
writing Dad's story for the current book that I'm publishing
... '<b>Our Fathers</b>'. It will be an anthology of 20 stories, like the
first two volumes of 'My Mother's Keeper'. I am pulling in right at my own deadline because the wading through of it all isn't the simplest thing to do.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It's a
challenge to try to pare down someone's life into a chapter;
especially someone who had a profound and lasting impact on your own
life, and someone you still miss so very much.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I
usually do a pretty good job of keeping the emotions squelched; after
all, it has been over a quarter of a century since he left us. When
you stir them up so thoroughly like I have been, it's a lot more
challenging. The toughest thing has been to listen to a CD of his
voice – an interview that was done in the late 1970s for the
archives of Standardbred Canada. I had it for over twenty years
before I could bring myself to listen it. For some reason, I think it
would be easier if it had been a video. There is something deeply
moving about hearing a voice you love and miss come out of the air. You make a thousand pictures from it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I
listened to it a few years ago and that was rough. This time, because
I was gathering information, I was paying close attention to the
details he was sharing. His voice brought me right back to our
kitchen. I could see him sitting at the table, not overly impressed
or enthusiastic with being interviewed. My mother is adding a few bits
in the background and more than once, the interviewer is instructed
to turn the tape off while something is shared that he doesn't want
on record. The phone rings in the midst of it. It was me. I remember
calling that day and Mom saying that a fella was there interviewing
Dad. I didn't think too much of it at the time as he was often being interviewed for newspapers and magazines. I had no way of knowing that decades later, I would be listening to him talking. It is particularly surreal to hear that familiar, loud telephone
ring that was part of my life for so long. All those sounds silenced.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Besides
his voice, the most touching memento for me is a letter that my
sister, Frances wrote five months to the day that she passed away
from leukemia. She sent it to him at Buffalo Raceway. Holding that paper, knowing that both of them held it
in their hands – picturing him reading it, feeling his heart breaking
in knowing that he would soon lose her, touches me deeply. I laugh about
what she says about Pauline but when she says about me “<i>she is just plain lonesome for you</i>” ... it sends a knife through my heart because I
still am.</span></div>
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And so
here I am... sitting with my Dad – his voice, letters, articles from the newspapers and
magazines, photos ... bits and pieces of the past that keep his
memory alive, especially to myself and my sister – the two deepest
connections to him that are left on earth. It is just the two of us who can recognize that telephone ring, can laugh about Mom banging the dishes around and know that Dad, with his dry wit, was choosing his words very carefully. It is us that have to pass his spirit on to the next generations. That is what the writing of his story is all about.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gLPMeuW2MJkhEgSKoZ4X-Rrraj_mBIwailgXqwVdfzZHdg7I315kCnxDLf5l_UtHRS_hu7BskGQ4BBNJTdvTjGdRAye-1aU8rA8VYl1KM4c9fXq1TSEzfeR3MKHGUpCfA4EEHzqcsQx8/s1600/IMG_0017+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gLPMeuW2MJkhEgSKoZ4X-Rrraj_mBIwailgXqwVdfzZHdg7I315kCnxDLf5l_UtHRS_hu7BskGQ4BBNJTdvTjGdRAye-1aU8rA8VYl1KM4c9fXq1TSEzfeR3MKHGUpCfA4EEHzqcsQx8/s640/IMG_0017+%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original 'tweets'. Dad messaged Mom on February 7th that his mom was ill and he was taking the train home to see her, On the way back, he stopped in to spend some time with Mom and their two little ones<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> before he returned to the base to be court marshalled for being AWOL.</span></td></tr>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-21075391047138754452017-02-25T07:38:00.002-08:002017-02-25T11:50:45.478-08:00Ugly Stick Workshop - Salt Harbour Joys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I happened to just find this today ... February 25th, 2017 ... it has only been sitting in my 'DRAFTS' file, completely finished since <b>August 2013</b>. It's somewhat handy I found it now as I am planning on having an <i>'Ugly Stick'</i> Workshop here on the farm in May.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the sheer fun of it</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, this summer I held an ‘UGLY STICK’
making workshop</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> at our place on Salt Harbour Island in <st1:state>Newfoundland</st1:state>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Ugly Stick, for those who might think we were making
fishing poles,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> is a homemade musical instrument that might be found</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> at a traditional
Newfoundlandish concert or kitchen party.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Here is the recipe.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 stick … broomish-mopish style and height.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 boot … you only need one so you can share the brother or make another.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">70-80 beer caps ... about 5 per nail ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> this is where having a Bartender Daughter comes in handy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Other noise stuff ... felt tins, washers, bells - the more the merrier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2.5-3 inch nails ... a dozen or so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 - 18" or so piece of wood for the 'bow'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tape ... black - red - any colour of smooth electrical type tape</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Topper ... anything goes ... here's where the fun and creativity comes in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anything goes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now the 'proper ting' to ensure the best noise</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> (surely there is a more appropriately musical way to say that)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> is to remove the plastic seal from all the beer caps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At home, Brian did that for me with his acetylene torch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Having neither Brian nor the torch, I had to be independent and creative.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How I did it is NOT recommended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I used my usual 'Trial & Error' method - emphasis on the Error.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I carefully arranged caps, seal side up, in a pie tin which I stuck </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">very, VERY close under the broiler. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Plastic burns - that was the effect that I wanted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I didn't plan for or want the flames and black smoke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> So don't do that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you don't have a torch or Brian and can't figure out</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> a more intelligent way of getting those pesky seals out,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> just leave them in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I expect it's safe to assume that your audience won't have</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">a finely tuned ugly stick ear quite yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>The TOP:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> This is where your personal style shines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some people are content with an old apple juice tin with the mop coming through the top, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">a marker mouth and glued on googly eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> While perfectly acceptable, that certainly wouldn't cut it with our creative group.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Kim had this toque in Newfoundland and had no</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">idea that it was invented by two young fellas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in my backyard here - St. Marys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A number of gals turned the mop itself into unique and cool dudes and dudettes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Some created things from scratch and some re-birthed garage sale finds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I turned a singing Christmas angel into a mermaid who is saying </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"Oooooh My! I seem to have a pole up my butt."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Instructions</i>: Punch holes in your caps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thread them & your felt tins or other noise things on a nail or screw.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Drill a hole & insert the loaded nail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rasp or saw some teeth in your 'bow' so it is bumpy. Add 5 nail/cap sets to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Screw your boot on the pole - through the bottom & at the top sides.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Stick your Ever-So-Cool Whatever on the top.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Put on some catchy, fun Newfoundland music. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> We were blessed to have LIVE musician friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Bonus!!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were also blessed to have a Professional Ugly Stick Musician</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> in our midst who gave us lessons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And yet another added bonus was the arrival of a Mummer ..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">another entertaining Newfoundland custom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were apparently SO impressive that we were invited to perform </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">at the 'Split Peas' concert that week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well, maybe<i> not</i> all that<i> </i>impressive ... but we WERE invited!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I would hesitate to say that it was the 'music' that we created</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> that caused the enthusiastic response and abundance of camera flashes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> It may have been more the fact that there were so MANY of us </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">willing to look a little bit foolish in front of a crowd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were having great fun and that, my friends, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">is the entire point </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">of the exercise and the anticipated result.</span></div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-77678111563434730132017-01-17T12:51:00.001-08:002017-01-17T13:21:55.898-08:00A Century<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1/17/17
... that was the day that the last of my grandmother's 8 children
were born.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1/17/17
... that last baby had another birthday ... one hundred years later.</span></div>
<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/AVvXsEhuKn62tlV-EYQBqYJslq0WDuYryw6iGSjG95g5pOlETGYvdklOo8C0AAVrcCfUODvJ_wL_giWnktmS-ismcw9fQjavAw_WpTBbgg1DcwXOC9T-MlOfxttzoefo4kj3Ga-_fZkbSFn5a3el/s1600/ruth+1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKn62tlV-EYQBqYJslq0WDuYryw6iGSjG95g5pOlETGYvdklOo8C0AAVrcCfUODvJ_wL_giWnktmS-ismcw9fQjavAw_WpTBbgg1DcwXOC9T-MlOfxttzoefo4kj3Ga-_fZkbSFn5a3el/s640/ruth+1000.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babe Ruth held by her mother in 1917. My grandfather is to the right of her, great-grandparents<br />
behind him; all my aunts & uncles and my Dad, the boy at the far right - 11 years old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8DfbGjJWDNcPvOUpKiBlrPX2W9q847PzaLOCRxxpWowKQabuUMVbpmqHhkWikWCDSrGxrKwYIeet-wJfDNYXwB0ml8ND9uA8FyET6NN5axKO8yZBpMkbTupW-NUL5MRKHMuG5whH-tZB/s1600/IMG_0087+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8DfbGjJWDNcPvOUpKiBlrPX2W9q847PzaLOCRxxpWowKQabuUMVbpmqHhkWikWCDSrGxrKwYIeet-wJfDNYXwB0ml8ND9uA8FyET6NN5axKO8yZBpMkbTupW-NUL5MRKHMuG5whH-tZB/s320/IMG_0087+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Sunday's 100th birthday celebration in Chatham</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On
Sunday, January 15th, 2017, Ruth Wellwood Nagle had a party that was attended by well over two hundred
people. I was honoured to get to talk about Ruth and I shared the top
ten things that I have learned from her ... the things that have
influenced my life and that I will keep forever.</span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>#1 When
someone invites you to go somewhere. GO.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Or else
they will stop asking you. Ruth is even down to specifics with that.
She says they will ask you three times and then they just won't think
of you anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I
invited Ruth if to Newfoundland, each time it was an immediate 'YES!'
... never a hesitation, never a 'let me think about it' or 'I'll have
to check the date.' That kind of attitude has led her on many adventures, and that advice, which I have taken to heart, has done the same for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>#2</b> <b>Don't
get sad, get busy.</b></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She
told me that that was the best advice she was ever given. When she
was a teenager, she was moping around the house with a broken heart
because a fella had dumped her. Her mother told her <i>'Don't get sad.
Get busy</i>.' Ruth said that all through her life, it had served her
well; that when things were troubling her she would just delve into
some project or do something that kept her hands and head busy and it
got it through it. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80kLgk7QrsFGgReotwfOsqY4tg5_G1ap8T-NOTuskEUEPrYvRmMFQpCA0vqFnBtM6czXi0bEhOcM3syYMPc0XTtoRdUA71fau43FhiMSADIoawiFLZEGOIDcRA9x6oy4o1kI4q8oyfyrb/s1600/Ruth+Erieau+14+110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80kLgk7QrsFGgReotwfOsqY4tg5_G1ap8T-NOTuskEUEPrYvRmMFQpCA0vqFnBtM6czXi0bEhOcM3syYMPc0XTtoRdUA71fau43FhiMSADIoawiFLZEGOIDcRA9x6oy4o1kI4q8oyfyrb/s320/Ruth+Erieau+14+110.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sewing always rejuvenated her</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#3
Have a passion.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ruth's
life has been defined by two major passions – bridge and sewing.
Playing bridge has kept her mind sharp, led all kinds of friends
into her life and as she says 'brought her many, many pleasant
hours'.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sewing
had been a big part of her life from back when she sewed her
children's clothes. She said that even at 98 and 99, when she thought
that she was too tired, she would go to her sewing machine and 'come
alive'.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#4
Share that passion.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ruth
shared her passion of bridge with countless people over the years as
she taught within different groups and also individually. She was
teaching and playing right up to two months ago when her eyesight
suddenly started failing. She said that she stepped away because she
didn't want to 'slow people down'. For her, bridge is a very serious
endeavour, not for chatting and entertainment. I had some large print
playing cards sent from Amazon and she told me today that she's going
to get back to playing bridge next week, after all the busy-ness of
her birthday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
fruits of her labours with sewing has touched people far and wide.
