tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23382437763874622552024-03-18T12:02:05.225-04:00A Journal of Days"Forever is composed of nows." Emily DickinsonLeonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.comBlogger2120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-85534119338174199162024-03-17T11:49:00.043-04:002024-03-18T12:01:04.888-04:00A Day That Is Just For Me!<p> 1. It was a picture perfect, spring day for a birthday celebration. My gifts are all delightful. Everyone was creative in what they chose for me: worm castings, bath scents, a hand knit hood, a Vermont sweatshirt, chocolate and maple candy, a balsam incense burner shaped like a cabin, pencil erasers, a gift card to the local gardening co-op, a shawl, flowers, and a book. Most of all, I loved spending the day with our children and grandchildren.</p><p>2. I now have Medicare. I am not quite sure how I feel about that.</p><p>3. Two kinds of cakes baked by two daughters. I eat both.<br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-71446471296432867092024-03-14T22:04:00.004-04:002024-03-14T22:04:45.224-04:00Good Dirt, Bad Company, Photoshopped<p> 1. Gardening season has officially begun. I put on my overalls and got dirty to commemorate the occasion. I had time to think about my tasks as I pushed the wheelbarrow across the field. How is it that a garden goes from tame to wild so quickly?! Does anything ever go from wild to tame without assistance or intervention? I can't think of anything.<br /></p><p>2. I had sharp words for the Chocolate Chip Ajuga.It really <i>must</i> be pickier about who it allows in its bed. It's keeping company with grass and clover. We will not have that.<br /></p><p>3. Trying to make a positive experience out of having a formal photograph taken for the church directory. We are shown the digital samples. There is no way to make my photo pleasing to my eye; no background color, no different poses, nothing. Finally she asks if we want "touch ups". Yes! I will PAY $35 for touch ups! <br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-65360433545238163912024-03-13T15:56:00.000-04:002024-03-13T15:56:01.968-04:00Making the Best of It, A Fresh Airing, We're Here!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHR_YPOa2XA8ekt5KiSTuGRZExETji6i-Otuocizn8paPh-9AYf8jEnslpMEHsja5B_rN_NupU58E-SMY2zota5vsMCzlq6Lb5mmU9reTr1A_th0HRex_i52TsNgi__yKtKL9AwDFRmwKYJUztgIDZS-vOPJuzQwRb6J3rrrrytf_fwpxcCapGQyHMMuo/s3109/IMG_8916%20Cross%20Stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3109" data-original-width="2985" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHR_YPOa2XA8ekt5KiSTuGRZExETji6i-Otuocizn8paPh-9AYf8jEnslpMEHsja5B_rN_NupU58E-SMY2zota5vsMCzlq6Lb5mmU9reTr1A_th0HRex_i52TsNgi__yKtKL9AwDFRmwKYJUztgIDZS-vOPJuzQwRb6J3rrrrytf_fwpxcCapGQyHMMuo/w614-h640/IMG_8916%20Cross%20Stitch.jpg" width="614" /></a></div><p></p><p>1. Poke and pull; stitch and snip. I am turning nervous energy into something tangible.</p><p>2. The porch door is open to the sun and breeze! The black walnut wind chimes that Steve made are rattling on the pergola.<br /></p><p>3. Blossoms have sprung out everywhere. The interstate is adorned with the white lace of pear and the yard is ruffled with the pink of purple plum. The blossoms have appeared so quickly that I am sure they have been lying in wait for twelve months, just waiting for this moment to burst open and shout, "Surprise!" <br /> </p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-11967567265068967952024-03-11T16:27:00.018-04:002024-03-11T20:15:54.361-04:00On High, Brown Beef Stew, March Winds<p>1. A winter bare maple tree reveals a small nest perched high up near the tip of the branch. </p><p>2. I seek out the recipe from my mom's old 1947 cookbook for Brown Beef Stew. This is the way she always made it and it was my favorite. I get excited when I notice the recipe right above it for Potato Dumplings. How have I never noticed this before? If I make these for the stew, dinner will be a marvel.