tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27437629484228153512024-03-14T03:03:41.124-07:00Swiss Cheeseswiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-4303955635023231592023-01-25T06:02:00.003-08:002023-01-25T06:02:23.575-08:00The Value of Friendship <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It was a cold January day. Not that bright, sunny kind of winter cold when you watch snowflakes glisten as they drift past your window and you look forward to skiing or snowboarding. No, this was the dark, damp, depressing, foggy, kind of day when cold rain puddles on the ground and you wish you had airline flights to the Caribbean. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Trying to make the best of it, I was busy writing and searching the internet for information – and that’s when it happened. A popup on my computer screen announced that I had been hacked and my computer was frozen. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">After several frustrating calls to apple support, I still could not do anything on the computer and was worried about losing the important data that we all store on our devices. So I got in the car and drove across the bridge to the Apple store in Annapolis. After waiting over an hour, in the crowded, busy confusion of the store, a technician tried to help me, but he explained that it would be a long process to get back to the point of having full use of my computer again. I left, feeling only slightly more encouraged that my computer and the information on it were safe, but dreading the long road of technical challenges ahead of me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I was frazzled, anxious and downright depressed, and as I started driving home I realized I needed something to distract me from my computer problems and help me calm down. That’s when I put in my earbuds and said, “call Michele!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Michele and I had been friends for many years – before we’d even met our husbands. We had supported each other through hard times and celebrated good times together. But as often happens with friendships, life took us in different directions, to different parts of the country, and we began to lose touch with each other, connecting only by cards on holidays and infrequent phone calls when we would promise to “call again soon” but never did.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Busy with our own lives, we let the years slip by, but I knew she had never remarried, and on that dark rainy evening, she might be alone. Michele answered immediately, and it was like old times. We talked a little about where we each are right now in our lives, but mostly we talked about the things we did together – the adventures we shared, the fun we had and the challenges we met together. We laughed and talked and laughed some more as I drove back over the bridge to our home on the Eastern Shore. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When I was nearing my driveway and it was time to say goodbye, we were each more honest with each other. We recognized, without any guilt, that realities in both of our lives make it difficult to stay in close touch, but that the friendship, the memories – especially the laughter we shared — will stay with us and be there, ready to add a little light when our lives seem dark – as mine did that night.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">By the time I got home I felt refreshed. I left the computer and its’ problems in the back room to be solved in the light of the next day – and I gave thanks for Michele’s friendship – and for all those friendships that have enriched my life!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">PS – I just got my computer back online! So now that I’m able to share this story I want to acknowledge some of the other special friends who, like Michele, have made a difference in my life – some who are no longer with us but continue to make me smile just thinking about them, like Judy and Barbara from the lake and Anne and Marilou from college – and those “long-distant-friends” like Carol, Margie, Kristine, Jan and Sandy who, even though they are scattered from California to Maine to Florida and Texas, are still only a phone call away and add so much love and beauty to my life. And of course, those wonderful women who are a part of my everyday life here, especially Carol and Sally. Thank you each! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-32549297634170005532023-01-09T11:34:00.004-08:002023-01-09T11:34:34.963-08:00My First Date<p> <span style="font-family: Times;">When my brother, Harold and I were little, we shared the same bedroom. One night, with all the innocence of a 2-year-old, I said to him “I’ll show you my bottom if you show me yours."</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;">Harold, who was three years older than me, got mad and told me to lie down and go to sleep!</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;">He must have told my parents what I said because shortly after that my father started working on the attic to turn it into another bedroom. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">But the stairs to the attic were in my bedroom so my brother had to go through my room to get to his room. Of course, there were very strict rules: “Always knock first and wait for an answer before opening the door.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">The arrangement worked pretty well, but it seemed like there was always a parade of boys going through my bedroom. I could care less about the boys from our neighborhood, but when Harold started college, he was meeting new friends and bringing them home. By then I was 16 and I began to like having all these cute college guys walking through my room. I started making sure that I was always dressed in a pretty skirt and blouse and would sometimes even make his friends wait outside my door while I brushed my hair and put on makeup.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />One day Harold knocked on my door with a new friend, Paul. Paul was tall and cute, and I gave him my very best smile. But he just stared at me and barely even said hi. When they knocked on the door again to leave, Paul stood for a moment, looking at me with a silent stare, and I thought to myself “the heck with Harold’s college friends. They’re just a bunch of snobs!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">That night Harold came home and announced that Paul wanted to take me to a dance … the first college dance of the year … at the Biltmore Hotel in New York City!<br /><br />I was just sophomore in high school, had never even been on a real “date” and now I was going to a college dance at a fancy hotel in New York!<br /><br />My mother took me to Altman’s, the best department store in White Plains, to pick out a dress. I chose a short, brown dress with a very modest square neckline. Looking back, I think the dress was more appropriate for a job interview at a stodgy law firm, than for a dance at the Biltmore Hotel. Why I decided on that dress I can’t possibly imagine … but that’s what I bought and that’s what I would wear to the dance on my first ever date.<br /><br />The dance was a week away. Time seemed to drag by, and my excitement and anticipation grew. When the big night finally came it seemed to take me forever to get my hair and makeup right, then I quickly put on my dress. I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting. When he arrived at our door he smiled, handed me flowers and said “These are for you, Judy.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Obviously, we weren’t off to a great start.<br /> <br />But the evening was like a fairy tale! We walked into the ballroom of the Biltmore Hotel and the scene took my breath away – especially the beautiful ball gowns the other girls were wearing. I felt completely out of place in my modest brown dress, but when Paul asked me to dance with him, I forgot about the other girls and their fancy dresses. We danced and talked and laughed and had a wonderful evening.<br /><br />Driving home, Paul and I were sitting in the back seat of my brother’s car (the fact that Harold was driving was really the only reason my dad let me go). It was a warm, early fall night, but I had worn a winter coat and Harold had the heat on so it was hot in the car. When Paul asked me if I was “chilly”, I looked at him like he was crazy. It took me a few minutes to realize that he wanted to put his arm around me to “keep me warm”.<br /><br />By the time we got home I was giddy with excitement and feeling glamorous. I took off my coat and stood in front of the mirror. It was then I realized that, for this whole fantastic evening, at the beautiful Biltmore hotel, I had been wearing my dress backwards!<br /><br />Such was the glamour of my very first date! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Just one of the many experiences that helped me develop a sense of humor.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />PS — If you’re wondering what ever happened to Paul – we had a couple of dates (including one when I beat him at bowling :-) but one night at dinner Harold announced to my parents “I don’t think Lucy should go out with Paul anymore!” I tried to protest and say that I could decide who I should go out with, but in my parents’ mind, there was no room for discussion. I was told that if Paul asked me out, I had to say no. Paul called a few days later and I had to turn him down. I never heard from him again — but I did hear, later that year, that Paul had gotten into some kind of serious trouble. So I guess I was lucky to have a big brother watching out for me.