Many of us are graced with her beautiful handiwork. Most meaningful
is her involvement with creating quilts for the children of Africa
for the Canadian Food For Children project.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaajGGp-sfvabCmtXypmd7n2MYifbE9bY8HktJERjbUcxJhEM22MRQwOBJ_n0zt997ql5bn4vUUcM002Oj7kNXwyI6KdD83FcAUrmOKv__atim9hf2QXWuKsBy0-AQwFOs6MQYXaqM1BU/s1600/Ruth+Erieau+14+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaajGGp-sfvabCmtXypmd7n2MYifbE9bY8HktJERjbUcxJhEM22MRQwOBJ_n0zt997ql5bn4vUUcM002Oj7kNXwyI6KdD83FcAUrmOKv__atim9hf2QXWuKsBy0-AQwFOs6MQYXaqM1BU/s400/Ruth+Erieau+14+120.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the 1000 quilts that made their way to the children of Africa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#5
Have a goal.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Determination,
perseverance and focus after having set a goal have been a big part
of Ruth's spirit. When she was in 80's, she decided that she would give
all her children, nieces and nephews, handmade quilts. On her 87<sup>th</sup>
birthday she had 35 ready to be distributed. On Sunday, after
celebrating her 100<sup>th</sup> birthday, she had one for each of
her 11 grandchildren. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When asked at 90, how many quilts she
had made for the children in Africa, she didn't know, so she started
counting from then on. As it approached her 98</span><sup style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> birthday, she had
700. She made her goal 1000 and sure enough, she hit that. She says
that she is continuing but needs some help sewing because of her
eyesight and put out a call for a volunteer on Sunday.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXRgrj2_DquhPGdO52ReNHutioxDJXFaoEvxS19x2euDyK7X4XczuNzIh2353pY650RysA13fwQIV7Z1MkKRTijisB7indtrNoV7HTMCqIVtMJHaK_UN831LbC33h_LDelfUhkEcaaW02/s1600/Ruth+Erieau+14+122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXRgrj2_DquhPGdO52ReNHutioxDJXFaoEvxS19x2euDyK7X4XczuNzIh2353pY650RysA13fwQIV7Z1MkKRTijisB7indtrNoV7HTMCqIVtMJHaK_UN831LbC33h_LDelfUhkEcaaW02/s320/Ruth+Erieau+14+122.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth at her beloved lake spot at Erieau</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When
she broke her hip at 98, she used her deep desire to get to the
trailer at the lake as motivation to do her physio daily. When she
broke the other hip fourteen months later, again she had the lake as
motivation. Indeed, just three weeks after the break, she was at our
family reunion. She and I still got to have our traditional camp out at her trailer in
August.</span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
party on Sunday was motivating as well. She told me that it was a lot
of pressure staying alive until her 100<sup>th</sup> ... she said
that she didn't want to disappoint anyone as people seemed to be
really counting on it. That aim left her no time to lay in bed being
concerned that she had a stroke on Christmas Day.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-DJkIy9z_PXKY_82pXKjVgLTwx-KY3elvg3V9c7zEhnJ6z_KP8Pgok7hXan1qztyOSk1bY83chQHDlyT3_1i3CcUZ2rRgo7-6i7Xb9Cyx_TWc8JDCc5WlI7pIOA4yfecNnxeAiick8Od/s1600/NL+July+09+101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-DJkIy9z_PXKY_82pXKjVgLTwx-KY3elvg3V9c7zEhnJ6z_KP8Pgok7hXan1qztyOSk1bY83chQHDlyT3_1i3CcUZ2rRgo7-6i7Xb9Cyx_TWc8JDCc5WlI7pIOA4yfecNnxeAiick8Od/s320/NL+July+09+101.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mummering in Newfoundland at 92</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VuSmyb4iJtBX476NkDCzTFHVMW3sIHWmprAOqIelPxlbGxNAD9N-kd2RklQ4PDdiUSAdiJ5HshM4A5c7Hf6EblKL2a1k68_u8zgjLxJsKDHlfdIkHwMKSDeN9PtdjbFgT4hORhd3bMFj/s1600/NL+July+09+202.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/AVvXsEg4VuSmyb4iJtBX476NkDCzTFHVMW3sIHWmprAOqIelPxlbGxNAD9N-kd2RklQ4PDdiUSAdiJ5HshM4A5c7Hf6EblKL2a1k68_u8zgjLxJsKDHlfdIkHwMKSDeN9PtdjbFgT4hORhd3bMFj/s320/NL+July+09+202.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth's first cod she caught at 92</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#6
Keep having adventures.</span></b></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ruth
got her first bicycle after she retired. She then proceeded to go on
bicycle trips to New York, Niagra-on-the-Lake, Montreal, Florida and Holland when she was in her seventies. Besides numerous trips to Florida,she
travelled to Newfoundland three times, Ireland, Costa Rica,
Jerusalem, Yugoslavia and Europe. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Settling
into the airstream at Erieau was an adventure that she says added 10
years to her life.</span></div>
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</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizV0CZEyClyGnp7yDDBYEGB0_VZEqSTC9TbVKLd9wecNhr6P70_O2vwGrULzuAYM7Me2XSxrq-WisDN6f9TTaVPe3W6MTkCZSrCPN3fbiFiy8hXIHtoKConvl7wtmYCRVKjaT9PVqFBeoQ/s1600/7+Old+Ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizV0CZEyClyGnp7yDDBYEGB0_VZEqSTC9TbVKLd9wecNhr6P70_O2vwGrULzuAYM7Me2XSxrq-WisDN6f9TTaVPe3W6MTkCZSrCPN3fbiFiy8hXIHtoKConvl7wtmYCRVKjaT9PVqFBeoQ/s400/7+Old+Ladies.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughters, daughter-in-law, nieces and<br />
friend ... all part of Ruth's circle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#7
Keep making your circle bigger.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While
many people, by the time they are one hundred, have outlived
most of their friends, Ruth's circle continues to expand. She has
friends of every age, from so many different connections – the
lake, church, bridge. The room was filled with </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">all of Ruth's friends who continue to enjoy her spirit and
her company.</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">#8
Live in the present.</span></b></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I
know elderly people who say '<i>All of my friends are gone. I'm so bored
and lonely.</i>' Even though they are mentally sharp, they talk more
about 'back then' ... when things were better, their lives were
fuller. I have never had a single conversation with Ruth where she
has said that. She will talk about the past if I bring it up and ask
specific questions, but otherwise it is always about now or what's
coming up. She is always more interested in what is going on in other
people's lives than she is in talking about her own.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOWT2In4EZkPHqXSNrFL5qn7cVZrKaqrmiKN5_DgJ-Gsz5T_qMovlaCutU3ZHH3Rl8SJmiv_IV8j0eoMYGYzH2Ik3S6ljP91Mww5mY-ZIKglNozIxJyWEpar-6fLHoC0zmwpUpwLmO6HV/s1600/IMG_9680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOWT2In4EZkPHqXSNrFL5qn7cVZrKaqrmiKN5_DgJ-Gsz5T_qMovlaCutU3ZHH3Rl8SJmiv_IV8j0eoMYGYzH2Ik3S6ljP91Mww5mY-ZIKglNozIxJyWEpar-6fLHoC0zmwpUpwLmO6HV/s320/IMG_9680.JPG" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth's published biography at 98 and second<br />
published story of her own mother in the anthology<br />
'My Mother's Keeper'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>#9
There is no such thing as being “Too Old”.</b></span></div>
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</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHGHcgr_nqaybaJCsmbA2u7cm3Ix6-yWchcVjh2WhmtZYL52T8zpjkXMYCwoJF5z7fWkLS80AL2vrwJ59icBTdX0SxiZUS3Leg3xX3dbDLK_3AEIHv4a_J564Tkmp67ZmX0WbzC7N1ry6/s1600/Erieau+075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHGHcgr_nqaybaJCsmbA2u7cm3Ix6-yWchcVjh2WhmtZYL52T8zpjkXMYCwoJF5z7fWkLS80AL2vrwJ59icBTdX0SxiZUS3Leg3xX3dbDLK_3AEIHv4a_J564Tkmp67ZmX0WbzC7N1ry6/s320/Erieau+075.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth's first motorcycle ride at 93</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">one is healthy, it is never too late. Ruth 'mummered' and was
screeched in as an Honourary Newfoundlander at 92; she bought into a
place at the lake at 93; she rode her first motorcycle at 93; she
bought a new car at 94; she published a book at 98; she rode an ATV
for the first time at 99. She doesn't stop to think is she could or
if she should ... if she thinks she wants to do it, she just does.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR8r92OEU6q4D-4QTBSSVj1shapQGb44wH51zXYrqpyyyrpHCN4_8RuV9ew3atwtIT6o4GC9HJ8OD6Sgw3U3YqcSlwUrI7SuzcUImrR27IB-qlwVTIn__z5wb9yBXOxhLTPnEqV3CgBbD/s1600/Erieau+087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR8r92OEU6q4D-4QTBSSVj1shapQGb44wH51zXYrqpyyyrpHCN4_8RuV9ew3atwtIT6o4GC9HJ8OD6Sgw3U3YqcSlwUrI7SuzcUImrR27IB-qlwVTIn__z5wb9yBXOxhLTPnEqV3CgBbD/s320/Erieau+087.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many an hour spent walking the beach.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>#10
Dont' be afraid of aging.</b></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A
cousin of Ruth and my dad told me when he was 84 and we were dealing
with my father's dementia, that as you get old, you will either have
<i>'from the neck up or the neck down – you can't have both'.</i>
Meaning, that either your brain goes and your body is okay, or your
brain is sharp but your body isn't. Well, Ruth, at 100 is
sharp pretty darn sharp on both counts. A few weeks ago she asked what she should do
to optimize her health and was told walking was the best thing she
could do. So out she went, twice a day for 20 minutes. She's far from
done looking after herself.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All
of those ingredients are intertwined to create a full and rich life
... each one overlapping into the other.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BzbFdrnz6aHldBL5TdiNQHHhBSQVFkXNGdqksFjD-vaHHGLXUlEcx-8RkYFfRpyn7GlQTRQ3jctu0cFs4-wj5PJUZi65pKAKDTnn56TtR1iT6zSOU_u3TTZ9OKehS39-DzPSWG3WCFgL/s1600/IMG_0068+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BzbFdrnz6aHldBL5TdiNQHHhBSQVFkXNGdqksFjD-vaHHGLXUlEcx-8RkYFfRpyn7GlQTRQ3jctu0cFs4-wj5PJUZi65pKAKDTnn56TtR1iT6zSOU_u3TTZ9OKehS39-DzPSWG3WCFgL/s640/IMG_0068+%25282%2529.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth Nagle at 100</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For
Ruth there is another ingredient that is her foundation ... faith.
Her faith has sustained her through the inevitable ups and downs of
one hundred years. Her faith has given her comfort, hope, trust and
acceptance. And gratitude. I know that she doesn't take any of it for
granted – her family, her friends, her health or her longevity.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I
asked her last week, what advice she would give to someone – what
has served her through her century of living. She said <b>“Just work
through one day a time. And know sometimes it IS work. That's about it.'</b></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A
few years ago, during one of our '<i>talk-well-into-the-night</i>'
sleepovers, Ruth gave me the most meaningful compliment that I have
ever received. She said to me: <i>“You live your life well</i>.” I said
“<i>Thank you.</i> <i>I like living. I am going to LIVE until I die</i>.” She
said, <i>“Me too!</i>” “<i>Let's both do that then.</i>” I said and ever since
that has been her mantra. I hear her tell people that and it warms my
heart and makes me smile.</span></div>
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</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She
is definitely doing that full on, inspiring so many along the way.</span></div>
</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/AVvXsEguB2ndpKg9fAedPpnu8kWw5Pw8nd8XLeLFvw-3t6xpDMXgc0-MGknNupFIJTQqHxKutcg1ogmqOIP2Yxmkv3kRxjcL4sMDUgArAMUzBVOGGPcF2NLISY0L0wgRbgowg_VFUUlxV8RBqs6V/s1600/Wellwood+Reunion+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguB2ndpKg9fAedPpnu8kWw5Pw8nd8XLeLFvw-3t6xpDMXgc0-MGknNupFIJTQqHxKutcg1ogmqOIP2Yxmkv3kRxjcL4sMDUgArAMUzBVOGGPcF2NLISY0L0wgRbgowg_VFUUlxV8RBqs6V/s640/Wellwood+Reunion+054.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth at 96 years with Adam about 96 hours</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiQ9dkQLxNBa4WdblcQ6GUgMeXzDVUDZ3AcobUIQWrJTFLvLxzyI4kp_pY6bdLtq76ndQ3rA7gIlidwlIEs8NGNPmKGyX7zuGemtxgMW_lWIjhQ2OOSKzP40Mxs72lejTu0aUZ4u9nWW8k0/s1600/IMG_0151+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9dkQLxNBa4WdblcQ6GUgMeXzDVUDZ3AcobUIQWrJTFLvLxzyI4kp_pY6bdLtq76ndQ3rA7gIlidwlIEs8NGNPmKGyX7zuGemtxgMW_lWIjhQ2OOSKzP40Mxs72lejTu0aUZ4u9nWW8k0/s640/IMG_0151+%25282%2529.JPG" width="462" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth the eldest family member at 100 with my daughter Alyssa, and her daughter Courtney, who is the youngest<br />