<br /></p><p></p><p>3. The winds blew fiercely last night and made bedtime feel unsettled. In the morning I noticed the wind had settled and all was calm. Same room, same house, friendlier feel.<br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-40138825833045959952024-03-08T14:38:00.001-05:002024-03-11T16:17:38.673-04:00Transformed Into Real Pages<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDF9QdxPRFVNZULF0hDZ73VuYc1zn2Ce5Y5k8e7BxBYkBqTPeHEp3sNGxIv1xI5iCwoWbT0KlGT0AOKwoVOdGbCcye-PaOh6hcFKvSRzz4qj0pZ727Q0-L8c-6dmPp0unPFYsAomq7Tg6UrygN7SGR5o_hQNeRLvPvbPkeKiByz373JHPohO_5T6Wwum6/s1686/IMG_8914.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDF9QdxPRFVNZULF0hDZ73VuYc1zn2Ce5Y5k8e7BxBYkBqTPeHEp3sNGxIv1xI5iCwoWbT0KlGT0AOKwoVOdGbCcye-PaOh6hcFKvSRzz4qj0pZ727Q0-L8c-6dmPp0unPFYsAomq7Tg6UrygN7SGR5o_hQNeRLvPvbPkeKiByz373JHPohO_5T6Wwum6/w412-h400/IMG_8914.jpg" width="412" /></a></div><p></p><p><a href="https://intorealpages.com/site/about#"><u>Into Real Pages</u></a> is an online service that prints online content into book form. I decided to give it a try after reading a recommendation on someone's blog. I am pleased with the result and I will have more books printed up a couple at a time.<br /></p><p>I started my blog fourteen years ago (!) so there was too much material to all go into one book. I decided to print each year as a volume. They offer different styles and options for design. I went with a design where I could use a different color cover for each volume. The cost depends on how many pages you will have printed. My books cost about $55 each and they have a soft cover. The pages are glossy and all the photos I had on my blog are included. The company is located in the Netherlands and it took about a month for these to arrive in the mail. When I initially placed my order, I did not receive a confirmation page. I emailed the company and they confirmed that they did receive my order, so communication was good. <br /></p><p>I have no idea what will happen to internet content in the future. I wanted to preserve my blog for my daughters to keep. I thought they might like to recollect the day to day life of our family from way back when.<br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-35898896515214555732024-02-29T19:24:00.002-05:002024-02-29T19:24:39.257-05:00Lake Morey, Vermont, Winter in Our Veins<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZaq5eyMlStOWq3mAzGIENyOETsaP3ZJl1amQYzMETyKA9LS8VG9bTMdv3u8cchKVGOsUIiSeRThvUZPa7yZmFy0aY3L-wEXG0-dnvOMTm334MJAC_inOXG9sTT4GzKqJlm_MetlRnOzT-QTBY22I-M-geLGyi2F43Sw299sjTyRA1_8Z9M5nBMYS94k6/s2908/IMG_3743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2181" data-original-width="2908" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZaq5eyMlStOWq3mAzGIENyOETsaP3ZJl1amQYzMETyKA9LS8VG9bTMdv3u8cchKVGOsUIiSeRThvUZPa7yZmFy0aY3L-wEXG0-dnvOMTm334MJAC_inOXG9sTT4GzKqJlm_MetlRnOzT-QTBY22I-M-geLGyi2F43Sw299sjTyRA1_8Z9M5nBMYS94k6/w640-h480/IMG_3743.