<br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /> <br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt;"><br /> </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-46764095167366858442022-12-19T10:36:00.001-08:002022-12-19T10:36:10.242-08:00Good Mornings!<p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Sometimes I think mornings are the best part of the day – when the sun is at a gentle angle and all delights and disappointments and challenges and problems and opportunities that will come with the day, are softened by the morning mist. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">Today we are at my son’s house on the Hudson River.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">I put off getting up this morning – for just a little while. I put off checking the news, checking emails and messages — and just enjoyed the peace. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">I listen as waves splash against the shore after a large freighter has made its way up the river to Albany’s harbor. A whistle sounds from across the river as a train carries commuters down to the city.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">A mockingbird, perched somewhere on a rooftop, joyfully sings its repertoire of songs, and a small bird is loudly shouting its 2-note call over and over. To me it always sounds like he’s saying “Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">Eventually I had to get up. I rolled over, softly kissed my sleeping husband on the forehead and got out of bed. When I opened my computer, these words came spilling out! I hope they will be some inspiration for someone out there. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;">And, like that little bird sitting on its birdhouse I say “Thank you! Thank you, God, for another day!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-48060199806278974282022-12-13T06:05:00.002-08:002022-12-13T06:05:27.234-08:00The Full Moon<p> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, as we were driving home, I looked out the window and saw the full moon. A buoyant white floating ball. Suspended in the sky. Rising over the fields. Drifting upwards ever so slowly. Lighting the sky with its glow. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We pulled over to watch for a few minutes – mesmerized – as we so often are with the sight of a full moon. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It’s not a rare occurrence, the full moon. It happens once every 28 days. But we don’t always see it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Maybe we can’t be outside. Maybe the weather is bad and the moon is not visible. Or maybe we are just too busy to look up. But when we do look up at the full moon it can be an emotional experience, filling us with awe.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Fast forward a few weeks. I walked out and saw the sliver of a first-quarter moon glistening in the blackness of the sky. Just a sliver of light in the darkness – and I remembered the brilliance of the full moon I’d watch just weeks ago. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">That’s when I started thinking about how that round ball we call the moon, is always there! Circling the earth. Whether we can see the fullness of the ball, or just a sliver – or when we cannot see any evidence of a moon at all – it is still there! It is part of our world. It's just that sometimes it takes a little faith to realize it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And that’s when I had to think that the moon is sort of like God’s love for all of us. We can’t always see it or feel it. Sometimes we tend to doubt it. But God is always there. His love is always there for us – part of our world – part of our life. But sometimes it just takes a little faith to realize it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So now, when I’m feeling low, lost, confused, not sure where to look for direction, I’m going to try to look up and try to remember that no matter what, like the moon, God’s love is always there. <o:p></o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-14527901263030525032022-07-24T11:03:00.003-07:002022-07-24T11:03:53.325-07:00Flip Down Your Sunglasses<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Driving to the store the other afternoon, I was squinting in the sun.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Deep shadows and bright spots were making it hard for me to see the road clearly as it twisted and bended through the hills around our lake.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Wish I’d brought my sunglasses” I thought … then realized they were right there on top of my head! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I flipped them down and suddenly the road ahead of me became clear …<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">… and it made me stop and think about how often we find ourselves in a situation in life where we can’t seem to see clearly. The road ahead seems to be in a fog, or out of focus and we are blinded by the bright lights of immediate needs. We stumble and question our direction. If only we could just “flip down our sunglasses” and see clearly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Well maybe we can! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">For me, “flipping down my sunglasses” meant focusing on my goals, on what I’ve determined I want to do – what I want to accomplish. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It meant asking why I chose to do what I do. Where does my motivation come from? What is my source of inspiration? Where is my source of strength? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">For me, my goal has always been to reach out to others with love – my family of course, and my friends, but also to people I’ve never even met – and to share some of the things I’ve learned through my life. Maybe giving someone a smile, a new thought or inspiration or motivation. And that is really what this blog is all about. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So I hope that each of you reading this – when you find yourself blinded by the everyday distractions of life – will take a few minutes to “flip down your sunglasses”. Focus on your goals and your source of strength … and then maybe you will see a clearer path to all that you can do and accomplish … because you each have so much to give!!!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-66855699124572681332022-06-27T08:44:00.003-07:002022-06-27T08:44:34.495-07:00<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 22.5pt;">Mid-West Wind - a poem</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I grew up on the East coast but moved to Indiana after Jim and I were married. One day, early in March, I was walking beside a small reservoir, feeling the wind in my face, thinking about the differences between both places -- and wrote this poem. Now, back on the East coast, I remember that moment and thought you might enjoy my reflections.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">THE MID-WEST WINDS<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">Oh mid-western winds, from where have you come?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">You are not born of the ocean where I am from.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">It is not from the sea that your currents blow,</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">Not as the winds I used to know.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">You have not brushed the waves or ocean sand.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">You are a mid-west wind, born of the land.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">You blew over farms and brushed the fields</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">Spreading corn and wheat, the farmer’s yield.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">You’ve swept through villages and city blocks</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">Pushing dust and paper o’re sidewalks and parking lots.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">And now you chase the winter’s cold blast </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">Bringing warmth and Spring to the land, at last.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">And from my heart a grateful song escapes,</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;">For the mid-west winds that God did create.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-44930192048954901932022-06-21T08:00:00.004-07:002022-06-21T08:00:44.850-07:00Story of the Seasons<p>Note - I posted this story a couple of years ago, but thought, at this time of the year, it would be worth another look and laugh. Hope you enjoy it. </p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD to ST. FRANCIS: What’s going on down there on Earth? What happened to the dandelions, violets and other beautiful wildflowers I created? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden with wildflowers that grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. And the nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: Well Lord, all these homeowners decided they wanted grass lawns and they are very proud of them! They begin each spring by seeding, watering and fertilizing -- and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: It takes a lot of moisture to grow the grass and keep it green. I guess them must be happy that I send the spring rains and warm weather to make the grass grow fast. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. because as soon as it grows a little, they cut it -- sometimes twice a week. Then they rake it up and put it in bags and pay to throw it away.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: So then they are relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat? Surely that slows the growth and saves them a lot of work and money.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: You won't believe this, but when the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water the lawns so they can continue to mow it -- and pay to get rid of it.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: I’ll never understand these humans. At least they kept some of the trees I created. They must appreciate that the leaves, which provide beauty and shade in the summer, then fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to protect the trees and bushes and form compost to keep moisture in to enhance the soil. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: I hate to tell you this Lord, but as soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: No! What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: They go out and buy mulch, haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: And where do they get this mulch?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. Let’s talk about something else.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;"> What movie is playing tonight?</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">ST. FRANCIS: It’s called "Dumb and Dumber", Lord. It's a real stupid movie about.....</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story!</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">(author unknown)</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">~~~</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-68308630761474696032022-05-20T06:37:00.000-07:002022-05-20T06:37:06.556-07:00Birthday thoughts<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> <span> </span>Siting on our dock at the lake one evening, </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12pt;">I watched the reflection of lights from nearby cabins stretching out like long fingers casting a warm yellow glow on the glassy water. It was a dark, quiet night. The moon had not yet crept over the trees behind me. The Milky Way shimmered overhead, and the Big Dipper sat in its familiar position just beyond the hill to the north. In the silence I could hear echoes of my life and realized that here, at my lake, I am more truly myself than anywhere else. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"><span> <span> </span></span>I am the little girl with a frog in her hand, running up the hill shouting “Daddy, Daddy, do frogs bite?” I am the tomboy, wanting to do everything my brother does, upset because I’m not allowed in his tree house, and convincing the boy next door to help me nail a platform between two branches so I can have a tree house of my own.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">I am the awkward teenager with a crush on the "boy du jour" … worried that I’m not filling out my bathing suit as much as some of the other girls. I am the romantic dreamer, imagining a “forever” kind of love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">I am the thinker and the seeker … sitting on this dock long after others have gone to bed, watching the constellations move across the night sky – in awe of the brilliance of those distant stars, in awe of the beauty of creation, in awe of the creator – searching for answers and the purpose of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> And after many summers, and many sunsets and moon rises, I am the young wife discovering the joyous expressions of love for the first time. I am wife / partner / mother of six – sharing our work, sharing our goals, charting a course for our family, watching our children grow and play and learn to swim on their own. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> Then I was the widow, coming here where I could scream without being heard. I sat on that dock at night praying, questioning, seeking answers – and finding consolation in the darkness and the stars overhead. And I refused to drown in the muddy waters of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> And now I am a woman standing straight, knowing a second “forever” love, and welcoming the world for all that it is – the hardships and the struggles, but also the joys and the laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> So today, as I celebrate another birthday, I give thanks for all that I have experienced. For all the people who have helped me. For the many friends I have. And especially for my family – my husband, my 7 children and their spouses, and my 13 grandchildren! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> And I give thanks that I can still sit on that dock – or by the ocean, or at my desk overlooking the golf course – and I can look at my where I am and who I am today. I can accept the still unanswered questions knowing that I will continue to seek and to learn. And I thank God for the gift of this day and for every day of my life! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-9242425787058032282022-05-17T06:51:00.000-07:002022-05-17T06:51:04.436-07:00<p><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Goudy Type"; font-size: 20pt;">The Significance of the 2-Egg Cake<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Goudy Type"; font-size: 20pt;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">My parents were never millionaires but growing up during the 1920’s they had a more-than-comfortable lifestyle.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">My maternal grandfather was a successful architect and builder.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">My father’s father designed unique luxury automobiles for some of the wealthiest financiers in New York.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Upon graduation from business school, my father had been promised a job with a prestigious firm on Wall Street.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">His first day on the job was October 23</span><sup style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">rd</sup><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">, 1929, the day before “Black Tuesday”. Two days later the job did not exist. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Like so many other families, the depression destroyed both of my grandparents’ businesses. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We had trunks in our attic filled with fancy gowns, gold-banded slippers and velvet “opera” capes that told of an earlier season in my mother’s life, but by the time my parents married, in 1937, the fancy reception she might have had was reduced to a small wedding breakfast with immediate family. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My father eventually became an automobile salesman – a good job and well suited for him because of his experience, his natural “gift of gab” and his sincere interest in people. However his income depended not just on <i>selling</i> the cars, but on getting them delivered. During the 1950’s union strikes plagued the steel and automobile industries and new cars were hard to come by. So it was not a steady income.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The life I experienced growing up was a simple one. We never had much money, but I never felt “poor”! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We lived in a modest, small but comfortable house in a modest, middle-class neighborhood. We had the clothes we needed for school – mostly uniforms – and play clothes – though mine were frequently my brother’s hand-me-downs. We each had 3 pairs of socks and 3 sets of underwear because, as my mother explained, “You need one to be wearing, one to be washing and one extra just in case …”. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My father believed in quality rather than quantity, so I always had one good dress for church or special occasions – and it seemed to last forever. When I grew an inch or two, my mother would simply let down the hem. But when it finally came time for a new dress, we went to the best department store in town. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Looking back, I believe the reason I did not “<i>feel </i>poor” was mainly a result of my mother’s attitude. She had a quiet strength and the ability to roll with the ebb and flow of our financial situation. She was proud to say she was a “housewife” and she learned to shop wisely and plan meals and treats within the changing weekly budget. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We always had desert and her yellow cake, which she made from scratch, was my favorite. One morning I remember walking into the kitchen when she was mixing the batter in that old, brown pottery bowl. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out an egg, then hesitated and pulled out another egg. She turned to me with a smile and said, “Your dad had a good week – delivered several cars – so today we’ll have a 2-egg cake!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">How could you feel poor when you were having a 2-egg cake for desert!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-13300636327437003512022-02-15T06:47:00.004-08:002022-02-18T06:58:27.504-08:00The Eagle and the Snowflake<p><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><i> </i><i style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><b>(random thoughts to share on a cold February morning)</b></span></i></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We live about a half mile from the Chesapeake, so this morning I decided to go for a walk down to the bay. Temps were below freezing but it was a calm and pleasant morning – at first. Before I reached the water, a northwest wind started howling, building white caps on the water. Wrapping my scarf warmly around my head, I continued to walk along the shore.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When I looked up, I noticed an eagle gliding gracefully overhead. I stopped to watch this majestic bird as it soared back and forth, riding the wind, the white feathers on its head and tail glistening. It would catch an updraft and rise high into the western sky, then glide back down toward the rising sun. Its huge wings were spread wide, moving ever so slightly – just enough to control the direction of its flight. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> When I started walking home, snow began to fall, even as the sun was breaking through the clouds. Once again I had to stop, mesmerized by the beauty of nature. Large white flakes were floating all about me – icy crystals glistening in the sun. Then a gust of wind sent them swirling, twisting and turning, spiraling without direction through the air until, ultimately, they would melt or fall to the ground.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And I had to stop and think – are we like snowflakes, moving with the wind, maybe glistening in the sun for a brief time, but allowing the wind to push us and twist us and turn us? I hope we are more like the eagle, soaring – sometimes with the joy of abandonment – but always controlling our direction. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-25008080871656744472022-02-14T21:35:00.003-08:002022-02-14T21:35:56.560-08:00A VALENTINE MESSAGE<p> <b style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">The secret to living well and longer:</span><span style="font-size: 22px;"> </span></i></b></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i><span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></i></b></span> </p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i> Eat half, W</i></b></span><b><i>alk double, L</i></b><b><i>augh triple,</i></b> </p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i> </i></b></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>and </i></b></p></blockquote></blockquote><p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="color: #1f2659; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 22px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 22px;"><span><span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">LOVE WITHOUT MEASURE!</span></i></b></p></blockquote></blockquote>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-40268923263212563412022-01-29T12:30:00.001-08:002022-01-29T12:47:08.093-08:00Practical Guide for a Productive Life<p> <b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Chalkboard SE"; font-size: 18pt;">ARE YOU A “ROUND TO-IT” Person?</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>A “round-to-it” person has great ideas, often creative ideas, but doesn’t get around to expressing them or acting on them. </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>A “round-to-it” person may live a comfortable life, though not necessarily a satisfying life – and certainly not a productive life. </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>A “round-to-it” person is usually surrounded by clutter – things they are going to fix or make, books they are going to read, papers they are going to organize, albums they are going to fill, pictures they are going to hang, notes for stories that they are going to write – <i>when they get around to it.<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>But if you are truly a “round-to-it” person, you don’t let that bother you. Occasionally you break through and actually <i>do</i> something, but sadly, not often enough. You sit, more or less comfortably, in the middle of all the clutter and all the things you are going to do -- <i>when you get around to it</i>.<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Realizing how often I fit that description, I made a New Year’s Resolution to live a more productive life. If you too are a “round-to-it person” and want to break out of that circle, I offer this guide which has worked for me. <o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b><br /></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><b><u><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Practical Guide for a Productive Life!”<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="text-align: left;"><br /></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="text-align: left;">(Do at least one thing, from each category, every day and you will soon discover a sense of purpose and satisfaction – </b><b style="text-align: left;">and you will become a “Get It Done” person.)</b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="text-align: left;"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></i></b><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Reach out to someone <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">It could be something as simple as calling an old friend you haven’t talked to in a while, or making a point of saying hello to a neighbor who you usually just wave to.<span> </span>Or it could be lending a hand to someone in need of help, or joining an organization and working to help others.<span> </span><span> </span><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></i></b><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Clean something<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Pick out one thing to clean or organize each day.<span> </span>It could be thoroughly cleaning one room or just cleaning out the junk drawer.<span> </span>Or you could clean out a closet and donate those old clothes that don’t fit – and then you’ve accomplished 2 goals in one!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span> </span><span> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></i></b><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Work on one fault<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; 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</style></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="font-size: medium;">Even if you are a PPP (practically perfect person) like me, you usually have to admit to at least one fault – tending to be critical, tending to be lazy, spending too much time playing solitaire, or not enough time listening that other person in your house. Or maybe you are eating just a little too much or not exercising quite enough. Identify, admit to and work on just one fault each day. <o:p></o:p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: -24px; widows: auto;"><br /></p></blockquote><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-75519146061761206212021-10-31T14:19:00.001-07:002022-02-19T03:33:04.724-08:00Alcoholism - the Disease<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We went to a funeral today. My cousin’s daughter. She was only 50 years old. The specific, immediate cause of death not yet known, but the basic cause was alcoholism. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I talked to her parents, to her sisters, to her husband and her children, to her friends and other family members. So many of us who loved her – all grieving for a life cut short. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And the saddest part is that she was such a good person! Even as she struggled with the disease, she found ways to show her love and goodness. But the disease of alcoholism took her life – just as the disease of cancer took her cousin Amy’s life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When someone dies of cancer, as Amy did, we talk about their “heroic battle against the disease”. But what about the victims of alcoholism? Do we recognize that people like Tracy, might have spent her whole life fighting the disease of alcoholism? Do we recognize their struggle and their pain?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Those of us who knew Tracy recognized that it was the disease that had overcome her, and as we gathered for the wake and funeral, we praised her for the times when her goodness and love were so evident. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">But all too often, as a society, we see alcoholism as a human weakness instead of the dreadful disease that it really is. Too often an alcoholic’s death is seen as a personal failure and we try to cover up the details. Too often we ignore the reality – the awful reality – that their death was a casualty of a disease that is all too prevalent in our society.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">For Amy’s funeral we wore pink, publicly acknowledging her personal battle against cancer and recognizing the foundations working to find cures for the disease. But today we simply wore black. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Where was the outward symbol of praise for Tracy’s struggle? Where was the banner, the outward expression of rage and frustration that such a horrible disease overcame yet another young person? Where is the symbol calling for public recognition of the disease of alcoholism and the tragic reality of it’s devastating effects? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I don’t know the answers. I don’t know how we can find a cure. I don’t know how to help those affected. All I can suggest is that when someone we know is suffering, we can offer these 4 things: Non-Judgmental Love! Patience! Forgiveness! And above all, Prayers!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">May you rest in Peace, Tracy – and enjoy the reward for all of your goodness. <o:p></o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-30954135733104546222021-09-22T01:23:00.002-07:002022-02-19T04:45:38.099-08:00Remembering My Mom<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">While the world remembered the heros of 9/11 last week, my brother and sister and I also remembered our mom who died in a car crash on 9/11/1969. I guess you could say she was our personal hero!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I am thinking about her even more this year, as we are staying at our lake, which was her favorite place in the whole world.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We have a little one-room cabin – and I do mean little 6’x9’ – on the side of a hill overlooking a beautiful spring-fed lake.<span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"> </span>The bunk beds and pull-out sofa we had growing up have now been replaced by one adult bed and a small dresser, but the rest of the cabin is the same – suitcases on the floor and open shelves stacked with coffee cans, soup cans, cereal boxes, dishes, pots and pans and of course sun screen and bandaids.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Our "kitchen" is outside on the patio where there is a picnic table and cooking area with a Coleman stove and the stone fireplace that my dad built many years ago. We have no electricity and no running water – though my dad used to joke that we had “walking water” as he carried a pail up from the lake.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It was here that my mom thrived, and we were always so proud of her! She would get up early in the morning and make breakfast before my dad went to work. Then while we were playing with friends – or later, off to our summer jobs – she would fold up the couch, make up the beds, sweep out the cabin, boil water and wash the dishes (using 2 rubber maid basins) and by 10:30 she would be ready to swim or take a canoe ride. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My mom always seemed young to me – and I always admired how nice she looked – whether it was up here or at home. No dowdy house dresses or baggy bathing suits for her. She wore neat shorts or slacks and a nice blouse, and always had a fashionable well-fitting bathing suit that flattered her slim figure. And while other mothers would just float on tubes in the water on those hot summer days, Mom would dive in and actually swim. One of her favorite things to do was to paddle the canoe around the lake just as the sun was going down.</p><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In the evening, Mom always had a nice dinner ready when my dad came home from work – no matter what the weather. When it rained, we had a tarp that attached to the cabin and extended out to the edge of the picnic table -- but not as far as the fireplace. I will always remember watching her one evening when my dad had to work late. We had already eaten dinner and some of the neighbor kids had gathered around our cabin. It started to rain just as my dad arrived, and as he was washing up, Mom stood, holding an umbrella over the fireplace, cooking his hamburger, while we sat in the cabin singing "Sound-off" to the beat of the rain on the tin roof. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Because of the limitations here, (and because, as my mom later told me, she and my dad wanted some “private time”) we would only stay at the lake for 5 or 6 days. The pattern I remember was being here for the weekend and going home on Tuesday. Mom would immediately send the sheets, my baby sister’s cloth diapers and our dirty clothes out to the laundry for a “wet wash”, then go to the grocery store. On Wednesday the wet wash would come back and she’d hang them out on the line to dry, meanwhile making a pot roast or meat loaf, and maybe a ham or small turkey – enough meals for 5 or 6 days. Then on Thursday she would pack up everything – including my sister’s playpen, and we would head back up to the lake. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">As Mom got older, she had various health problems, including what we now know as "afib". But she always said that when she was up here at the lake she felt 10 years younger! So it wasn't surprising that on a beautiful, sunny day, the eleventh of September 1976, she decided she would drive up to the lake for a day. On the way home her heart gave out and her car crashed into a tree.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We will always be sad when we think about losing her so early. But we will always be grateful for the time we had with her, for wonderful woman that she was, and grateful to know that her last day on earth was spent in her favorite place on earth -- here at our lake!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><img src="blob:https://www.blogger.com/2dea4a46-863e-48e3-80c5-10216f5e9c98" /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Ethel Mae McMahon - with Harold and Lucy, at the lake in 1946</p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-21146833229182293832021-05-10T17:28:00.000-07:002021-05-10T17:28:04.190-07:00A Very Special Day<p><span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times;">It is a warm misty morning, May 9, 1947.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;">I have shimmied up the cherry tree in our backyard and am stretched out on one of the limbs.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;">I can see the prettiest blossoms just above me and I know they will look beautiful in my mother’s crystal vase on the white linen tablecloth.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;">I’m sure I can reach them … if … I can just … stretch … a little farther … “Caa-rra-ack!”</span><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">Now I am lying on the ground crying and I remember my father’s warning that cherry tree branches are weak and break easily. My arms are scratched and my knees are bleeding and I stumble into the house. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">“Dr. Dad will fix you up” my father says, coaxing a smile with his warm reassuring voice. “Ouch, Ouch,” we both say together as he pours hydrogen peroxide over the cuts and we watch white foamy bubbles flushing out the dirt.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">“Can I still go today?” I ask through my tears. “You’ll be fine,” my father says gently. “You’re lucky your bones don’t break as easily as the cherry tree branches,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">This was to be the most important day in all of my 7 years of life — the day I’d been preparing for all year. It was the reason my mother had set a table with her beautiful white linen tablecloth; the reason all my aunts and uncles would be joining us for breakfast; and the reason I wanted the beautiful cherry blossoms.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">Two hours later, with scratches on my arms and band-aids on my knees below my white organdy dress, I walk up the aisle in St. John’s Church to receive my First Holy Communion!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">With simple faith I believed in God. I knew that God made me and that he made this beautiful world. I knew that even though I was but a tiny spec in the universe, God knew me personally and that He loved me and would always protect me. And today I knew that I would be receiving the real body and blood of Jesus Christ.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">Throughout all of my life God has protected me and lead me. I admit that I wasn’t perfect and sometimes I didn’t do everything I should have. Sometimes I got lost and questioned what I was taught and tried to find my own answers. But when I turned to God, He was always there with comfort and wisdom and strength – especially when I needed it most. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;">Now I am 80 years old, and I sit in the back of the church and watch as my granddaughters receiver their First Holy Communion. I thank God for the blessings of their love. And I pray for each of them, and for all those boys and girls going up to receive the Body of Christ for the first time. I pray that God will guide them and help them find the answers to their questions and lead them along the right path for their life. And one day, like me, they will be able to watch their own children and grandchildren receive all the blessings of our loving God.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-35921306352074786122021-03-18T08:09:00.003-07:002021-03-18T08:19:36.338-07:00My Irish Eyes Are Smiling<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 40px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 40px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><p dir="rtl" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It's St. Patrick's Day and my Irish Eyes Are Smiling </i></span><span style="font-size: large; font-style: italic;"> </span></b></p></blockquote></blockquote><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Growing up Irish Catholic in New York, I believed in three things:</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">There is a God.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">There is life after death.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">And it never rains on the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The latter belief was washed away one soggy March 17<sup>th</sup> when torrents of rain beat down on bagpipes and tasseled boots sloshing down Fifth Avenue. But the rain did not dampen the celebration. There was no shortage of music, dancing and laughter – though they may have required a bit more “nourishment” with Irish whiskey and green beer. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The spirit of Joy – with or without the libation – is one of the characteristics of the Irish people – one that I am proud to have inherited. Laughter and music filled our home and accompanied us in the car. “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” was a family anthem. My father crooned the “Irish Lullaby” and sang “MacNamara’s Band” with gusto. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When Uncle Ed sat down at the piano we would all gather around singing familiar songs, and laughing about family stories. One day cousin Billy was visiting and sang “Shake hands with your uncle Mike …” I was mesmerized by the long list of Irish names chanted in the verse. I have since learned every name and have great fun singing it with my grandchildren. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Lest anyone think that the Irish spirit of joy reflects a happy-go-lucky attitude, I invite you to look deeper into the hearts and history of the Irish people. Hardships suffered, both in Ireland and in America, are well documented – and my ancestors were no exception. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">However the heritage passed on to me included no self-pity. A “woe-is-me” attitude was never tolerated in my family, no matter what the circumstances. When it rained on our parade we were taught to accept reality, trust in God, and still take every opportunity to celebrate the blessings of life with a song and a smile on our lips. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">That rainy St. Patrick’s day many year ago may have washed away a myth, but it did not wash away my other important beliefs. Faith in God and belief in life after death are the foundations of my life – and they foundations of our Irish heritage<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">This spirit of joy for the Irish is born of the deep, abiding faith in God and in life after death. It springs from the unshakable conviction that the trials on this earth are only temporary and that our reward, including reunion with those we love, is assured by God through eternity. It is this deep faith that carried the Irish people through generations of hardships and allowed them to celebrate life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Of course the Irish are not the only ones to appreciate and celebrate the joys of life. But hey -- it’s St. Patrick’s Day -- and I’m celebrating my Irish heritage! </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And I invite each of you to lift a glass – whether it be Irish whiskey, French wine, German beer, Mexican Tequila, or simple, pure spring water – and join me in a toast to the blessing of life and the joy of <i>Your</i> own heritage. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-24718716634158301062021-03-13T07:37:00.002-08:002021-03-13T07:37:46.031-08:00Mid-West Wind - a poem<p> I grew up on the East coast but moved to Indiana after Jim and I were married. One day, early in March, I was walking beside a small reservoir, feeling the wind in my face, thinking about the differences between both places - and I Now, back on the East coast, I remember that moment and thought you might enjoy my thoughts.</p><p><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> THE MID-WEST WINDS</span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Oh mid-western winds, from where have you come?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You are not born of the ocean where I am from.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It is not from the sea that your currents blow,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Not as the winds I used to know.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You have not brushed the waves or ocean sand.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You are a mid-west wind, born of the land.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You blew over farms and brushed the fields</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Spreading corn and wheat, the farmer’s yield.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You’ve swept through villages and city blocks</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Pushing dust and paper o’re sidewalks and parking lots.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And now you chase the winter’s cold blast </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bringing warmth and Spring to the land, at last.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And from my heart a grateful song escapes,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For the mid-west winds that God did create.</span></p></blockquote><p><br /></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-4978700228560062762021-03-05T08:00:00.002-08:002021-03-05T08:00:56.353-08:00ADVENTURES IN CHARLEY<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">CHARLEY ROCKS<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I had a big birthday this year – in the middle of the Covid-19 Pandemic - so no parties, no big celebrations, no family reunion. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Our seven children, spouses and thirteen grandchildren are spread across the country from New York to California to Florida and states in between. We can’t fly or drive and risk using public restrooms and staying in hotels. And different time zones made it difficult to even have a Zoom get-together to celebrate. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A few weeks after my birthday, our son Darin, who lives here in Maryland, called and said he was taking us somewhere on Saturday. “I need you and Jim to be ready at 6:00 in the morning” he said. “I will pick you up – but you can’t ask any questions.” We were a little hesitant. We're not usually morning people, but he kept promising it would be worth it, so we were ready when he pulled in our driveway. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We drove through Maryland and Delaware, then up the Jersey turnpike, still trying to guess where we might be going. We turned off on an exit and he pulled into a gas station. He got out, made some phone calls, then got back in the car and handed us blindfolds and instructed us to put them on. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We drove for another few minutes before he stopped again. He lead us out of the car, one-by-one telling us to just stand together. By now I was beginning to hear the familiar voices of our other children on his speaker phone. When he told us to take off our masks everybody on the phone yelled “Happy Birthday” and we were standing in front of an RV with our name on it! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">To say it was a surprise was an understatement! They had all decided that with the camper we would be able to travel safely and have the opportunity to visit them. So far we have visited our families in Georgia and Florida, and have enjoyed many short trips just for fun and often take it to nearby restaurants for "curbside" breakfasts and dinners. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">As I write this we are sitting in the camper in a small park in Paradise Pennsylvania. We come here occasionally, just for the night, so we can enjoy a “to-go”dinner from our favorite Amish restaurant “Bird-In-Hand”.