at 8 months with the quilt that Ruth gave her when she was born. </td></tr>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-67626538942365380932016-04-20T06:41:00.001-07:002016-04-21T03:11:40.608-07:00THIS, I Know For Sure<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tonight our topic at our WINGS gathering is <i>"THIS, I know for sure ...</i> " I already had things that I wanted to share. This wasn't on the radar, but apparently it was meant to be. It is something that I truly believe and have fully known for a very long time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know that you will keep being presented with the same lesson until you learn it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sometimes the lesson is deep and it takes us awhile to even figure out we're supposed to be learning something. Sometimes it's ridiculously obvious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Last year, after sixteen years of no issues, a raccoon got into my cabin and created havoc. The mess was disgusting and disheartening. I threw away the <span style="background-color: white;">mattress</span> and cushions and bedding and quilts. I scrubbed and disinfected every inch of the place. And I thought, 'I need to make sure I secure this place better in </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the fall.' </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I forgot. It never crossed my mind again.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnQIqWk0M__IHtYAdnsLtqw1jevFO-pR0V2tkZgkHvV0n2QptBiD_tkcrw2nCRs84bR_bVgBWGkYRNSa-LUB7w46lPJGUnFnUPf9qby1CCfnTTT64ZfOOZSwiCoruLm_kFT4p4DqDRcq/s1600/IMG_7485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnQIqWk0M__IHtYAdnsLtqw1jevFO-pR0V2tkZgkHvV0n2QptBiD_tkcrw2nCRs84bR_bVgBWGkYRNSa-LUB7w46lPJGUnFnUPf9qby1CCfnTTT64ZfOOZSwiCoruLm_kFT4p4DqDRcq/s320/IMG_7485.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGLx-nq9Ev4ipljBckWk4TMPCQM99ovSochyphenhyphenNkwPyNNRnMXQO6HMZJLciQx473gP8UAFTEsZR1lUvDLr1TaXbcZ9De5H_vM7B4gn6kWrU1WPWJGrv6M4kaCkrCnuZmZA_F5XbeU54c_eO/s1600/IMG_7505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGLx-nq9Ev4ipljBckWk4TMPCQM99ovSochyphenhyphenNkwPyNNRnMXQO6HMZJLciQx473gP8UAFTEsZR1lUvDLr1TaXbcZ9De5H_vM7B4gn6kWrU1WPWJGrv6M4kaCkrCnuZmZA_F5XbeU54c_eO/s320/IMG_7505.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I thought I noticed the other day that the door to the cabin was open. My eyes aren't that great anymore. The bridge to the cabin had once again floated away and getting there is do-able, just not as easy, so I chose to put it out of my mind.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaAG91NpeJNwN3rrwYE60kDLkRN2e_QaR7P-YqTEKpqQ8plFp2r6hKwfBsGlIa0wUqfF9W7Y9WC87MtpYPQ5G6HBooY5v4uPdWUBsqxcl5LQc531OfJz14C7se7EU6FACTtFCktjFa9gE/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaAG91NpeJNwN3rrwYE60kDLkRN2e_QaR7P-YqTEKpqQ8plFp2r6hKwfBsGlIa0wUqfF9W7Y9WC87MtpYPQ5G6HBooY5v4uPdWUBsqxcl5LQc531OfJz14C7se7EU6FACTtFCktjFa9gE/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No need to open the door to know there was trouble ... it was already open.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I made my way over there this weekend. I didn't even have to open the door to know there was trouble, because yes, the door WAS open. Both doors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I wasn't even shocked or upset, just totally resigned to the fact that I am a fool. An 89 cent lock would have have totally avoided it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This time he really did a number on it. He must have decided that he needed to ensure that the message sunk in this time. Why else would a creature go all around the perimeter of a building and rip out the insulation. It's not edible. It's not a nesting substance. Nothing smells good tucked inside it. The muddy clawing marks every two feet are very strange ... lots of them. Where was the mud coming from, you'd think his hands would have been clean by then. Very, very strange in a creepy sort of way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I would have liked to observe his technique. Was he doing it from hanging on the edge and throwing it down? Probably not as the pictures weren't knocked off. But there's not enough room on the 4 inch ledge for a fat, old, lumbering coon and how could he get around the rafters? And how did he scale the wall to begin with?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSI1NWuFX_ttnAz5vrEpylR4c7NEMzrDUhRqhjOOZ8-93YWXGBD1X4oiClhYLJ1TqLc4eC25XCCw9RqWQQlPumc4rmQl_PRXSeMzJBmm1M6ga6beLCc-dSLjZ08cItzRoIOhwfT2hRB7K/s1600/IMG_7497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSI1NWuFX_ttnAz5vrEpylR4c7NEMzrDUhRqhjOOZ8-93YWXGBD1X4oiClhYLJ1TqLc4eC25XCCw9RqWQQlPumc4rmQl_PRXSeMzJBmm1M6ga6beLCc-dSLjZ08cItzRoIOhwfT2hRB7K/s640/IMG_7497.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sure like to know what this was all about</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He knocked down pretty well everything on the edge, smashing my flow blue plate and blue and white teapots. He broke the pitcher my sister made me in 1972 and destroyed the turquoise glass oil lamp that my mother gave me for a shower gift in 1974. It still had the cinnamon scented oil in it that took me back to the memories of our first apartment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So ... the lesson:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Remember stuff. Act on it. But remember that you don't remember very well anymore, so write it down. No ... better yet - DO IT NOW. Do it while it's fresh in your mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And believe me. It's fresh.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPOOdNE3WGE1akEX_v3jxBUF4ihqfCLCv7wp7_11qZpaYLxRdXsxbYnmvM0ZieszWpMilOCHXFKdGlM4R_miSQbfYb8qarX_lnx52rLbnLKHOkvFFUQqUZ9x30wKItIVDU745KNU2qbrH/s1600/IMG_7493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPOOdNE3WGE1akEX_v3jxBUF4ihqfCLCv7wp7_11qZpaYLxRdXsxbYnmvM0ZieszWpMilOCHXFKdGlM4R_miSQbfYb8qarX_lnx52rLbnLKHOkvFFUQqUZ9x30wKItIVDU745KNU2qbrH/s640/IMG_7493.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He forgot to toss down a couple pieces of insulation.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCzwOO9pxlvwyk0esSlNYAIR21mMN53kOwn2brTzoTPQ-10wiwsXKPC7UulDEN6AytqzneJU3Qw7g9mlPIr0D65fVoKXDE8LH0ppUWKkkv6xQb7tkUUfeYtYA-xw_mQidszLpMCTnmDtF/s1600/IMG_7498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCzwOO9pxlvwyk0esSlNYAIR21mMN53kOwn2brTzoTPQ-10wiwsXKPC7UulDEN6AytqzneJU3Qw7g9mlPIr0D65fVoKXDE8LH0ppUWKkkv6xQb7tkUUfeYtYA-xw_mQidszLpMCTnmDtF/s640/IMG_7498.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And muddy mess at equal intervals all around the perimeter... at the rafters, so how did he do that</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/AVvXsEhUI9c51Lu4YVqA2um7IyCiYBoZ3blkktr7prltmjzfEyQbIseo1y744uRLlq4TbB6u2iIUUqCbiN9gZx773HFsQGnHECYn3gINcjUx7y4bmXPAFSQziqVH9bzD6Fv8y819UcXcGq1GnkEy/s1600/IMG_7500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUI9c51Lu4YVqA2um7IyCiYBoZ3blkktr7prltmjzfEyQbIseo1y744uRLlq4TbB6u2iIUUqCbiN9gZx773HFsQGnHECYn3gINcjUx7y4bmXPAFSQziqVH9bzD6Fv8y819UcXcGq1GnkEy/s640/IMG_7500.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This must have taken him awhile. He pulled the eyes out of the poor bunny - that's wasn't cool.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbKtAHJznfhVovSa7biAY5sQg4Bn3XUFgy2313ntfUARZi4yjkHWgpzp0sWyLv_U3ILBDN6HjpZYDOotj4yiRctU04DUBlxcXCIO4pqPKH-K7WvhJVB0hfudnBoYQ3NlMVwscbVUX3ZC-/s1600/IMG_7508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbKtAHJznfhVovSa7biAY5sQg4Bn3XUFgy2313ntfUARZi4yjkHWgpzp0sWyLv_U3ILBDN6HjpZYDOotj4yiRctU04DUBlxcXCIO4pqPKH-K7WvhJVB0hfudnBoYQ3NlMVwscbVUX3ZC-/s640/IMG_7508.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same deal as last year but added in the insulation for good measure.</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/AVvXsEjcYTFIhyKUugguRxMoADWzn-pAOjBexfdWLVbvFqCIjD7Hx3ndimYpi9DtaR1SsOr4HNpFFAzwbi9ZeZ_v6EF0xuC0Fc01quaW-MGJiXtJUZkWv8XnxbkZ1Tni3rwSOM_rWFl2HuTlhIBE/s1600/IMG_7488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYTFIhyKUugguRxMoADWzn-pAOjBexfdWLVbvFqCIjD7Hx3ndimYpi9DtaR1SsOr4HNpFFAzwbi9ZeZ_v6EF0xuC0Fc01quaW-MGJiXtJUZkWv8XnxbkZ1Tni3rwSOM_rWFl2HuTlhIBE/s640/IMG_7488.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The torquoise oil lamp from my mom.</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/AVvXsEhGeWogliPV_4_0CTxBV9eemvpbD6QSKFN-E0nnmY5DcgxWLv8nm2wdhiviWK4D3qMVlDCD1hSM9Sa_aC3VV9VcKkgiOH3uxPBG0__OrpQHb-Tv5FlVzHShzjiWKauDz6bdqsKuA0wHaWc1/s1600/IMG_7510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeWogliPV_4_0CTxBV9eemvpbD6QSKFN-E0nnmY5DcgxWLv8nm2wdhiviWK4D3qMVlDCD1hSM9Sa_aC3VV9VcKkgiOH3uxPBG0__OrpQHb-Tv5FlVzHShzjiWKauDz6bdqsKuA0wHaWc1/s640/IMG_7510.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some nice china pieces for my glass cases.</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/AVvXsEh7PbQ-HbsZ-9utv4uynuhHXBfw6ahJ3lc6y6P2VJm1ksRIXBH1xDbgW8nGkQzmbIWrmZBELsF4RfiHcIid7WUutfhVDmGTRr3MPJHDm0JfVseAXSW-YnA5nfAwY8yxOerHpoDgx1I6-W3F/s1600/IMG_7511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PbQ-HbsZ-9utv4uynuhHXBfw6ahJ3lc6y6P2VJm1ksRIXBH1xDbgW8nGkQzmbIWrmZBELsF4RfiHcIid7WUutfhVDmGTRr3MPJHDm0JfVseAXSW-YnA5nfAwY8yxOerHpoDgx1I6-W3F/s640/IMG_7511.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That a lot of work for him and a lot of work for me.</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/AVvXsEgVHDLH_98fgOy5H_H0yC_Xr0JClnmloOSN-NUK2cvYgrhrFEjBefy0Q1T6L3T8yGHDdArz2Q7lG9UC5WsBkhuASZ6mT7RBlOCBawt8eM6yfrryvwILxAZWROuFQfss2TPePf_ACnAiEg9q/s1600/IMG_7532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVHDLH_98fgOy5H_H0yC_Xr0JClnmloOSN-NUK2cvYgrhrFEjBefy0Q1T6L3T8yGHDdArz2Q7lG9UC5WsBkhuASZ6mT7RBlOCBawt8eM6yfrryvwILxAZWROuFQfss2TPePf_ACnAiEg9q/s640/IMG_7532.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we go again.<br />
Everything out. And this time I get to scrub the walls.</td></tr>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-4278414065199965412016-01-01T11:00:00.000-08:002016-01-01T21:12:22.818-08:00Sweet Sixteen<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm pumped! I can feel it ... this year is going to be a good one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My word of the year is <b>'CREATE</b>' ... CRE8 ... no negotiation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am ready, willing and able. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm hungry to get to it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9vikX9JSvgQhkUGPH8Av2ATAMo7YkKPjbR7OgYCJRD8-ZnVzhr_OuEh2o2gTkcU4b8adJY9QHtI7sOeHjkD6UOrOor0zZFmCkO_td27F7MF-rHe5Y8XdpJn_cIF_UfEFraNt5taRSzG6/s1600/sweet+%252716+banner+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9vikX9JSvgQhkUGPH8Av2ATAMo7YkKPjbR7OgYCJRD8-ZnVzhr_OuEh2o2gTkcU4b8adJY9QHtI7sOeHjkD6UOrOor0zZFmCkO_td27F7MF-rHe5Y8XdpJn_cIF_UfEFraNt5taRSzG6/s640/sweet+%252716+banner+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I did my usual 'review' of my goals for 2015 and I laughed out loud. Giving myself marks in each of the seven categories, I mostly got 0. I did get a 3/10 for writing. That was my word for last year and I felt pretty good about it. I only got 3 because I was very specific in what I wanted to achieve, like writing 50 blog posts. I did 9, the same as 2014. I couldn't even manage to up it by one. I could have given myself extra points for trying and actually doing ANYTHING compared to the others. The one that pulled the year out of the fire from being a total wash out was 'FINANCIAL' - I got 10/10. That is because I wrote: <b style="font-style: italic;">'Oh hell. I give up.' </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This list is one that I actually have transferred year after year with very little editing or amendments to it. It should be entitled '<i>Things STILL Not Done'</i>. Or '<i>What</i> <i>is the MATTER With You - Loser'. </i>That's sort of how I feel every single year when I come to the realization that once again, I have not moved forward in the direction I expected myself to be going. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This morning there was no '<i>boo-hoo, I-failed-miserably-I-have-to-do-better-next-year'</i>. There was no great introspective examination of WHY I failed once again to accomplish these things that actually are pretty important to me and are actually very do-able. They are not over reaching and unattainable at all. </span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was working my way down the list ... Photos; Creativity; Business - etc. Zero. Zero. Zero. One after another. The most pathetic showing yet. I was about to feel discouraged when I came to #7 and was able to give myself a 10. It out shone everything else. I AM a success!<b> FINANCIAL: </b>'<b><i>Oh hell. I give up.</i></b>' I have. I did. I had totally forgotten that I wrote that. I know that I have felt that, I just didn't remember being so honest. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pKB1GO2X3YGiYloPTNJQ9joHBibIwt4XXD-MF1BLCzbG5grtebJkxUSuHIrZDUPuuU-rZ8NQX_1gsyRJsCfom9N1zyDgpryX2kc5XYGMFEAQElOvaF-zJhyj_mJ3ERdklD_rJ22HSdb4/s1600/journals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pKB1GO2X3YGiYloPTNJQ9joHBibIwt4XXD-MF1BLCzbG5grtebJkxUSuHIrZDUPuuU-rZ8NQX_1gsyRJsCfom9N1zyDgpryX2kc5XYGMFEAQElOvaF-zJhyj_mJ3ERdklD_rJ22HSdb4/s320/journals.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
Kind of proof that this year is going to be more colourful & creative.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
I was <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">drawn to very vibrant and artful daily journals for 2016.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I always choose the same style for consistency, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">but </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">these just jumped right into my hand.</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will do the list again this year. It's tradition. I will write down specific expectations again. I sort of need that. Although, considering that I actually don't act on one thing, a sane person would have to wonder why.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What is at the very top of my list this year, with great enthusiasm and joy rather than expectation, is my word '<b>CREATE</b>'. This past year I did not get to my studio to work one single day. Not one. My studio is in my own house, just upstairs and I never showed up once. I missed it. I'm anxious to get back to it; to revive that very important part of my soul. I'm excited!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sweet '16! The year is just hours old and I can already feel a turn towards the lighter, towards the joy of living an artful and creative life.</span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-14710668436454530222015-11-26T10:09:00.000-08:002015-11-26T10:10:10.881-08:00DANGER!<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Arrrrrghhhh.