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>I do not have a bucket list. However, I do have heart's desires. One of my heart's desires is to play outdoors in the winter. When we left New England and moved south twenty-three years ago, we left behind the kind of winters that were a way of life. You either embraced the cold and ice or you suffered. While we do have a winter season here in Virginia, they do not take on the same bite as a New England winter. Ponds rarely freeze over and hefty snowfalls come maybe once every four or five years. Indoor ice skating rinks cannot compare to the freedom of outdoor skating on a frozen pond, lake, or flooded field. I am sure a large part of my longing is nostalgia. Whatever the reason, the desire to ice skate outdoors has constantly tugged at my heart. As I grow older, that desire feels more urgent.<br /></p><p>Life in the 1960's, before computers and play dates, meant we played outside every day. Winters were no exception. If there was snow, it was it all the better. Even without snow, we could still ice skate. We had farm ponds and flooded fields all around us. The only thing that would drive us back indoors was frozen fingers or toes..and supper time. Ultimately, my older cousin who lived next door, built a skating rink in the empty lot on the other side of his house. He borrowed a bulldozer from his work and scraped the field, pushing all the dirt to create a bank on all four sides. Then he came in with a cement mixer filled with water and flooded the depressed ground. He installed a spotlight on a telephone pole and a burning barrel for us to keep warm. He even built a bench where we could change into our skates. We couldn't wait for school to let out in the afternoon to all meet up at the rink. Often times, we would go back out again after dinner and skate in and out of the pool of light created by the spotlight. When school let out for Winter Recess in February, we would have a solid week of outdoor winter play, sledding, skating, and building elaborate snow forts. Below freezing temperatures were pretty much guaranteed in February and many big lakes would hold winter carnivals during Winter Recess week. <br /></p><p>I recall the year I turned twelve. It was Winter Recess and we neighborhood kids were all sledding. The boys started throwing snowballs at the girls. An ice ball hit me in the eye and caused some serious damage. I was under a doctor's care for months and I wasn't allowed to play outside for the rest of that recess week. I remember sitting in front of the picture window watching my sister and the neighborhood kids ice skate on the flooded field across the road. Even with a horrible headache and an eye patch over my eye, I begged to be let out to play. The hot tears I cried made my eye and head hurt even more and I was miserable. My mother did not relent. I felt jipped when we finally returned to school the following week. I still bear a scar under my eye with that memory.</p><p>Nowadays I subscribe to Yankee Magazine in order to get my New England fix. Sometimes I cry with longing for the all that I miss of our old home. Two years ago the magazine published an article about a place in Fairlee, Vermont called, Lake Morey Resort. The article told about how the resort clears a four-mile path around the lake for ice skating. It is advertised a the largest ice skating path in the United States! They also clear large swaths for ice hockey and some fun little paths in between. I studied the photo in depth wondering if it could be as wonderful as it appeared. I saved the coveted article and showed it to the family. I claimed that this was going on my bucket list. It remained the one and only item on my non-existent bucket list. </p><p> Last fall I re-mentioned this Lake Morey winter adventure to one of my daughters. Quick as anything, all the girls were on board to make it happen... in February! We made reservations at the resort, four of the girls made flight reservations and two of us made driving plans. It was really happening!