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We named our camper Charley – after the poodle in John Stienbeck’s book “Travels With Charley” (If you’ve never read the book, it’s a fun read about his trip across America in a camper, back in 1960’s). <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Stay tuned for more stories about our Adventures in Charley<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-24987947633322279142020-12-29T20:07:00.001-08:002020-12-29T20:25:30.864-08:00Remembering Christmas Past and Present<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">This was a strange Christmas – not being able to go shopping for presents and not having the family gathered around the table for dinner. Thinking about it reminded me of another strange Christmas.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The year was 1985. My husband Pat had died a few months earlier and I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas without him. I certainly didn’t feel like shopping and we didn’t have any money for Christmas presents anyway, as were drowning in hospital bills <o:p></o:p></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">But it turned out to be a beautiful Christmas! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">I made our usual turkey dinner; mostly for the sake of my 6 children. They got creative and went thru their closets and found items to wrap and give as “recycled” presents – including a puzzle with one piece missing – which became a popular recycled gift for many Christmases.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">After dinner we gathered around the tree. I don’t remember where or how we got the tree, or exactly what it looked like – except for the star on top, leaning precariously to one side. But I do remember the beautiful <i>feeling</i>; the soft glow of lights, the warmth, and the love that prevailed. I think we all knew that Pat’s spirit was still with us – not just in memory, but in the way we <i>felt </i>his love, and <i>sensed</i> his joy, remembering his deep faith in God and belief in the true meaning of Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Fast forward to 2020 – which, surprisingly, turned out to be another beautiful Christmas!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">My husband Jim and I have been married now for 27 years and our combined 7 children and 13 grandchildren are spread out across the country; but thanks to phone and facetime we were able to share a little bit of the day with each of them. Since we weren’t going to stores, I brought back the tradition of “recycled” presents and sent each of them books or other items that they remembered from the past. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Fortunately, one or our sons lives only an hour away, so on Christmas morning we drove our camper over to their house. He had set up a fire pit in the driveway and my daughter-in-law made a delicious Crème Brulee French toast breakfast which we all enjoyed while maintaining a safe distance around the fire. As we were exchanging presents, big snow flakes started to fall and it seemed like a scene from a Christmas movie. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">That evening I made our traditional Christmas dinner, even though it was just for Jim and myself. We sat there in the glow of our Christmas tree lights (with that same star on top) grateful for our life together, for our families, for all of our memories. </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Yes, it was a beautiful Christmas because, even from a distance, we shared the love of family - and remembered God's message of love and peace and hope which is the true meaning of Christmas! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-84271755419742388912020-12-13T09:40:00.004-08:002020-12-13T09:40:37.191-08:00A Special Day For Me<p> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Departing from my reflections on Advent, I wanted to share a memory with you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">70 years ago today I was in the 5<sup>th</sup> grade at St. John’s School in White Plains. It was my first year in a Catholic school and I was still getting used to the rituals and discipline – and the “habits” worn by our teachers, the Sisters of Charity. To a child those long black robes made them look a little more than scary.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My teacher, Sister Winiferd was especially fearsome. We thought she was “older than God” though in reality she was probably younger than I am now, but she was definitely too old to know anything about what it meant to be living in the world of an almost 11-year-old girl.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I had been warned by the other students to “stay low and don’t do anything to draw her attention”. But on this particular day, December 13<sup>th</sup>, after morning prayers, Sister Winiferd looked straight at me and said “Lucy McMahon, please come up to my desk.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">With knees shaking and hands trembling I made my way up the aisle to her desk. She was even more terrifying up close. Her long robes flowed over her chair onto the floor and the crucifix, from the rosary beads she wore around her formidable waist, dangled dangerously at her side. A few wisps of white hair escaped the bonnet that the Sisters of Charity wore and, as I stood there quivering, I detected several matching sprigs of hair growing out of her chin. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Wait, was that a smile? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Do you know what today is?” Sister asked. I shook my head, afraid to speak. “Today is a very special day for you,” she explained. “Today is the feast of St. Lucy. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">With a kindly smile, she handed me a holy card and went on to explain that St. Lucy was a beautiful young girl in the days of the early church. The Romans who were persecuting the church tried to make her disobey God’s law, but she refused, sacrificing her life for her love of God and for what she knew to be right.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“You should always be proud of your name,” Sister told me, “And always be true to what you believe.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">To this day I gratefully remember her words, her encouragement and her kindness, and I am reminded that we cannot judge anyone by how they look or what they wear. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And I <i>am</i> proud of my name!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-35687235952467149592020-12-11T08:46:00.000-08:002020-12-11T08:46:55.934-08:00Advent Thoughts Continued<p> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Advent rushes along. Christmas comes closer. We bought our tree from the volunteer fire department. I work on a family calendar to send as a Christmas present to our children. But it doesn’t “feel” like Christmas. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Maybe it’s because the weather is so mild – having spent most of my life with New York or mid-west Christmases. Or maybe it’s because my head is not filled with Christmas music this year.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Even before Thanksgiving, stores and malls are usually bustling with Christmas shoppers and Christmas music. But this year we are not going into stores or to the mall or inside restaurants. We are not going to Christmas concerts, Christmas caroling. So this morning I put a Christmas album on my old fashioned stereo and sit outside on my porch, in the sun. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In this peaceful moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, listening to flocks of geese flying overhead, I think about the second candle of the advent wreath – symbolizing peace.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">There may never be peace in the world, but I think that true peace can only come from within. I believe that peace comes from accepting who we are, and where we are, acknowledging that we are not perfect, but confident that we are using our talents and abilities as best we can to reach out and touch those around us with love. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So I reach out to all of you, especially to those celebrating <span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Chanukah today, </span>and pray that peace will be in your lives. <o:p></o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-78370927639473107212020-12-06T07:28:00.003-08:002020-12-06T07:28:30.688-08:00Thoughts For Beginning the Season of Christmas<p> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">It is Advent, the beginning of the Christmas season – in a year unlike any other.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I can’t go to mass.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I can’t seem to get into the “virtual” mass.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">It’s too cold to sit down by the bay to pray and write in my journal.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Every morning I come up here to the computer – and do nothing important. Check email. Check the weather. Play a few games of solitaire rationalizing that it wakes up my brain. But nothing important.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Feeling so frustrated this morning. Christmas is less than 4 weeks away. Today is the second Sunday of Advent – I missed the first Sunday. It will not be a normal Christmas. Cannot go to be with family, or even have family here. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So this morning I picked up the “Little Blue Book” of advent that I had saved from our church back in 2006. The Blue Book contains readings and reflections to stimulate thoughts and prayers, and suggests you “spend six minutes a day with the Lord”. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I can do that. … and I can Write! And maybe there will be some value in sharing the thoughts from these “six minutes” on my blog. So this is my first entry: <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Today I spent my six minutes watching a video of our 8-year-old granddaughter taking part in the lighting of the Advent Wreath candle at her school. The Advent Wreath, with 4 candles is one of the traditions in our church. Each week, one candle is lit. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The first candle symbolizes Hope! So I begin this blog series – and this advent season – with prayers and hope -- for myself and my family -- and hope that the world will recover from the darkness of this Covid cloud. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">There is an old saying that "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". So I pray and Hope that we will persevere through this time and soon be able to take off our masks and share smiles and hugs again.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-86863535725613790292020-11-01T04:44:00.001-08:002020-11-01T04:44:45.390-08:00A Good Idea For Everyone<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">In the calendar of the Catholic Church, the first 2 days of November are set aside to honor those who have died.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p>November 1st is “All Saints Day” honoring all those little-known, but very good people who lived exemplarily lives and are surely in heaven. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">On November 2<sup>nd</sup>, “All Souls Day” we are encouraged to pray for the souls in purgatory – those who lead good lives but may have had some indiscretions to atone for before being worthy to enter heaven. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">You may not believe in purgatory. You may not believe in – or are not sure about – <i>any </i>life after death. But whatever your beliefs, I think it is important for all of us to set aside some time to think about the people who were special in our lives but are no longer living on this earth. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">They may be a parent, grandparent or other family member; a friend, business partner or even someone we never met, but whose life, words and/or actions had an impact on our own lives. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I think it's a good idea for each of us to spend a few minutes thinking about what we learned from those who went before us – and then give thanks for the fact that they were in our life.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-11822409852897386582020-05-04T09:51:00.003-07:002020-05-04T09:51:50.626-07:00Les Misérables<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Confined to the house on a wet, windy, cold afternoon. Jim is clicking through the TV channels. And then I heard it: “Look down, look down …” The opening song from Les Misérables! He’d found a special presentation of the musical, and we sat all afternoon mesmerized by the show.</div>
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We had seen Les Misérables on Broadway together several times, but sitting here in our living room, my heart and soul were once again overcome with the power of the story – and I recalled the first time I saw it – before I’d met Jim.</div>
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It was 1986, about a year after my husband, Pat, had died. My daughter was trying to set me up on a date with her friend’s bachelor uncle. I had no interest in dating, but when he called and said he had 2 tickets for Les Misérables, he got my attention. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He explained that it was a matinée and that he would pay for the show and provide transportation – which turned out to be a school bus hired by a group of middle school teachers – but explained he was on a tight budget and suggested we go “dutch treat” for lunch. How could I resist. Although I‘d spent all of my childhood and lived most of my adult years within shouting distance of New York City, I had never been to a Broadway show.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t remember his name, but he was a pleasant enough person and we had a “companionable” lunch at a non-descript diner. When we got to the theater the usher showed us to our seats and I was immediately enthralled with the ambience. Then the lights went down and the curtain went up. The sense of a crowded theater faded and suddenly I was alone, under the spell of the music and that powerful production. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The visual and lyrical magnificence took my breath away! My heart soared with every crescendo. My chest pounded with every drumbeat. I suffered with Fantine in the pain she endured for love of her daughter. I cried with the child Cosette wandering through the woods, and rejoiced when, as a beautiful young woman, she fell in love with Marius. And when Jean Valjean raised his eyes and his voice singing “God on high … I prayed along with all my heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But nothing compares to the passion and beauty of the final scene. To this day I can close my eyes and see that stage: Cosette, her beautiful wedding gown cascading in long, white, rippling folds across the stage; The excitement of marriage with the hope and promise of love and new life; And the simple beauty of Fantine welcoming Jean Valjean to the light of everlasting peace – the fulfillment of his life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps it was because, at that first show, my husband’s death was still so fresh in my mind, but as I experienced the intensity and passion of that final scene I was overcome with emotion. On that one stage, in that one scene, I saw all the wonder and beauty of life and of death, and the power and beauty of love transcending both!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fast forward 7 years to when Jim and I were married – and 27 more years of sharing our life and our love – to the strange times of today with pandemic quarantine. The message of Les Misérables is just as powerful and still ignites my soul. <b><i>“To love another person is to see the face of God!”</i></b></div>
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swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2743762948422815351.post-13281999451906568812020-03-19T11:42:00.001-07:002020-03-19T20:14:31.527-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Thought for Today</h2>
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Today, for me, that means adding a new post to my blog.<br />
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A week or so ago, as people began to get concerned about the Coronavirus, <i>before</i> we were advised not to go into stores, I was at the pharmacy picking up my prescription. An older couple were at the counter talking to the pharmacist who seemed to be having trouble with the computer. It was taking forever. The line was growing behind us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Most people were patient, resigned to the fact that long lines were inevitable given the situation. They stood there looking around – at the ceiling, at the floor or studying items on the shelves or in their carts. They maintained “social distance”, and for the most part they also avoided direct eye contact, as we so often do with a group of strangers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At the counter the pharmacist was still busy talking to the man while his wife stood patiently next to him. She was slightly hunched over, seemingly sad, perhaps in pain, obviously tired and concerned. You could see the strain on her face – muscles tight, eyes hollow, brow furred. She looked down at the long line apologetically. Embarrassment seemed to add to her discomfort. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wished I could go up to her and say “it’s OK. Don’t worry. We understand.” But I couldn’t do that. “Social distancing” and respect for their privacy kept us apart. All I could do was smile at her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I saw an amazing result of that simple smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Her posture relaxed and tension visibly began to drain from her face. While tiredness and pain were still obvious, she seemed lighter. An expression of gratefulness came into those hollow eyes – and she smiled back at me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That stranger in the store looked at me as if I had given her a great gift. I felt she had given a gift to me!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I will always remember that her face and that moment – a reminder of how we touch each other’s lives in so many little ways – and how important it is to make all of our interactions positive!<o:p></o:p></div>
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swiss cheesehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02495273917729936564noreply@blogger.com0