I am frustrated with myself. I have gone and got myself into a
dangerous situation. I should know better. I thought that I was
totally cured but it turns out it may have just been a precarious
remission.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have
not created much this year. Yes, the book I published is techncially
a creation and that took most of my time and focus as I scaled that
curve to produce it. I am talking about creating with my hands. I
mean, showing up in my studio and getting lost in the decades of
<i>'stuff</i>' that I have accumulated. I have not gone into my studio all
year and it's only upstairs. The Stonetown Arts Show is what
motivated me to finally get moving.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<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/AVvXsEi1A6Hffp5eLrwHpklploLf0YGFw8ogdBoDLSlBmqQzhPMlCyllQ3tkrq9vsmjYnr7HLQi1RiFB1QcMf6uWpIt5syrSclTDo1blWrFII6GX5IiE0QaUOjUiBrBvVDWGV4v8qA7qI260WR-l/s1600/IMG_5732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1A6Hffp5eLrwHpklploLf0YGFw8ogdBoDLSlBmqQzhPMlCyllQ3tkrq9vsmjYnr7HLQi1RiFB1QcMf6uWpIt5syrSclTDo1blWrFII6GX5IiE0QaUOjUiBrBvVDWGV4v8qA7qI260WR-l/s640/IMG_5732.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It actually hangs in a window where the light goes through it. In it there is glass & china & sea glass & other little treasures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For
years I have been wanting to make some 'glass cases'. About ten years
ago, a dear friend out in Newfoundland made me one for our home out there. Because I love it so much, I asked him years ago if he minded if I made some for here in Ontario.
He assured me that it was fine, that in fact he had seen a version
somewhere so it wasn't his totally orginal idea.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">That has been a creative mission for me for years but one that I have never acted on.
Every time I broke something, I would keep the glass or china for the
project. I had a huge bin of it - some really pretty pieces. But what did I do this spring when I was determined to edit
and purge? Yep, I tossed it all out, convinced that it was just one
of four dozen other ideas that I won't live long enough to
accomplish. I was pretty proud of myself for letting it go.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And then
came the desire to make something different for the show, and I
thought about how these window cases delight me and decided that I would
tackle that.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<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/AVvXsEhiMqGz-5MMP467by3Vy9QSODQn_fFC896j7pEwC2MwV8PIinBv8ZdjuZW9a4pKq-VFOchafJkG-RiUTJQ_ybAqdWW92S7BNrYlvQqODJ0Tx8Vj2SrRlUVrO0RR8MAOOLCxDQACYbF3EOl0/s1600/jan%2527s+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiMqGz-5MMP467by3Vy9QSODQn_fFC896j7pEwC2MwV8PIinBv8ZdjuZW9a4pKq-VFOchafJkG-RiUTJQ_ybAqdWW92S7BNrYlvQqODJ0Tx8Vj2SrRlUVrO0RR8MAOOLCxDQACYbF3EOl0/s640/jan%2527s+glass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one isn't hung yet either but you can see the light through it. I am happy that it has found a home already. <br />
You can't really see it because of the light, but the frame is done in antique white chaulk paint.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After
days and days of figuring out how I was going to make the frame and
get the glass in, and a number of failed attempts, I finally got 'er
done. Since I had released all my 'already broken' glass, my only
option was to go on a hunt for more and do the breaking myself.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Enter
the danger.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tgeGr9FJNYYg-azXxS9b2boNnBNR0SS5MkRoXFTR-R70B2-ehHwf5yhDayTUtopNQFNZqSHfuYIDFK8GpPmGeYFVKLIg9rGqDtonSx1wiR5f9rqL2cvd1coj49_79s3FubV9sjB3eNQ7/s1600/IMG_5873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tgeGr9FJNYYg-azXxS9b2boNnBNR0SS5MkRoXFTR-R70B2-ehHwf5yhDayTUtopNQFNZqSHfuYIDFK8GpPmGeYFVKLIg9rGqDtonSx1wiR5f9rqL2cvd1coj49_79s3FubV9sjB3eNQ7/s400/IMG_5873.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is
not that glass shatters and there are a million tiny little shards.
It is not the fact that I don't wear gloves because I just don't.
It's not that I have to pick up all the sharp pieces and transfer
them into storage containers and then carefully sandwich them in the frame.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is
the fact that ... all too often already ... I can not make myself
bring the hammer down. It's poised; I'm ready; I'm excited to see
what the pieces turn out like. And then I freeze. I say</span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> 'I can't ...
this is too pretty</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.</span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> This would make a good candle holder.”</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Most
EVERYTHING would make a good candle holder in my eyes – little bowls, mugs,
wine glasses, vases. This is just my first foray into breakage and
out of fifteen things that I have carefully chosen for their colour
and design, I have 'saved' ten of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMs7svzMoUHojnLHPGbhGhQUIBK84j_7UttsgR26hqjK9cLupxW_vesGY8SU5y_GO1xsLx2bvdEX9muGQTwm2tsYDEL_RMjW0XxjrJQoDF4GvThNFf7fh6nwXiCyCyUA1L1tWnSNh6B_Z/s1600/IMG_5867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMs7svzMoUHojnLHPGbhGhQUIBK84j_7UttsgR26hqjK9cLupxW_vesGY8SU5y_GO1xsLx2bvdEX9muGQTwm2tsYDEL_RMjW0XxjrJQoDF4GvThNFf7fh6nwXiCyCyUA1L1tWnSNh6B_Z/s640/IMG_5867.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And so
... here I am. Determined to down-size, to purge, to dung, to pare
down and make space; to release things and see the odd bit of
emptiness around here. And what am I doing? I am bringing all these
things into my home with the good intention of them becoming fodder
for my creations and they turn themselves into candle holders right
before my eyes. Hence, there goes the space and any hope of profit. And then I will have to go shopping again and I know exactly what is going to happen.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This is
very, very dangerous. Oh no.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-66627287417112002972015-09-09T20:28:00.001-07:002015-09-09T20:28:13.921-07:00The Why<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Why did
you do this book? Or, 'How did you come up with the idea for this
book?' Those are two questions that are coming up and I'm sure will
continue to come up.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTK7c1eT-D2-GB3cB5aXSKXw89v4TN6VmG0TjzSYGqvguKFW9buYRrhLf1LFURRFpR8U5zlPYLFodg7PGvMem7UDZCL_P7EiD4xSXmuBRNHH1khmoaSNZM-FYfCK5XzaAGf_t1jJY58XS/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTK7c1eT-D2-GB3cB5aXSKXw89v4TN6VmG0TjzSYGqvguKFW9buYRrhLf1LFURRFpR8U5zlPYLFodg7PGvMem7UDZCL_P7EiD4xSXmuBRNHH1khmoaSNZM-FYfCK5XzaAGf_t1jJY58XS/s400/books.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span id="goog_412955267"></span><span id="goog_412955268"></span>My
initial response in my head is 'I don't know.' I think it goes there
because it has been such a natural thing, like it was always there;
that it was meant to be, so it takes a lot of effort to go any
deeper.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The way
that it has come together and the end result is so remarkable for me
it is like I have had no part in it at all. It is as if the finished
product was just handed to me like a gift. It's similar to a birth in
that way. The gestation, which in fact was almost a full term
pregnancy, and the challenge of the process was forgotten immediately
after I took one look at that baby and held it in my hands.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
'seed' obviously fell into fertile soil with the strength of my word
'write' this year and my written goal and vision I intended to
manifest to 'publish' a book. The epithany though was something that
had no deep thought behind it. It fell like the word 'write'. “You
don't have to do it all yourself. You've got cool friends.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiChbQNo3uoYdVAHK06iIfl34h3CQuMcgcziuLpCRIjkiGGe0AC-iHvL1SMfjXf2Plv353uEpQlovJ05UKdz2GOBb2iHetTI8S3_07cgqu4-fIVTtGqTV7hoi2YjHVV_x2aYjNyHesfdDS/s1600/1+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiChbQNo3uoYdVAHK06iIfl34h3CQuMcgcziuLpCRIjkiGGe0AC-iHvL1SMfjXf2Plv353uEpQlovJ05UKdz2GOBb2iHetTI8S3_07cgqu4-fIVTtGqTV7hoi2YjHVV_x2aYjNyHesfdDS/s640/1+group.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I have
old friends and new ones who I have met through WINGS and various
other connections, including cyberspace. They are women who are open
and receptive to challenges, women who welcome opporunity and growth.
They are women who say 'YES!' first and then figure out how they are
going to do it. MY kind of women.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">But ...
why 'mothers'? Why not 'Cool Places I've Been'; 'Cool Things That I
Have Done' or a dozen of fun or meaningful topics that we have
touched on over the years. I think that it was driven by something
deep in my subconcious.I did not make up a list of subjects – there
was just the one that presented itself with such clarity that I would
not have considered second guessing it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaADYznWigwSB534Q-oFvO2j54I8u9Yk6p-Ama1EBWkNRKMFdnsauxUXK4UH0fefYUdIXffA2hRYUwBLksFG6KvINHoZ1yhntwxSzJ9vw92-_OV1JX4e3oKrZMBf3lxrarDt_vScc9WqW/s1600/mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaADYznWigwSB534Q-oFvO2j54I8u9Yk6p-Ama1EBWkNRKMFdnsauxUXK4UH0fefYUdIXffA2hRYUwBLksFG6KvINHoZ1yhntwxSzJ9vw92-_OV1JX4e3oKrZMBf3lxrarDt_vScc9WqW/s320/mom.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Next
month is the 35<sup>th</sup> anniversary of my mother's passing. On
our shared birthday last month, I turned the same age that she was
when she died. I am, at this moment, living what would have been her
last days on earth. That has been on my mind a lot for awhile now. I
have intended for the past few years to write down her story for my
children. I certainly never intended to publish it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Would
she approve of the story that I've written; the fact that I shared
something that I never have spoken of? In fact when my close friend
who lived next door to me at 12 years old and through our teens, read
the story and said, 'I never knew.' I never once talked about it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">All
these years I would have said 'It's no big deal. It's the way it
was.' And yet my children have said 'You never talk about your
mother. We don't know anything about her.' Apparently, subconciously,
it was a big deal. In keeping that part hidden, I was silencing her
entire life unintentionally. I wasn't even talking about all the
wonderful things because the other was a crust on top and I didn't
even know it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNUdXOLzMPy5oXCQCkudXcxvHEiICNRo2_aMP6nYp8rGk5HVM-FwgPfzWOBK6sKmqHEA00QTgIwx7pR1DUSP4gWEHGmPq-ZiEoIB-f4E1xqlXVBxDxGdcYDTwvRcINO0Wd_QRVjUFgrhx/s1600/IMG_9612.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNUdXOLzMPy5oXCQCkudXcxvHEiICNRo2_aMP6nYp8rGk5HVM-FwgPfzWOBK6sKmqHEA00QTgIwx7pR1DUSP4gWEHGmPq-ZiEoIB-f4E1xqlXVBxDxGdcYDTwvRcINO0Wd_QRVjUFgrhx/s400/IMG_9612.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Would
she approve? Yes. I am totally confident that she would. I have had a
number of signs. A rainbow the night of the launch to the authors at
the very moment I was ready to hand out the books is just one. I know
full well that she pleased that I recognized, acknowledged and gave
voice to the remarkable, amazing woman that she was. I believe that
she would be grateful that I could I could empathize with her tragic
and difficult journey and could recognize the vulnerbility of the
human spirit, as well as its resliance.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It is
all so deep that it is no small wonder that I haven't been able to
address the 'why'.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I have a
radio interview about the book on Wednesday, the day before the
launch. I know that he will ask me that question and I am definitely
not going to go into all that. I am still going to have to come up
with an easier and less personal 'WHY?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHg-WVwcAvhrbGIzXlRxH9ZSn1thEdCh5ufwUfn-F9MraqSuYyrqCkbLeubETbUEWgcnwo0lb-7t8XSF5UXO1EeKowN1rYH9MGjlp7srYF9Wnr5Ftp2Y8wQ6CYRBpJ0moNNKFFpDzbvV7F/s1600/book+launch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHg-WVwcAvhrbGIzXlRxH9ZSn1thEdCh5ufwUfn-F9MraqSuYyrqCkbLeubETbUEWgcnwo0lb-7t8XSF5UXO1EeKowN1rYH9MGjlp7srYF9Wnr5Ftp2Y8wQ6CYRBpJ0moNNKFFpDzbvV7F/s640/book+launch.jpg" width="522" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-12726623232720233232015-08-06T16:14:00.002-07:002015-08-22T18:40:36.466-07:00Writing It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3xM9gTbg8-j0eplFOozgfFWkQya_Cbk05IqJ31K1Ew_QesaqAvROf-1NL4lWB8-xBrqE2Suc41YGbQZ9fcOOPWusS9SgUCXKv-e08ZctwSeloiCZChDkh38bTcnkSlGTfoPx2N66rhmC/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3xM9gTbg8-j0eplFOozgfFWkQya_Cbk05IqJ31K1Ew_QesaqAvROf-1NL4lWB8-xBrqE2Suc41YGbQZ9fcOOPWusS9SgUCXKv-e08ZctwSeloiCZChDkh38bTcnkSlGTfoPx2N66rhmC/s400/IMG_0661.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I write letters to dead people. Yeah, I
know. I'm weird. Sometimes I haven't even met them. It's a way to get
something out of my head; it's already over-stuffed. I've never got a
letter back but I kind of suspect that I've had a response at times.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three years ago, I wrote to my mother,
apologizing to her. I said I would 'fix it' sooner than later, but of
course, as often happens, it turned into more 'later than sooner'.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was the letter:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">September 4, 2012</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Mom:</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope you can forgive me. I have done
you such a huge disservice – unintentionally of course.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the kids and I were talking and
somehow the subject came to you. They said something about my mother
being a ... what? I can't exactly recall but it was something like a
'wacko'. I immediately set that record straight – that you, in fact
were an incredible, amazing, awesome woman. That sadly, the
heartbreak that you lived through crushed your soul by the sheer
weight of it, but for the longest time you stood your ground. You
were a good, GOOD woman.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were surprised to hear that. They said
that they really knew nothing of you; that I hadn't spoken of you. That
surprised me. Thirty two years without you and I still carry you so
close to my heart. I guess that I haven't given voice to that. I
really, really need to right that sooner than later.