</p><p>A lot of moving pieces had to come together to make this trip a reality. We were blessed with good health, good weather, and good travel. The excitement of arriving to find the lake and the resort all that we hoped for was nothing short of a miracle. The resort had everything we needed on site. They had three kinds of skates to rent; figure skates, hockey skates, and Nordic skates. They also had hockey sticks, pucks, helmets, and sleds. There was also one nifty item that we had never seen before called a<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YA7d0DEDgaA"> Kickspark.</a> It is like a scooter with two long blades instead of wheels. You put micro crampons on your boots and kick off on this self-propelled machine to glide across the ice. It was a blast! The four sisters and granddaughter skated the four-mile path around the lake twice each day. They also played hockey and just messed around on the ice, sampling the different kinds of skates. I could not make the four mile loop on skates but I did walk, Kickspark and eventually skated a little before the trip was over. </p><p>The moments of purest joy for me were to see my daughters playing together. For three days they weren't moms or wives or employees. They were just kid sisters having a blast together. This was a rare opportunity. Of course I felt joy when I finally got my skates on and I let go of any support. I found that I could still skate even after many years of not having done so. Muscle memory of how the subtlest shift of weight from side to side sent me firmly gliding and gave me confidence. The cold air blew across my face as I went a little bit faster. At one point, I stood alone near the middle of the lake. It was very quiet. The sky was heavy and gray, and the air was biting cold. I could feel the dampness of frozen water rising up from the ice. It is unique in feel and smell; different than snow. It awoke winters from long ago that shifted into the here and now. I lifted my face and breathed in as deeply as I could. I needed to get in enough winter air to save up and last me a while. I thanked God for this remarkable gift.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4AoXSrgfqI0T2iH7NRpIPXHvzarbGuMBbj2Zok5vg4Gw0ABBsZWLwMJs-nPnHY8IKdzLndaeK8Oe2_mRfyS-nXeNLPYz6SdVkBl5xve7YVKIuUbUHE_4pn8Kzgk1UDIMFfJ7gJ4ueDOplE1s-fLCL_qL-OeJmZqamOBtaJwtfWz_oTVkYlpAEDViUqg_/s4032/IMG_8793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4AoXSrgfqI0T2iH7NRpIPXHvzarbGuMBbj2Zok5vg4Gw0ABBsZWLwMJs-nPnHY8IKdzLndaeK8Oe2_mRfyS-nXeNLPYz6SdVkBl5xve7YVKIuUbUHE_4pn8Kzgk1UDIMFfJ7gJ4ueDOplE1s-fLCL_qL-OeJmZqamOBtaJwtfWz_oTVkYlpAEDViUqg_/w640-h480/IMG_8793.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5WD4tj7RzQAUv0twbkjey8AgVgtqgHKP-qKLooTdSQfYmS0VYSoTuCmWyZk3iripqd8saeUSyPQDQFOJIeY2EUvtjN10J-HsdtKRua70YJ_oNtbQ2P1Kv0WbHkTNtiWyAdjJl4Tm-eZVfJtl553M4X97AatTDSuE3AAa9C8HwwNOOJspu15Mde511mVM/s4032/IMG_8783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5WD4tj7RzQAUv0twbkjey8AgVgtqgHKP-qKLooTdSQfYmS0VYSoTuCmWyZk3iripqd8saeUSyPQDQFOJIeY2EUvtjN10J-HsdtKRua70YJ_oNtbQ2P1Kv0WbHkTNtiWyAdjJl4Tm-eZVfJtl553M4X97AatTDSuE3AAa9C8HwwNOOJspu15Mde511mVM/w480-h640/IMG_8783.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9X3xHRI8hRabyBFdKtCG-kUHgHfbiciAoQ1q_BWdNRIB4ayNSUZcYG2KCZ9Sd7nNFRlnA2gbjOaFh4YMM3stGJVPDtiE8miWh9RRNmytJHm-s5xbrqG0KLQGtGs3_9dbtU-MtM5jZ6gypj6I93cWNxmTblGrTJzBFSMUWYVapbiNxhIYonGDITNNkWPKP/s4032/IMG_3650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9X3xHRI8hRabyBFdKtCG-kUHgHfbiciAoQ1q_BWdNRIB4ayNSUZcYG2KCZ9Sd7nNFRlnA2gbjOaFh4YMM3stGJVPDtiE8miWh9RRNmytJHm-s5xbrqG0KLQGtGs3_9dbtU-MtM5jZ6gypj6I93cWNxmTblGrTJzBFSMUWYVapbiNxhIYonGDITNNkWPKP/w480-h640/IMG_3650.