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It would be such a travesty, such a
shame, such a lie for my children to think of you as anything less
than the remarkable woman you were.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll fix it.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Love,</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Evelyn Elaine</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My Mom left us thirty-five years ago
this fall. At the time, I knew she was youngish, but she didn't seem
near as youngish as she does now that I am the same age. I was born
on her birthday and this one that I just had was the last one that she
was to reach. It was interesting that it fell this year on the day of
the week that I was born, Civic Holiday Monday.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The signifigance of this age being her
last on earth and a few other things – like perhaps my 'word of the
year', led me to the idea of publishing an anthology of mother
stories written by my friends.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTFuxVXsXY5f7U_LchsMOUhVmSVWbaGVx3h1yqVUzLzkPzVVcA71himNpQDhhbYp0vmOxj5SPY3Qk0rv0R-T2prptnlOm1wsr7u1-54P9bKA-AuUAUZKG8KMly9G_n_h9vTy0U-7TLdJk/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTFuxVXsXY5f7U_LchsMOUhVmSVWbaGVx3h1yqVUzLzkPzVVcA71himNpQDhhbYp0vmOxj5SPY3Qk0rv0R-T2prptnlOm1wsr7u1-54P9bKA-AuUAUZKG8KMly9G_n_h9vTy0U-7TLdJk/s400/IMG_0658.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't unveil the book until all the authors have seen it.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Tuesday we had our 'Book Launch'. I
cannot even begin to explain how incredible, moving and memorable it
was. Eighteen of the twenty five authors gathered to celebrate the
birth of the book and to share their journeys with the writing
process. It was everything I imagined it would be and more.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had gone completely around the
circle and I was just about to hand out the books when another friend
popped in to say that there was a beautiful rainbow right beside the
house. That was particularly strange as it hadn't rained. Actually, I
suppose it wasn't strange at all.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGb_L-pCmWcnzlRVHEDOwAeoYF3DYb6Z0DqoDppOllNotBnu__CdngLnPBfYoxNZMzt_vM2aH0Z62M5_ioEQF21MMThRRAQefmK9UibD8IHHH4L63mxvHr72VFo2ss-UERO5_3CN8VI-u/s1600/1+rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGb_L-pCmWcnzlRVHEDOwAeoYF3DYb6Z0DqoDppOllNotBnu__CdngLnPBfYoxNZMzt_vM2aH0Z62M5_ioEQF21MMThRRAQefmK9UibD8IHHH4L63mxvHr72VFo2ss-UERO5_3CN8VI-u/s400/1+rainbow.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stamp of Approval</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We all rushed out to see it, oohing and
ahhing over the syncronicity. It lasted no more than a minute. We deemed it a stamp of approval.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Very soon, the book will be launched to
the public. It wasn't something that I orginally thought about, but
we have been approached by many who have expressed a desire to read
it. If it moves anyone to think of their mothers and take the time to
write down their stories, it will have served an even greater purpose
than to celebrate and honour the remarkable women in our lives.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Volume 2 is in the works, as is one for
Grandmother and Fathers.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-37677723590372999642015-04-14T11:34:00.001-07:002015-04-15T14:05:44.004-07:00Letter to the Editor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't do controversy. I also avoid conflict. I figure that there are enough people in this world who quite willingly look after both those areas, so I choose to steer clear.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's just the way I roll.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's not to say that I don't have an opinion and will gladly offer it if asked. And if I am in a discussion and I disagree about the topic, I can voice that quite comfortably. It's just that I don't go throwing out a line, fishing for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There's a topic that has been in the news and around the Internet a lot lately. Both sides are passionate and vocal. Both sides of course, think that they are right. I've been quiet about my thoughts in that forum but anyone who knows me, knows that I most definitely do have an opinion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just came across a copy of a '<i>Letter to the Editor'</i> that I wrote about 15 years ago. Those were the days when everyone read the daily newspaper and a <i>'Letter</i> <i>to the Editor</i>' was about as public as you could get. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although I had written several acknowledgements over the years, t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he last thing that I would ever do was put myself out there, giving my actual opinion in a public forum. And a controversial opinion? Never. Ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Until my Mother got involved.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAi18xqFmy4djXDUTutmExMoq4nUZiy-v_jwG3OXidBNi5E1LXP1vOuS97G25GMyjQKWLpHotGaGhwyNS7bMmKSCUGYaEkVlanAxWG2rc4FoYEhkETGUvS-6wpoDp_N93sXXYv0ZDC20I/s1600/m+frances+laughin.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/AVvXsEhjAi18xqFmy4djXDUTutmExMoq4nUZiy-v_jwG3OXidBNi5E1LXP1vOuS97G25GMyjQKWLpHotGaGhwyNS7bMmKSCUGYaEkVlanAxWG2rc4FoYEhkETGUvS-6wpoDp_N93sXXYv0ZDC20I/s1600/m+frances+laughin.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She had been dead for twenty years, but she was still a very influential woman in my head. With this, she got into my conscience and picked at it. Actually, she did more than pick; she poked and prodded and kept me up at night. I argued, insisting that she knows me. She KNOWS that I would NOT do controversy, and would NOT address anything publicly. But oh no, she wouldn't let up. She gave me her voice and her words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a feeling that the fact that I have come across it now, after all these years, at this time when it is once again a hot topic is perhaps her doing. She's thinking that her own personal message still needs to be heard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> So Ma, here it is:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Headline: " BENEFITS OUTWEIGH RISKS OF CHILDHOOD IMMUNIZATION"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To the Editor:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>A headline in the Beacon Herald on May 9 said: "Vaccine Critics Hinder Fight Against Disease". 'Critics maintain benefits of vaccination have been overblown and risks are under-estimated.'</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>It's too bad they can't talk to my Mother.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>She could tell them how it was before immunization was universally available in this country. She could tell them how it felt to have someone pry the body of your two year old daughter from your arms. She could tell them what it was like to take a picture of your two month old son and try to make his casket look like a bassinet - like he was just 'sleeping' because it was the only photograph that you had.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>She could tell them how it felt to lose two children within five days from whooping cough and pneumonia; what it feels like to bury your baby on Christmas Eve and wake up on Christmas morning with one child when you had three a few days earlier.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>She could tell them of a lifetime of sadness and frustration that she lost her children to something that became preventable so soon after.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>She could not have told them the number of times that she had said "If only ..." but she definitely could tell them how grateful and relieved she was when the vaccine became available for her other children.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>She would think that the statement that "benefits of vaccination have been overblown" did not come from someone who lived during the time when it was all too common for children to suffer permanent disabilities or to die. And she would wonder why there has to be a 'quiet public relations campaign' from the health professionals who have worked so hard and been successful in eradicating these diseases. She would have been angry and disgusted and frightened.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I know that she would acknowledge that there is a small risk, but she could show them that the cold, hard reality of no immunization is chiseled in stone.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>If they could talk to my Mother she would point out that while many of the concerns are unproven and speculative, the effect of no immunization can be proven indeed - with the picture of her 'sleeping' baby and her broken heart.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Evelyn Scott</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">RR 7, St.Marys </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keith Austin </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpgR-3xeTLtSa55NT2CA2kUGcnbKq06vb6dAeEnuFkd2Q4hoic05T8MDwvje1qXnKFyCZXkXxot4yjKYbkV00IeEvlptPK4BnGHF1h6-DQOmcpF8Db1VoPfW-BOuqUghHn1VItuZwLkkC/s1600/pauline's0259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpgR-3xeTLtSa55NT2CA2kUGcnbKq06vb6dAeEnuFkd2Q4hoic05T8MDwvje1qXnKFyCZXkXxot4yjKYbkV00IeEvlptPK4BnGHF1h6-DQOmcpF8Db1VoPfW-BOuqUghHn1VItuZwLkkC/s1600/pauline's0259.JPG" height="400" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lenore Mary<br />
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-15844188131397335342015-01-27T16:21:00.001-08:002015-04-10T05:21:35.580-07:00Irony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Apparently I have a little problem - in a couple areas. Firstly, it's fairly evident </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that I should be looking into a 12 step program for journal junkies. Secondly, I should perhaps also look into my inability to understand the words <i>'simple, simplicity, simplify'</i>.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrU-5EzYA2yQbRAGXnO63KjEqa438yvnpktxPHcM3lto3fJDMUEfZEwTNfD-lP_L1PZs_iLF-wqjj12fkTtEFZ0m090TFxuv_i7Yc717hp7P0oJcRyle8JFUZCpsUAyM-henFC1qKugb9/s1600/simple.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/AVvXsEjzrU-5EzYA2yQbRAGXnO63KjEqa438yvnpktxPHcM3lto3fJDMUEfZEwTNfD-lP_L1PZs_iLF-wqjj12fkTtEFZ0m090TFxuv_i7Yc717hp7P0oJcRyle8JFUZCpsUAyM-henFC1qKugb9/s1600/simple.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a documented fact that I am unwittingly captured by journals - by their size, colour, feel and not actual need. It is also a fact that I am a perpetual, habitual list maker and organizer/documentor of most movements of my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spied a sweet little planner in the colours that I am presently drawn to, with "Live Simply" on it. That is my mission, my mantra. I opened it to have an peek and it said <b>"Take me to the Sea."</b> It's a sign! I am meant to have it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was filling out birthdays and events and I thought '<i>Didn't I just do that?</i>' Yes ... I did, I have a 2015 planner that I use every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do I need two? Is that going to make my life more simple?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmmmm ... I think not.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I have to figure out what I can use it for so I am not having to duplicate things. Perhaps a spot to document my progress in the Journal Rehab Program.</span><br />
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-59310116159175434192015-01-24T17:01:00.000-08:002015-04-10T05:24:25.878-07:00Oh No, I Did It Again<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh lordie, I did it again. I can't help it. It's an illness. I need to google what the name of the syndrome is, besides '<i>Journal Junkie</i>'. </span><br />
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I try so hard to resist, to back away, to distract myself. I'm weak. It's my Achilles heel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
The problem is ... well, actually there are a couple problems. Just how many journals does one human need, and what more can I find to write in them? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
I want to order the Journal Makers to STOP! Stop creating such beautiful journals that feel so nice. I used to buy them for size and colour. I suppose I have pretty well every colour so that doesn't suck me in much anymore. But now, didn't they go and invent ones that feel so lovely that even with your eyes closed you don't want to let it go. They get into your hand and won't release. They are magnetic, just like red ones have always been to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
I tried so hard to walk away. I shouldn't have made eye contact to begin with. It was a tree. And darn, don't I love trees. It reeled me in. Fatal error - <i>I picked it up.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
It had no price so I was just going to stick it back and run.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
But it wouldn't get out of my hand. It walked me over to the dude at the counter. It let itself release long enough for him to scan it.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDmucA0pCbQbMAT9SaoNWh5esfd7ktCYpdQW8DRkHKJJQkKhNYMYw3s9vuHXqmgl4nI0MwXPPxTg9EEBEki7V1EY51zWVzw1l-FjVIARlRWKBV1BKNp4GAHnlNiWOxHSmyGjP9_xp8pKh/s1600/tree+journal+bdr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDmucA0pCbQbMAT9SaoNWh5esfd7ktCYpdQW8DRkHKJJQkKhNYMYw3s9vuHXqmgl4nI0MwXPPxTg9EEBEki7V1EY51zWVzw1l-FjVIARlRWKBV1BKNp4GAHnlNiWOxHSmyGjP9_xp8pKh/s1600/tree+journal+bdr.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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Thirty dollars. Thirty AMERICAN dollars at almost thirty percent exchange. A LOT of money for an empty book. Way out of my price range.</span><br />
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I took it back and put it with its friends.</span><br />
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Next fatal error.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
I didn't run. I hovered.</span><br />
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I looked over my shoulder and the darn thing zapped itself into my hand again.</span><br />
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It made me take it back to the dude and say <i>'oh well, it's only money.'</i></span><br />
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So, here it is. Yet another empty journal that is waiting for me to figure out something to fill its pages.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What is wrong with me?</span></div>
EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-79661194426870436462015-01-22T13:46:00.000-08:002015-01-27T16:26:28.679-08:0030 Days<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Matt Cutts' Ted Talk entitled <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_596143210"></span>'Try Something New for 30 Days' <span id="goog_596143211"></span></a>inspired me. Not necessarily to try something 'new' at this point, but to tackle something 'old' that has been on my plate forever and ever. He said 'Th<i>e time is going to pass anyway, you might as well have something to show for it.' </i>True.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I used to always have something to show for the long, dark nights of winter ... always a project that I could point to and say 'This was winter.' I got out of that habit for some silly reason, which likely has something to do with the internet and Netflix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