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwy1jik5zOjhHsXaF4XsMOnB1hSL6bhtcvRYIo1nF_bUnpZmI9Tf5Xr4_g71vKecgEpnAtFF4YoE3cXb3ZPP-OFcxdhYlEho_wW-I5JXVhKH1hRG6zndjVyqDyGIXjLEUWBAWNnVzooNHKlK5hR6uOcuIl_xTZKb9FlvZ5YH1BW1KfFi2NWtBT6nZhNrL/s3522/IMG_3810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2641" data-original-width="3522" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwy1jik5zOjhHsXaF4XsMOnB1hSL6bhtcvRYIo1nF_bUnpZmI9Tf5Xr4_g71vKecgEpnAtFF4YoE3cXb3ZPP-OFcxdhYlEho_wW-I5JXVhKH1hRG6zndjVyqDyGIXjLEUWBAWNnVzooNHKlK5hR6uOcuIl_xTZKb9FlvZ5YH1BW1KfFi2NWtBT6nZhNrL/w640-h480/IMG_3810.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VUkKk_R_myGumhyphenhyphenoPF7lug_RMRVtbMyoITjW41bllF9oRUEMBE9eOhp6tG_LTZg082ke_OSdWFxfqfcvyWos9EwPlwZlDLnn3-Dumc1Dq3aYfshtcA-KfUllamtFylQ2flRoGCkvHH3IytIDgDC2eyxeWyk1D7cCPe-95nYOyHVATw4OPuWs505C8pUQ/s4032/IMG_3822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VUkKk_R_myGumhyphenhyphenoPF7lug_RMRVtbMyoITjW41bllF9oRUEMBE9eOhp6tG_LTZg082ke_OSdWFxfqfcvyWos9EwPlwZlDLnn3-Dumc1Dq3aYfshtcA-KfUllamtFylQ2flRoGCkvHH3IytIDgDC2eyxeWyk1D7cCPe-95nYOyHVATw4OPuWs505C8pUQ/w480-h640/IMG_3822.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38HsLWHzYCPrt5UTjlPi7qxLQpdbT8_nbnOJq2dbORFRfBmGYSI8jipDGyJt22ayyzZgGWA-0GNu0Kv2MOLTn6zso1SiR6NiZs8-E94uzapXEWhjB8MEwuZ1vV2Nq5ozCL5aZFVJwys8ojTLvMrq5_Us0DaeGx3NOaxmqLEw1NXIvHuM5iTwiGsimH8XR/s4032/IMG_3759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38HsLWHzYCPrt5UTjlPi7qxLQpdbT8_nbnOJq2dbORFRfBmGYSI8jipDGyJt22ayyzZgGWA-0GNu0Kv2MOLTn6zso1SiR6NiZs8-E94uzapXEWhjB8MEwuZ1vV2Nq5ozCL5aZFVJwys8ojTLvMrq5_Us0DaeGx3NOaxmqLEw1NXIvHuM5iTwiGsimH8XR/w640-h480/IMG_3759.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-30507214946021567832024-02-25T23:27:00.017-05:002024-02-26T08:54:07.853-05:00Exploring an Abandoned Farmhouse<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFtQ_kvPzNoreeSAp_NOyYSOt4tn3NTDAuvpbGfErCVS1H9kG7zompdraAFe9Tkv17JzUk9IUtiHk91UYlMTjwMZBv1F-wZxhwbZcgXQcmHacNdn_7n4VPiOq-yzfOb6GWBk1DPcFFF-6YkHQROS0zMOQoUum5-f-DWSOrVb7odRS0vNXLxGdUgNAQM04/s4032/IMG_8450.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFtQ_kvPzNoreeSAp_NOyYSOt4tn3NTDAuvpbGfErCVS1H9kG7zompdraAFe9Tkv17JzUk9IUtiHk91UYlMTjwMZBv1F-wZxhwbZcgXQcmHacNdn_7n4VPiOq-yzfOb6GWBk1DPcFFF-6YkHQROS0zMOQoUum5-f-DWSOrVb7odRS0vNXLxGdUgNAQM04/w640-h480/IMG_8450.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>On a beautiful fall day last September, Audrey invited Tess and me on an adventure. We were going to explore an abandoned farmhouse on some acreage she and her husband had purchased. She packed a picnic lunch for us and we set out to make a day of it.<br /></p><p>I assume everyone itches to explore old, abandoned houses. I can't drive by a one without wishing I could explore it. I like to imagine what life was like in the home and what sort of people lived there. I want to look for traces of their ordinary days and see what was forgotten or left behind. Short of trespassing, we don't often get the chance to actually explore those places. They roll by, out the car window, leaving only our imaginings to keep them company.<br /></p><p>Audrey had done some research on their land and she knew the house had been empty for a very long while. It had no electricity and no plumbing. It was 1860's old, yet it was very well preserved considering how long it had stood empty. The woodwork and trim inside were lovely as was the stairway and banisters. The flooring was in good shape too. This did not appear to be the home of
someone who had been struggling on hard times. It was a solid, successful farmer's
home. There were comfort items like a pretty bed frame and a piano in
the living room. There were two porches, one on either side of the ell that was the kitchen off the back side. I imagined garden vegetables being carried across the porch into the kitchen for canning. An open, stone-lined well stood a couple of yards from the back door where I could imagine the wife drawing water up from the well for her kitchen use. Curtains still hung on some of the windows. They were so dry rotted that the slightest touch sent the fabric crumbling away. My favorite place was one of the porches off the kitchen. It still showed the beautiful blue paint on the wainscotted ceiling. I pictured myself sitting on a chair, shelling peas in the cool shade of a summer afternoon. My heart ached as I noticed all these signs of life from an era gone by. </p><p>We talked about whether anything was worth salvaging. It would be a big job to salvage woodwork, flooring, and fireplace mantels without damaging them. As we walked away from the home, we carried with us an old wire and metal gate we found. Audrey said I could have it for my garden. It reminded me of one that my parents had at my home growing up. We talked about coming back with the metal detector to dig deeper and see what else we might find. </p><p>Unfortunately, we got sad news about the house only one week later. The county required the auction company to demolish the house before the final closing sale could take place. Within one day, it was razed to the ground and hauled away. Just like that. When I heard that news, I felt melancholy all evening. It was strange that I would feel that way about a house I only saw once and never lived in myself. I had really wanted to go back and visit it again. It felt like an old friend. I hated that the past was disappearing, along with a way of life. </p><p>Well, it is time for new beginnings and all that. My six year old granddaughter played with her toy horse in one of the fields there today. She is imagining a life that is yet to come. I pray it is as lovely and peaceful as the old house led me to believe it used to be.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5gbtHpsyaD_ZxPQC83EmIGEKnBxaQ4HrRKnKPiYv3t9vf2VFLSFqx8wVhtT3ahJ5H_rAyQ5We6LHx8ae7SJDvAcsnD_8reGetsZMctbS1DGFxi_R8YEa-7dt3GJvTiWJ5j3DQRELi0Y6lxdjreuuRkhS7Khyphenhyphene44gwReIFdcGdFwgxkfUY_6EFmv9PPtU/s4032/IMG_8452.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5gbtHpsyaD_ZxPQC83EmIGEKnBxaQ4HrRKnKPiYv3t9vf2VFLSFqx8wVhtT3ahJ5H_rAyQ5We6LHx8ae7SJDvAcsnD_8reGetsZMctbS1DGFxi_R8YEa-7dt3GJvTiWJ5j3DQRELi0Y6lxdjreuuRkhS7Khyphenhyphene44gwReIFdcGdFwgxkfUY_6EFmv9PPtU/w640-h480/IMG_8452.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> The kitchen ell off the back of the house and one of the porches.<br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNX0GbO59KEogmdFIngnGtuQ0eSMrNOqL63CPtUYw8ef40S6f4OOYb3d8PJx4dNwZgF66tbeAnHPRVPPW8mHl5LKRZ2jij_CbCdUelNu6cr_SRNpZBvlmRRM4ehPz_edBE9PHGtGTbe2Obm8Brd-iR1tP7gIiiHTuzI4hEuX1lzZlA9HdAw3yu1Kza0lD/s4032/IMG_8455.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNX0GbO59KEogmdFIngnGtuQ0eSMrNOqL63CPtUYw8ef40S6f4OOYb3d8PJx4dNwZgF66tbeAnHPRVPPW8mHl5LKRZ2jij_CbCdUelNu6cr_SRNpZBvlmRRM4ehPz_edBE9PHGtGTbe2Obm8Brd-iR1tP7gIiiHTuzI4hEuX1lzZlA9HdAw3yu1Kza0lD/w640-h480/IMG_8455.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> The piano was made in Albany New York. The place of my birth. What are the chances?!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mBrwJ1ozrgJ1cSjgcGaIG9Jq8jitNYWJJZey7C_E2FYyWekvyt98hcxC6m8qAR7Ci975QnSkT7vOSBUufZHc-ku60D0RP9EyCjxirNv3g4RH-g9W_21j4oVxKLH3jK8Tjy3IPlEc7DNpPwtRNOAgZGuk1i3kqj4yWXhc4imLf3PYDrsY_5OxtNNRagGK/s4032/IMG_8458.