I seem to be kind of spinning all the time - going nowhere. It's making time go faster, I think. It's making me dizzy, I know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
This year, I'm keen to tackle a series of 30 day challenges - at least six of them is the plan.I will see if that makes me any more productive. And less dizzy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
We had the topic for our January WINGS meeting, so I have a whole team of supportive and encouraging, not to mention inspiring women behind me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
I am beginning now. Today. This is my official mission:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A) I will not turn the computer on until noon ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">B) I will write something every single day ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">C) I will clear one space daily ... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">D) I will throw out or give away something ...</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR 30 DAYS.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll let you know how I do.</span></div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-18719295107237627982015-01-14T16:09:00.000-08:002015-01-27T16:27:05.885-08:00Planning to Unplan<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a perpetual planner. I am a Mind Mapper. I am a 'To Do Lister'. I live by one. I live with one - in my daily journal, on the frig, on index cards, on my computer and staple gunned to my brain. It's how I map my day and my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I divide it into about a dozen categories then sub-divide it. I break it down in to annually, monthly, weekly, daily. Sometimes hourly. I add more things than I ever stroke off. That's the way it seems that I am wired. I think it comes from being self-employed for over a quarter of a century. I have to direct myself and keep on track, focused and productive. If I don't orchestrate every inch of that, no one else will. It's kind of overwhelming and tiring sometimes. Well, truth be told, as I age more it's like 'LOTS-of-times'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
Last year, I did something radical. It was one of the best and smartest things I ever did. I gave myself a gift in honour of ending my previous year and starting a new age. I gave myself the gift of August.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
For the entire month I allowed myself to 'Just Be'. I would not spend the usual hours planning what I should do or should be doing. I would not even think about what I would be/could be/should be doing when fall and Reality arrived on September 1st. I released myself from any guilt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
It was nice.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXekQzlH7LZ3QRMXLIFKuEAUvPbnhb1yVKtL7M4PXzLrWfkH2D4i74JYggnZA_7XwhZTxvblTpC1pbWEwNo-f6_V8BxT_30g1ZJI0TJmCcLWdtMa9cNyVR7NOCkpu9672p23kjZmGuUvc/s1600/ipad+Summer+14+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXekQzlH7LZ3QRMXLIFKuEAUvPbnhb1yVKtL7M4PXzLrWfkH2D4i74JYggnZA_7XwhZTxvblTpC1pbWEwNo-f6_V8BxT_30g1ZJI0TJmCcLWdtMa9cNyVR7NOCkpu9672p23kjZmGuUvc/s1600/ipad+Summer+14+003.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Holding thoughts of August in the depths of January.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
Whenever my brain would start to slip into planning mode, I said sharply <i>'Uh-uh ... no thinking until September!</i>' It was indeed strange but it was wonderful.</span><br />
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I spent more time staying home than I have in all the years we have been here. I didn't slip into town on my usual 'being busy' projects. I didn't <i>'Do</i>'. I didn't '<i>Go'</i>.</span><br />
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I sat on the front porch and read and wrote. I sat on my cabin porch and painted. I actually watched movies at night. That is weird for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was refreshing, rejuvenating and peaceful.</span></div>
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I liked it so much that this year I have to PLAN on it. That sounds crazy - plan on unplanning. But if I know if I'm going to allow myself that gift again, I should not mess around so much in the other months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which means busy myself NOW.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh7xHNhtj5W2p_pOVwxNZySaGt8AFEgLYUQIH5nNFR_uIhguow3SSAsFVv7y5LzuHTMH7DRvSLRRYcI60BlcfyNbF5my8DU44Ha8Qtl4R2xZG8gn8houBAEaRu-9b20JuOA_mG_OzxwGl/s1600/field+camping+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh7xHNhtj5W2p_pOVwxNZySaGt8AFEgLYUQIH5nNFR_uIhguow3SSAsFVv7y5LzuHTMH7DRvSLRRYcI60BlcfyNbF5my8DU44Ha8Qtl4R2xZG8gn8houBAEaRu-9b20JuOA_mG_OzxwGl/s1600/field+camping+005.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-90490562306000655732015-01-07T13:59:00.000-08:002016-01-01T11:50:41.679-08:00Write On<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My '<i>word of the year' </i>always comes to out of the blue. It's not like I am sitting around thinking, 'it's time to choose a new word -what should I pick?' and then I go over a list of pretty words. I don't even know WHY I have a word - it's something I started a number of years ago and to be honest, by mid year I have to dig a little to remember what it was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it surprises me each year when a word plunks itself into my brain and declares that it is 'MY word'. And that's exactly what it does - it plunks. It does not flutter and float and settle in gracefully, it plunks and declares.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year it slammed full force a few days before the year ended.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"WRITE" it said. And yes, in capital letters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I heard "WRITE" and then wondering ... what???? ... the plunk finished with "WRITE - it is your word for the year." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7CXVzRKXdPrfENXdY0VAUFioPbIhq2Og0m6RaprKmEwO9eJbW-7TV1Drv4AJPx5gUgxqmKAIFYtO8cLoxz1_6f6n4YSBVdl-eRfGR-KaJa9OZaebwwWjz3XVgCjeqeqXn5akmo5eoS4U/s1600/IMG_20150118_172845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7CXVzRKXdPrfENXdY0VAUFioPbIhq2Og0m6RaprKmEwO9eJbW-7TV1Drv4AJPx5gUgxqmKAIFYtO8cLoxz1_6f6n4YSBVdl-eRfGR-KaJa9OZaebwwWjz3XVgCjeqeqXn5akmo5eoS4U/s1600/IMG_20150118_172845.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I keep my Soul Collage card so I can remember what my mission is.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes when the word comes, I want to negotiate a bit and see if I can't lead it some particular direction that I happen to want to go. Not this year, there was no doubt. It was in capital letters after all. It was yelling at me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And holy cow ... a verb.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't usually get a verb, it's most often a word like 'clarity' in 2013 and 'simplicity' last year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WRITE. That's an action word.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On New Year's Eve day I went to a Soul Collage workshop where we were choosing pictures that our 'soul' was directing us to. I wanted to cheat. Actually, I tried to cheat. I know exactly what I wanted my card to represent, what I wanted as a focus this year ... to 'let go'. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently the exercise wasn't about MY chosen intention.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTI14U_t56Kwf-bIngqs9tnOdev3H2yXVz_jRFMlY0wfrbt3u785Bux1PZAqf72dKtzjnyxrZ6ODnFwc2t8w89i3lTM-xm96bP1p55_DLLM7MchbAJvp3eVDeODB42Ascyd-wVAFxh6Jc/s1600/IMG_20150118_133054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTI14U_t56Kwf-bIngqs9tnOdev3H2yXVz_jRFMlY0wfrbt3u785Bux1PZAqf72dKtzjnyxrZ6ODnFwc2t8w89i3lTM-xm96bP1p55_DLLM7MchbAJvp3eVDeODB42Ascyd-wVAFxh6Jc/s1600/IMG_20150118_133054.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first Soul Collage card </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were hundreds of photos that we got to choose from. The idea isn't to over-think it, but choose the ones that you are drawn to. As it happened, mine were about writing, about passing on stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went back to the pile to do a second one, searching specifically for 'letting go'. Again, the images that jumped out at me and would not let me go had words. I wouldn't think it's necessary to have two cards that have the same message, but I did it anyway since it was so insistent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What it did was confirm to me that my word for this year definitely must be WRITE. Apparently that's more essential than cleaning out my closets, and I can't say I'm real disappointed about that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm keeping a card propped up right where I can see it ... write where I can see it - so I don't forget.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's a plan.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1I-4q0wntrS8vUROugJFbqjxT6jiHU6C-6gzqNBBzo2zI7wjP1dhHX6pLkIM7f2A3XrfGOk0CljdaAi-eP-xxkjDYaYk9ClTT2y1D4J5eMa5R-2PhSv1muTVsBPKEvaBYuXEzoArvLmD5/s1600/IMG_20150118_133045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1I-4q0wntrS8vUROugJFbqjxT6jiHU6C-6gzqNBBzo2zI7wjP1dhHX6pLkIM7f2A3XrfGOk0CljdaAi-eP-xxkjDYaYk9ClTT2y1D4J5eMa5R-2PhSv1muTVsBPKEvaBYuXEzoArvLmD5/s1600/IMG_20150118_133045.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The second one that came about. More word birds.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-76059575374351166942014-08-29T12:18:00.000-07:002015-04-09T13:35:02.212-07:00Summer Camp<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It happens almost every year. I intend to go camping because I enjoy it so much and then it's the end of August and summer is done. I promised myself last year that I would definitely make it a priority. I even scouted out and wrote down all of the sites at the Pinery where I would like to live.<br />
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Problem is, if you want to get to choose or basically have<i> any</i> of the spots at all, you need to book ahead … WAY ahead - like in January. My life doesn't work like that. First there's weather. I need to see the 7 day forcast. I am not an avid enough camper to be wet and cold.<br />
Or even damp and chilly.</div>
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Then there is the fact that other possibilities could come up. It's hard for me to plan two weeks, let alone months ahead. I live to a great extent, <i>Last Minute</i>.<br />
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So, here it is, end of summer once again, no time left to run away to the lake for a few days, once again. But I am a big believer that everything one really needs is in your own backyard. Or side field, in this case.<br />
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The tent was up anyway because I had all the kids over for a camp out. I hadn't taken it down because JP and I were sneaking over there for little naps. It's heavenly with the top cover off. With the breeze softly blowing, the canopy of trees and the crickets chirping, it feels like I am away in a woods anyway.<br />
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"<i>I'm going camping.</i>" I told Brian. "<i>Where?</i>" he asked, knowing with me that could pretty well be anywhere. <i> "Right there.</i>" I said, pointing to the field just feet away. <i>"I won't be home - except if you want to BBQ me a hamburger - I can come for 'take out'."</i><br />
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Just like last year, I had a comfy bed - a pile of 10 quilts and comforters and a feather bet as my airmattress still has a leak in it from last time. I had my books, my writing and a big bonus that I didn't have when I went 'off site'.<br />
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My dog.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JP likes camping. He also likes water.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Can I come in, huh - can I? I like it in there!'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not with those dirty feet, you're not.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'I washed them - are they better?' No.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well then I'll just lay out here with my sticks, looking ever-so-dejected.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'That's not working? I'll add a little more drama'.</td></tr>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-10490257849608318122014-08-19T11:44:00.001-07:002014-08-19T14:12:21.926-07:00Going Batty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1439079353230821260" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" class="-webkit-dictation-result-placeholder" style="border: none; cursor: move; display: inline-block; height: 22px; max-height: 22px; max-width: 53px; opacity: 0; outline: none; vertical-align: bottom; width: 53px;" /></a><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1439079353230821260" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" class="-webkit-dictation-result-placeholder" style="border: none; cursor: move; display: inline-block; height: 22px; max-height: 22px; max-width: 53px; opacity: 0; outline: none; vertical-align: bottom; width: 53px;" /></a></div>
It's Brian's fault really. Last week he told a friend "<i>I can finally sleep without having one eye open - it's been fi</i><i>ve years since we had a bat in the house".</i><b> </b>An hour later, seriously… actually LESS than hour later, what did we have? Yes. we did.<br />
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And yes, I know, bats are great and awesome and wonderful and all that. They are a major pest controllers. But if they are swooping around my house, around my head, then they are the major pests.</div>
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I never laid eyes on a bat until I was in my 30s. When Brian would tell of the time that a bat was in his bedroom when he was a child, I would pretty well hyperventilate Then we moved into an old farmhouse.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ashley sees something coming ... me, I'm too busy 'smiling for the camera'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and still focusing on smiling</td></tr>
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The first bat that I experienced, I was sitting down in the kitchen alone one night while everyone else was upstairs sleeping. Did I scream? <b>Oh yeah.</b> Big time. Had I ever before in my entire life screamed like that? <b>No.</b> Never. Ever. Did it cause Brian to hop out of bed and rush to save me?<b> No.</b> I think the ... ahhh ... okay, keep it nice ... <i>'silly guy' </i>recognized a Bat Shriek. Jamie, all of 13 years old, came to save me. "<b style="font-style: italic;">Get your Dad! Get </b><b><i>your Dad</i></b>!" I hollered at her as I cowered under a blanket. What did he do? When he finally showed up, he quickly shut the two doors locking me into the kitchen with a rippin' bat and a dog that was barking and going crazy trying to jump up and get it. Peeking through a tiny crack he said <i>"Just open the door to outside."</i> "<b><i>Are you nuts?</i></b>" I screamed at him; that and probably a few other loud and frantic sentences. What happened after that, I don't really remember. I must have blocked it out for the sake of our marriage.</div>
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There were lots more bat stories in the years following. In none of them was he cast as the Hero. One of the most vivid images I have of Brian is seared into my brain. It was one of those <b>'never un-see it</b>' moments. If I had only had a picture of it, I would have an entire line of cards and posters ... it would have <i>gone viral </i>instantly.<br />