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mBrwJ1ozrgJ1cSjgcGaIG9Jq8jitNYWJJZey7C_E2FYyWekvyt98hcxC6m8qAR7Ci975QnSkT7vOSBUufZHc-ku60D0RP9EyCjxirNv3g4RH-g9W_21j4oVxKLH3jK8Tjy3IPlEc7DNpPwtRNOAgZGuk1i3kqj4yWXhc4imLf3PYDrsY_5OxtNNRagGK/w480-h640/IMG_8458.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Pretty bed frame with the contents of a straw mattress that once sat atop it.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27yIpQJ47SSrcgtdo-W2gOtg91Nl3pYVjwyWS-QlOQBGV1w6CIzqmnRwLQ9XJggPrM5I0mclUlF8k2N2MvyJ5sO4evOj97rGE7edcYKHBUQoq8w_yNsQo5n9Tr_QsShDmtywp5dK3F-w7MMnqWy2Hc1wKm9295L_O4uGhPdavb0k3J0JWcCdo1TxRIrj8/s4032/IMG_8462.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27yIpQJ47SSrcgtdo-W2gOtg91Nl3pYVjwyWS-QlOQBGV1w6CIzqmnRwLQ9XJggPrM5I0mclUlF8k2N2MvyJ5sO4evOj97rGE7edcYKHBUQoq8w_yNsQo5n9Tr_QsShDmtywp5dK3F-w7MMnqWy2Hc1wKm9295L_O4uGhPdavb0k3J0JWcCdo1TxRIrj8/w640-h480/IMG_8462.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p> Look at the beautiful blue paint on the ceiling! The garden gate that went home with us.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFSuMRqfduYdCDJv8Li53B-5eJV_CZNOeE27S6VgxdyoCYskB1n7UD9puLEgB9cligWjZ-44KvDP8jzyFT6rUCgQSId6AdKDE9aeycWCWfiNb1tR9PCj7Ff5-jrk-qhke4BgfvYP5taxJBmlTrlwvblIE-Vsk8T9svaduZrOXDYbNhi8kNZakTKSu_Jey/s4032/IMG_8456.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFSuMRqfduYdCDJv8Li53B-5eJV_CZNOeE27S6VgxdyoCYskB1n7UD9puLEgB9cligWjZ-44KvDP8jzyFT6rUCgQSId6AdKDE9aeycWCWfiNb1tR9PCj7Ff5-jrk-qhke4BgfvYP5taxJBmlTrlwvblIE-Vsk8T9svaduZrOXDYbNhi8kNZakTKSu_Jey/w300-h400/IMG_8456.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>1924 calendar page found on the floor. <br /><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-46370862433860447842024-02-11T07:29:00.000-05:002024-02-11T07:29:07.081-05:00Work in Progress, Apothecary Rose<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MNjPCEhAew6k6u76A1oA_Kn1SlfaGaI1jcCwmUAV1cbl79PVjlo7-yJtPSxUaNZTIciSFRfxraKW-HCuzS3QhN8GY8tn8Trfo5RVF63JpSBb1IoZk8TPvAHrgsz5NJ52U3uBuiaVKgh-akGdLCGtl7eXV6qpAHV8vjDTPy2Rnp8HBkfMBLsk9LBMviqp/s1512/IMG_8692.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1512" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MNjPCEhAew6k6u76A1oA_Kn1SlfaGaI1jcCwmUAV1cbl79PVjlo7-yJtPSxUaNZTIciSFRfxraKW-HCuzS3QhN8GY8tn8Trfo5RVF63JpSBb1IoZk8TPvAHrgsz5NJ52U3uBuiaVKgh-akGdLCGtl7eXV6qpAHV8vjDTPy2Rnp8HBkfMBLsk9LBMviqp/w640-h600/IMG_8692.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7H64jRysr2tOmLlJxhV0QNFdY0fJie7Gr5fri9xViDJhQUWf13DkcwLp7KZsc800K_uVasc9fmfcwSxljI5T_daNgIRBJTeOzxw8bx2N1czNg-wjlrqxMG1kxJSlJtiTFNhVGrSqvBL55u-MlH9jJU12SPz-_czFTBbwMCVGsm8KAM9GWH4RiQu1gdGpv/s2016/IMG_8676.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7H64jRysr2tOmLlJxhV0QNFdY0fJie7Gr5fri9xViDJhQUWf13DkcwLp7KZsc800K_uVasc9fmfcwSxljI5T_daNgIRBJTeOzxw8bx2N1czNg-wjlrqxMG1kxJSlJtiTFNhVGrSqvBL55u-MlH9jJU12SPz-_czFTBbwMCVGsm8KAM9GWH4RiQu1gdGpv/w480-h640/IMG_8676.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I am currently working on a rug called, Apothecary Rose. It is by my favorite pattern designer, Karen Kahle. I love all of her whimsical patterns. I find that her designs suit my home's style, particularly in the sense they that I can use brighter colors and I do not need to stick to a primitive color palette. </p><p>I bought this pattern a few years ago and it took me a while to approach it. I felt intimidated by it's complexity and I needed formulate a plan on how I would work out my vision of color. I was drawn to the soft colors that Karen used. I saw warm cream tones, splattered with pinks and bronze-greens and some surprises of blue. I enjoy dying wool so I dyed the background textures in a color called, Antique Paper. For the blossoms and buds, I used shades of a dye recipe called Apple Blossom Pinks. I bought a piece of wool from a designer/author/dyer named Katie Kriner. She calls the color of that wool, English Breakfast. I thought it was the perfect shade to use in the grid lines between the blossom squares. I like to hook from massive amounts of mixed wool strips rather than one, singular piece of wool. I keep them in bags and bins next to my frame and pull strips from there as I hook.