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The setting: Our bedroom in the middle of the night. I wake from a sound sleep to the swoosh of air and wings close to my head. Scream ... from me:<i> "Oh my Gawd! There's a bat in our room!!" </i>From under the covers I hear <i>"No there's not."</i> Rapid conversation back and forth, ending with him being forced out of bed to get a badminton racket from the basement. (Yes, I know people, it's terrible but until you have a bat wooshing around your head, don't judge.) I am sitting in bed with all the lights on, covers clutched up around me - blanket over my head. He's taking forever. <b><i>"Where are you? Hurry up!"</i></b> I yell - numerous times. He finally appears. Honestly all thoughts of the bat were gone. My fear changed to dismay and laughter ... uproarious laughter. There he was, clutching a racket in both hands - dressed in cowboy boots, a tight leather motorcycle jacket and helmet … and briefs. Bare hairy legs and cowboy boots - a great look - one for the 'fantasy file'. I called to Jamie <i>"Get the Camera! Get the camera!" </i>He calmly and politely asked us to refrain from that. Well, something sort of like that. Then he informed us: "<i>You can <b>NOT</b> do half-naked battle with a bat. Simple as that."</i> That's when the true depths of his bat terror was revealed. </div>
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Sometimes we only had one every few years. One year though, we had a number of them. By that time, I was spending a few weeks in the summer in Newfoundland and he was on his own with Bat Battle. He called in a professional ... 'Batman' - that was the business name. He spent a couple hours finding the spot and putting in a system where they could get out but not in again. Cost: $3500.<i> 'Worth it</i>.' my bat beleaguered husband declared.</div>
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We been fat-free ever since ... until he summoned them back which his fatal words the other day.</div>
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As John Paul and I headed up the stairs to bed there was one swooping around the hallway. Brian was in the bathroom. "<i>There's a BAT!</i>" I hollered. "<i>No there's not!"</i> he yelled back. I knew instantly from his tone that he knew full well there was a bat. He was HIDING in the bathroom. John-Paul high-tailed it out of there. '<b><i>GET IT</i></b>!' Brian shouts at me. "<i>WHAT!? YOU get it! YOU were the one who just put it out to the bat-gods and caused it. YOU get it</i>." "<i>Get a badminton racket</i>!" he shouts. "<i>We don't HAVE any badminton rackets anymore. We haven't for years now. We are Bat-Free, remember? Three thousand, five hundred dollars - lifetime guarantee - remember?"</i><br />
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I searched the basement and came up with the only things I could find. He wasn't impressed. The only other thing was the broom. In the end, that was what stunned the creepy creature resulting in his removal. But there was no convincing John Paul that it was safe to enter the premises again. Even cheese couldn't coax him in. We had to actually pick him up and carry him in. He has made the kitchen couch his personal bed for the last couple months, but that night he got in bed between the two of us. He's not taking any chances ... he's moved back into our room.<br />
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That was last week. This week, JP and I have been on our own while Brian has gone fishing twelve hours away. Yep ... you guessed it. Bat fun again. No main man to defer to and no help from the four legged male. Dog gone. I opened the upstairs balcony door then went into the bathroom with the little sucker ... actually he was a BIG sucker - wing span on him of three feet ... well, maybe a little smaller than that but he was HONKIN' HUGE. There's not a chance that Brian would have ever been in a five foot space with a swooping bat.I can't say it was one of my favourite tasks but I had little choice. With a towel over my head, I took another one to flap at him to drive him out into the hallway towards the open door. Darned if he didn't get caught up in the towel which fell right on top of me. We both went tumbling into the bathtub. I got out faster than him. So I got the broom. I tried to get him to hang on to it so I could 'walk him' out the door. He refused ... very loudly and angrily. I think I know what bat swearing sounds like.<br />
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There's always a way to solve a problem if you remain calm and think - and it helps if you are highly motivated. I was expecting a guest for dinner and an overnight stay any minute. She would have simply freaked and ran if she knew we had a bat in our house ... Ever. I shut him up in the bathroom and went to the pond for the fish nets - two of them. I stuck one over top of him and slid the second underneath, walked him to the balcony and set him free. There he was, zooming away with his three foot wing span as she drove in the driveway.<br />
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I didn't say a word about it and neither did JP. That's because he was outta there.<br />
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It won't take too many more bat adventures for Brian to be searching the internet for a new Batman. Or a new house.<br />
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-87308287488134704062014-08-14T15:47:00.001-07:002017-03-28T18:11:16.684-07:00Chapter 4: Island Adventure - the First Guest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Window view - candlelight reflection on the field of daisies.</td></tr>
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It's fitting that my very first overnight guest on Ship Island is one of the gals who was with me when the opportunity to have it in my life presented itself.<br />
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When Brian offered to buy it for me as a birthday gift, since he ... QUOTE "<i>haven't got you much over the past 70 years so I likely owe you some gifts" </i>... thanks Brian ... I didn't jump on it. "I don't really need another place to 'sit' when I don't have enough time to sit at the places that I have and love now." I told my two friends who had come up to see it with me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enough light for writing.</td></tr>
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This particular friend is an "AND Girl". We had played the game together at a workshop we were at. The one person says something they want to do ... like "<i>I want to go to</i> <i>Ireland</i>" or <i>"I am going to get a little cabin on an isolated island." </i>The other person, for everything they say, replies with 'BUT' and follows with some reason that it won't work. <i>"BUT you can't afford it. BUT it's hard to get to. BUT you don't have enough time now to do the things you want to do." </i> And then you switch and say the exact thing but with the reply of "AND" instead. "<i>AND you can visit all those cool castles in Ireland. AND you can look up your family history! AND you can drink lots of Guinness!" </i>When we did that exercise, the energy in the room totally changed to electric and excitement from the dragging down of every one's dreams.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We can find a photo-op anywhere.</td></tr>
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Yes, she is an '<b>AND Girl</b>'.<br />
Her <i>'ANDS!' </i>for the cabin were a rapid fire pistol:<br />
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"<b>AND</b> you could have SO MUCH fun decorating it!</div>
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<b> AND </b>you can go over there and paint and write! </div>
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<b>AND </b>it could be a retreat for other writers and artists and tired women! <b>AND </b>we could spend the night there!!!"</div>
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<b>And so we did.</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning coffee in the daisies.</td></tr>
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I must tell you, this dear, wonderful, always-supportive AND Friend is a City Girl. When she slept in my cabin on the farm - feet away from the house with a big yard light shining like a full moon, she didn't. Sleep that is. She kept saying '<b>What's that</b>?' <i>'Just the donkeys knocking around.' </i>'<b>WHAT'S THAT???!!!!</b>' '<i>Bullfrogs.'</i> '<b>BULLFROGS! Oh LORD!</b>" Yep, a City Girl, bless her heart. <br />
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So the fact that she was keen ... and I seriously mean KEEN to sleep over on Ship Island was really cool besides being completely fitting to be my very first overnight guest.<br />
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We packed a little bag with the most essential 'overnight-in-a-cabin-on-an-isolated-island' items ...<br />
comfortable lounge wear, a book, journal, snacks and coffee.</div>
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AND off we went.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rRItl64Wp1HVPpIyh9fGDVFB_73fMHPbUn8hq7L2TnZRuUacOTnQ6IbI2INaL-UXWcvR4vselKHbm4SkQgn3bbjmioTGKp3S_Mho3dfGkbjAK1oeZ5KH_F1wqRHHxeXkNlcsM4JCevWM/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rRItl64Wp1HVPpIyh9fGDVFB_73fMHPbUn8hq7L2TnZRuUacOTnQ6IbI2INaL-UXWcvR4vselKHbm4SkQgn3bbjmioTGKp3S_Mho3dfGkbjAK1oeZ5KH_F1wqRHHxeXkNlcsM4JCevWM/s1600/7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the outside looking in.</td></tr>
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<br />
It was heavenly. </div>
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We lit the candles and then went outside to look in. </div>
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We both played 'taking pictures'.</div>
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We talked.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A lot. </div>
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We both said </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
'<i>Isn't this COOL?</i>!'</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a dozen times.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWuHC_ZCohirCNwtraeYSHD-5kxFf07HgtknYVMwx5ElvjY1YA0yS9_vpu-FPxvyb2f_2GTq9D688irOY5mNS16mb0sbYVA1JKcTNT_p_8vUmfXxRu1ofUVu4ZVSjGCbV_mKNIA0mUqrv/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWuHC_ZCohirCNwtraeYSHD-5kxFf07HgtknYVMwx5ElvjY1YA0yS9_vpu-FPxvyb2f_2GTq9D688irOY5mNS16mb0sbYVA1JKcTNT_p_8vUmfXxRu1ofUVu4ZVSjGCbV_mKNIA0mUqrv/s1600/6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We figured out how to make the couch into a bed so we didn't have to both squeeze into </div>
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the tiny double bed in the tiny bedroom.</div>
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In the morning, we sat in the meadow of daisies and raspberries and read. </div>
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We soaked in the peace and serenity and history and magic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GYN_bIEqGK5xMhfbcNSxkR7s796VnC239kxfEiJ-zKOc6kHmg_rosOzSvbzCrWv_beSuKBmsXkNY3I82Zt7li1ivFn1-AVXqYVDPZt_b-5I6uvhJU921yhOfvYnjIrVTOl_hK4jd5wOf/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GYN_bIEqGK5xMhfbcNSxkR7s796VnC239kxfEiJ-zKOc6kHmg_rosOzSvbzCrWv_beSuKBmsXkNY3I82Zt7li1ivFn1-AVXqYVDPZt_b-5I6uvhJU921yhOfvYnjIrVTOl_hK4jd5wOf/s1600/8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen_0yQ8j0zJoQo7bHxwnp9zPIumLE2rVttYPIaKOhBcvxU54BN5uyAV6H0Xx2n_zg0pmOmG-6xq8edP_00J751Fzuayj3pv0hBcb5Ra4cql5zG02P04AAgWytMus7k9NzpSwSylmAG1oQ/s1600/1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen_0yQ8j0zJoQo7bHxwnp9zPIumLE2rVttYPIaKOhBcvxU54BN5uyAV6H0Xx2n_zg0pmOmG-6xq8edP_00J751Fzuayj3pv0hBcb5Ra4cql5zG02P04AAgWytMus7k9NzpSwSylmAG1oQ/s1600/1a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And we were grateful.</div>
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Grateful for friendship; </div>
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adventure;</div>
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for freedom;</div>
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for time </div>
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and for the fact</div>
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that it only takes</div>
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the very simplest things in life </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to make us</div>
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gratefull.<br />
And gleeful.</div>
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And then another Very Cool Thing happened. </div>
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We got VISITORS!</div>
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I happened to just catch them as they were coming up the well-hidden path.</div>
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What fun! My family ... well a good part of it, got to see finally see where I am when I say I'm 'heading overseas'.</div>
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I think they approved.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7gtVD1jEhuVRV2CrjMKLGR5EZmnwMclzDiQQXP5ccn0kL2Ror-NVDET_pyI15cZgENmlbNlm1L5zDneHRS9MzEYDA4TwFqBI7ioC9UyMJy8sr4A8XFh3wAau0CFti3rj8DjTJzH0iLM_/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7gtVD1jEhuVRV2CrjMKLGR5EZmnwMclzDiQQXP5ccn0kL2Ror-NVDET_pyI15cZgENmlbNlm1L5zDneHRS9MzEYDA4TwFqBI7ioC9UyMJy8sr4A8XFh3wAau0CFti3rj8DjTJzH0iLM_/s1600/12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visitors! Woohoo!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their very first time there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bB23jE_KBfrg8rpOlL7cFTgVTOj05oMnZ4IedfOsNYqiF1mQ52GteqZrLpyQ8zpeTZLJUTB111Voe4J7ojaIOWEBLDxirw3IZNu53XUE3-bEuimx_o5zdEdpcooHL8Qn05PHhs8_5w-9/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bB23jE_KBfrg8rpOlL7cFTgVTOj05oMnZ4IedfOsNYqiF1mQ52GteqZrLpyQ8zpeTZLJUTB111Voe4J7ojaIOWEBLDxirw3IZNu53XUE3-bEuimx_o5zdEdpcooHL8Qn05PHhs8_5w-9/s1600/14.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps a longer trek than they expected.</td></tr>
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I gave them the grand tour ...</div>
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the cabin, hout 'ouse, cemetary and Tom Tumbler,</div>
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leaving the Lighthouse and other challenging hiking for another time.</div>
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Then they said goodbye and we carried on for the rest of the day,</div>
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doing what we were doing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMi0a9eC_9LoY37tNXpAuvHwEfXRhn_hCrB_INARw1TRcaZFzUXgelExQjFxkWMua88qNtEN5SN6ZZuhZ7pv5gRs48mkR3IfLhCyUvhrZpHi87IyrMTr5kNGoDX1wPw-XiX7YyRBfcvio/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMi0a9eC_9LoY37tNXpAuvHwEfXRhn_hCrB_INARw1TRcaZFzUXgelExQjFxkWMua88qNtEN5SN6ZZuhZ7pv5gRs48mkR3IfLhCyUvhrZpHi87IyrMTr5kNGoDX1wPw-XiX7YyRBfcvio/s1600/15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Nothing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-gUw_wzq9l2hCtjyjTBhFYUTLK619-9oaBi_hfADqSbyXe1LZPqRooQ8W4F3moIm2MgCvzhy6FKsIiE2LYE8gMLPMDZv7FU_gZfmcetexcQ7lmV8Nt2_OhaWjXygGxUhneOo0ZLH6qri/s1600/dbr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-gUw_wzq9l2hCtjyjTBhFYUTLK619-9oaBi_hfADqSbyXe1LZPqRooQ8W4F3moIm2MgCvzhy6FKsIiE2LYE8gMLPMDZv7FU_gZfmcetexcQ7lmV8Nt2_OhaWjXygGxUhneOo0ZLH6qri/s1600/dbr.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-37188966115127838912014-08-14T15:41:00.003-07:002014-08-15T06:16:01.359-07:00Chapter 3: Alone On The Island<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtcDP2wzdnZW8jpP1XG6r6dmLoXQDs10NvOypXmyC2cogyuD2paehBv9sl5OP23p_AdRpoLf5CnKRAXn-kgBO3CipYwAkG2Ou8iwSmC8oLdZGcHA0Ovktj5iN0FXovyNxY7ZrBod8URh6/s1600/9.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/AVvXsEgFtcDP2wzdnZW8jpP1XG6r6dmLoXQDs10NvOypXmyC2cogyuD2paehBv9sl5OP23p_AdRpoLf5CnKRAXn-kgBO3CipYwAkG2Ou8iwSmC8oLdZGcHA0Ovktj5iN0FXovyNxY7ZrBod8URh6/s1600/9.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset ... Little Red Boat parked for the night.</td></tr>
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I would have been disappointed with myself if I hadn't done it ... if I haven't camped out at the cabin.<br />
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<div>
Time was short. I had a month's worth of work to do in six days. Hours were running out. The weather had not really been conducive to outside painting and I really needed to be at that task, but I also needed to fulfill my vision and expectation even more.<br />
<br />
When I told people I was staying there - alone on the island - I'm pretty sure they thought I was just plain weird.. While they didn't come right out and say it, I suspect that they thought that I had a hole in my net. Some thought that I would be/should be scared. '<i>Of what?</i>' I'd ask." <i>All that is out there is some rabbits,</i> <i>maybe a moose and ghosts."</i> "<i>Yes ... the ghosts!</i>" they agreed. <i>"Well,"</i> I assured them, <i>"I know that they were ALL hardworking, lovely people and they're glad that I'm there with them." </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQY7jV5hTVTq9etvIe2tGKTjeJRNUV099iwz-fsbpReIscu1SXnEqDBFCYEXGtptTSuNInwSSLkVf3qgxMS9xLl1n5flfi9PIdqvTL4Qsx9o-5Kz4MWkAHT_FPKnP8Gi2VCZZ2NsMuGAn/s1600/6.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/AVvXsEjWQY7jV5hTVTq9etvIe2tGKTjeJRNUV099iwz-fsbpReIscu1SXnEqDBFCYEXGtptTSuNInwSSLkVf3qgxMS9xLl1n5flfi9PIdqvTL4Qsx9o-5Kz4MWkAHT_FPKnP8Gi2VCZZ2NsMuGAn/s1600/6.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly on the beaten path.</td></tr>
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Being 'alone' wasn't necessarily on my 'need-to-do' agenda. I would have happily welcomed company for my first sleepover, but it wasn't to be. That evening, my friend came to see the place, we hiked to Tom Tumbler to view the icebergs and visited the cemetary, but she wasn't about to spend the night even knowing that it meant I would have to be alone. <i>'Nope.</i>' she said, <i>'Can't do it.'</i> And so I drove her home in my boat, both of us giggling like school girls at how 'independent' we were, running the boat by ourselves. Oh yeah, my friends are as easily amused as I am. Apparently not quite as adventurous sometimes, but easily amused.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The setting sun illuminating the bottom of the Steep, Steep Hill.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Icebergs ... more than a dozen of them surrounding us.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from Tom Tumbler</td></tr>
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So, there I was - back on the Island, alone. As the sun was setting, I trod up the steep, steep hill ... which by the way, was getting easier each time I did it. I wound my way through the darkened, sheltered path to my little cabin nestled in the woods. Inside my tiny little abode, I lit the candles.</div>
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Candles are up there on my top 10 things that I'm passionate about. Along with chairs and small buildings, I probably have more than most normal people, so the fact that there is no power did not diminish lighting inside the cabin. It was peaceful and lovely. <i>Everything</i> is lovely by candlelight. As I do in my little cabin at home, I went outside to look in, to savour the vision of a candle lit window.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozying up for the night.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A candle lit window is a comforting, welcoming thing even if there is no one but yourself to welcome.</td></tr>
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I sat in the rocking chair, glad that I had dragged it up there. Just as candles are, a rocking chair is mandatory in a cabin. I began a fresh new journal. I wrote about my fascination with and love of the history of Ship Island and what it was like to be spending the night there ... alone. I must admit, I didn't sleep well or much, but that was okay. In the morning, it was drizzling and gray, which totally pleased me. There was no need to rush back to paint. I lit the wood stove, a little bit of overkill to just boil a kettle, but necessary for my cup of tea.<br />
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And there I sat in the flickering candle light ...</div>
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blanket, tea, rocking chair and journal. </div>
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And just me.</div>
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It was quite lovely.<br />
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I've gone camping alone for couple times but in reality one is not overly alone on a campground with 1200 sites. This time I really was alone.<br />
Well, except for the rabbits, the 'maybe-a-moose' and the ghosts.<br />
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People were curious when</div>
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I returned and asked</div>
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''<i><b>How was it on Ship Island?"</b></i></div>
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"<i>Quiet.</i>" I told them. <i>"Quiet."</i><br />
There wasn't really much more to say.</div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-31752617952488315592014-08-14T15:15:00.000-07:002014-08-15T06:29:42.216-07:00Chapter 2: The EVolution of EDEN on the Island <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The sweet little cabin on Ship Island was amazing when I first visited. Extremely well built and cozy, it was spotless and inviting. It would have been perfectly and totally fine the way it was ... MORE than fine. It was awesome. But, I have some weird gene in me that won't leave well enough alone. The main reason that I have 'Small Building Passion' is that I get to decorate them. In truth, that's the only reason I want a Boler - I don't actually want to drag it anywhere.<br />
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I didn't have to do a thing to Ship Island Cabin but I have that need to put my own signature on everything I do. My need says '<i>Paint something red</i>.' - '<i>Make lots of cushions.'</i> -<i> 'Get more chairs.'</i> Sometimes it's tiring listening to that Gene but in this case there was very little to do.<br />
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I got the red paint, made some cushions and brought up more chairs. I loved, LOVED the turquoise door and chair and dresser. It was that which steered the colour choice.<br />
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When I took my friend from Twillingate over to see the place in the fall, she was surprised and delighted to discover her very own kitchen cupboards that she had replaced 25 years earlier. We had the same exact ones in the house that we built in 1975. I remember how much I loved that style. It was kind of hard to do in a way, but I needed something red, so out came the Annie Sloan Chalk Paint. And voila. Red.<br />
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I sewed up some black and red cushions, made little valances out of black and white dotted fabric and painted the window frames and a little table to match the cabinets. I picked up some black and white dishes - mostly from the Dollar Store, added a couple turquoise throws from Value Village and a red rag rug and shiny red kettle and I was done.<br />
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So here she is ... just a different colour scheme, </div>
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and more pillows.</div>
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All the art will be orginal, funky-kinda paintings. </div>
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The first hung was my 'AND Friend', Debbie Brodie Ritz's painting ... on the door.</div>
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Oh yeah ... there are a lot of people who would not be impressed</div>
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that I was painting over nice wood.</div>
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This still isn't done ... </div>
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working on a painting for above the bed.<br />
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I painted the walls a really pretty,<br />
fresh and light green and<br />
added a vintage 'tie quilt' from the 60's,<br />
a really nice quilt from Value Village<br />
and pillows. More pillows.<br />
The reading light is very cool.<br />
It's one of those solar jobs from Ikea -<br />
not as romantical as candles but<br />
very handy and practical.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They were totally FINE cupboards - they didn't actually need painting. But, oh well.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work in Progess. GOOD HEAVENS!! What have you done, woman? You PAINTED over perfectly good wood!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someday, someone will likely strip them back to what they were.</td></tr>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1439079353230821260.post-39374382809561631202014-08-14T15:14:00.001-07:002014-08-14T20:00:22.647-07:00Chapter 1: Let the Ship Island Adventures BeginI felt like a little kid. I really did. A little kid who couldn't sleep because they were going to Disney World.<br />
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I woke in the night, envisioning every step of my adventure and couldn't wait for morning to come and I laughed at myself that I had that feeling. That never happens in my life, I'm always wishing for things to slow down.<br />
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Brian was back in Ontario and I was heading to the cabin I was going to Ship Island all alone ... starting the boat, driving the boat, docking the boat… ALL on my very own. It was a tiny bit intimidating, and also exciting for this farm girl who is not a Boat Driver. Actually, I think that is fairly telling - that I would even say <i>'Boat Driver'</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ugly or not, Lauren ... I LOVES me nans!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting closer ... getting closer! Slowly but surely, I'm getting closer!</td></tr>
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My previous, one and only solo journey was two days before. It was only solo in the fact that I was at the helm alone. Brian was coming behind me in his boat as insurance. I told him that I would stay and pudder around for an hour so he headed back. Apparently, 'hours' are different on Ship Island and he got to fussing. When I pulled up to the wharf at home, there he was - watching anxiously for my arrival. He confessed that he had gone to the end of the road so he could watch and make sure I was all right. So sweet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing on Ship Island ... our house is just tucked in that little jut-out.</td></tr>
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The truth is, the isolation of Ship Island, really isn't. The adventure and challenge is just totally in my imagination. You can see the beach where I park from spots on our road. You can see someone walking down the hill, that is just yards from my cabin. I could stand there and holler to someone for help. And my cell phone works there. So this big 'daring' adventure, really isn't so much. But somehow in my head, and for the men in my life, it is.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First arrival at Ship Island ... a full-enough load for my tiny-wee people-laugh-at-it-out-there motor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can find a clothesline everywhere I go.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots to learn about being a Sea Captain.</td></tr>
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This day that I was 'on my own', I had checked in with my friend/neighbor/adopted brother to let him know that I'd be spending the day on the Island and when I would returned. I had to laugh when I pulled up at suppertime and saw that he had taken over Brian's spot, fussing and waiting for my return. He said,<i> "I was watching, I was soon coming to get you!</i>" Down at the same spot on the road, he had been watching me struggle with the boat. I definitely had been struggling. Being a rookie, I hadn't factored in the tide when I parked the boat. It had gone way out, settling it into some big rocks and making it very difficult to dislodge it and send it into the water again. While it's not real heavy, it was awkward and a bit difficult. 'Inch by inch', I thought, 'that's how I will have to do it. Just inch by inch. I am a Pioneer Woman.' Hah. A pioneer woman with a back up team and a cell phone.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going down was always better for Brian - his hands were free.</td></tr>
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It was tough slugging for me, out of shape and with excess years and pounds,- dragging all that stuff over to the island and then up that steep, steep ... did I mentions STEEP? hill. As I was huffing and puffing and stopping every 20 steps to rest, I thought of the real pioneer women who trod that same path. I doubt if they would have been counting every twenty steps then resting.<br />
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I dragged over two rocking chairs, two lawn chairs, a little table, sheets, blankets, dishes, pictures and paint. And candles. Lots of candles. And every trip up that hill, I was so grateful that the couch and bed and heavy, heavy stove was already up there. Bless the Grimes Family. And bless Brian - he was a pack mule too.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_owrCpWHzcHDMXyCVe-RWZjFVPyTb0uZfQDq1W9_QddSog7ot7nAoAWAeOK8bJBTJ6Ixgzkyt_HnNzvcrWQdowi93CyQ8UttqBJSt4YSK17Cz5WqHdnJuG_6Bxhvd18lJ0wKsR3DmgbC5/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_owrCpWHzcHDMXyCVe-RWZjFVPyTb0uZfQDq1W9_QddSog7ot7nAoAWAeOK8bJBTJ6Ixgzkyt_HnNzvcrWQdowi93CyQ8UttqBJSt4YSK17Cz5WqHdnJuG_6Bxhvd18lJ0wKsR3DmgbC5/s1600/8.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way home.</td></tr>
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I worked away, putting my signature on the tiny space ... my passion for small buildings in full gear. Every time I came and went, it tickled me that I was able to do it on my own. And I was getting better at adjusting the motor, backing up and steering and moving. Moving SLOWLY, mind you, but never-the-less MOVING under me own power. It is such a little boat, such a little motor and very little way to go, but in my head I had built it to be a Very Big Deal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV8wvt4dhmTr2Tr0xEtC-bDiwp1lMVPYTm5keqb1eWuBstHsqgo_iOoYvdWSVBrE76cCec7LRWmM9Ryh-7I8rUPiHb3Gjdt6dW9eFRXmSwToj1ZkM3RRo29XiLbKQHfaFO5C0mdcZ9OrK/s1600/9.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/AVvXsEjcV8wvt4dhmTr2Tr0xEtC-bDiwp1lMVPYTm5keqb1eWuBstHsqgo_iOoYvdWSVBrE76cCec7LRWmM9Ryh-7I8rUPiHb3Gjdt6dW9eFRXmSwToj1ZkM3RRo29XiLbKQHfaFO5C0mdcZ9OrK/s1600/9.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty hampers ready for the next trip.</td></tr>
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You know, that's the nice thing about having a ripe imagination and needing very little to entertain and amuse me… I can make the smallest, most insignificant thing into a full blown adventure.</div>
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EvScotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03815230840488725330noreply@blogger.com2