<br /></p><p>I keep my rug hooking frame next to a window so I have lots of light shining down on the rug. I also have a window directly across from my chair so I can look outside while I work. (This is how I happened to spot the bobcat that ran by the shed two years ago.) All in all, it's a pensive past time that suits me well. I listen to many audio books and podcasts and I think and pray. Keeping the hands busy in tasks that don't require much concentration, like hooking, stitching, weeding, and washing dishes allows the brain to flow into a thoughtful space. For some reason I need to counterbalance busy days with lots of time like this. Hence, a lot of rugs are produced...or a lot of dishes get washed. </p><p>Last fall and into the winter, I stitched a couple of things as well. I realized I was going with all the same choices of color scheme- pinks, creams and bronze greens with some blues. I guess those are my soothing colors for this season. : )</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_9qXfbTiIZlO6p3pSffwT0jAB-DMqgROzEMmAorE-eHuPwwoZu3aB1uXmgbDMbk4UikWUyLHnkfyIZN-6LpJ2PrfXd98WHl3jcKY1_ZsAwCtD9vp7aOoeECMkKOKxEn-VFfsBanz5BEH2r0a33TSA1eMJD8QpqzlwuvroOB77dKZbuY9ANevcfU8Q8kj/s1615/IMG_8744.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="1308" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_9qXfbTiIZlO6p3pSffwT0jAB-DMqgROzEMmAorE-eHuPwwoZu3aB1uXmgbDMbk4UikWUyLHnkfyIZN-6LpJ2PrfXd98WHl3jcKY1_ZsAwCtD9vp7aOoeECMkKOKxEn-VFfsBanz5BEH2r0a33TSA1eMJD8QpqzlwuvroOB77dKZbuY9ANevcfU8Q8kj/w518-h640/IMG_8744.jpg" width="518" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAjiJmcalXoMHt-hYp3GDzvlAVE3D6vULpbkG0c60W8sYhEe0tuKvOywf57oEq7Uw9a05QaWhxFyaHZz5zq3JPBoP_5KJly0r6i_bry9LPciQJghYkLEkIG9d1pams7ZcFDYJUVcGCFVLCS7dQHHnWbDvD4k6Tqq7u_Y7Zgoee8q0UuehDaco35Ac74IX/s2016/IMG_8745.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAjiJmcalXoMHt-hYp3GDzvlAVE3D6vULpbkG0c60W8sYhEe0tuKvOywf57oEq7Uw9a05QaWhxFyaHZz5zq3JPBoP_5KJly0r6i_bry9LPciQJghYkLEkIG9d1pams7ZcFDYJUVcGCFVLCS7dQHHnWbDvD4k6Tqq7u_Y7Zgoee8q0UuehDaco35Ac74IX/w480-h640/IMG_8745.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2K4YcmxUfuXKM-YEX6SJBc1sYoUexrltBP3gbeTlBJzChD53XDb-thQgc9n8aOnU9kdiBkmrK2-UCI1XD3aEC2FaQj4fej-CbkCCwNHY3yU3Ku3kgrIiouam04dZkcRrcSx2uSqqEKVLz7G5njI7k7eCZxqw8opVVuWf9q4-v_0xjRZ23wNY4ieBM6nWI/s1698/IMG_8468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1698" data-original-width="1481" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2K4YcmxUfuXKM-YEX6SJBc1sYoUexrltBP3gbeTlBJzChD53XDb-thQgc9n8aOnU9kdiBkmrK2-UCI1XD3aEC2FaQj4fej-CbkCCwNHY3yU3Ku3kgrIiouam04dZkcRrcSx2uSqqEKVLz7G5njI7k7eCZxqw8opVVuWf9q4-v_0xjRZ23wNY4ieBM6nWI/w558-h640/IMG_8468.jpg" width="558" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeL1usxTF960CTCFInn7SKzHzqivxv-ruGlVnAvmepOyFP-6nCeFZycOXVODQYYX6QEVZTRyczGP09jQwKmVYlYOMlLCRV6L7sAANoALoQ6EJplP6UC51lhadZpJAcB2WEZqGF2D1T70EIdEDpwlYA010RALyrrLifzQg46OWuK5BuPgl7f3r5O6IKj6m/s1429/IMG_8701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1251" data-original-width="1429" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeL1usxTF960CTCFInn7SKzHzqivxv-ruGlVnAvmepOyFP-6nCeFZycOXVODQYYX6QEVZTRyczGP09jQwKmVYlYOMlLCRV6L7sAANoALoQ6EJplP6UC51lhadZpJAcB2WEZqGF2D1T70EIdEDpwlYA010RALyrrLifzQg46OWuK5BuPgl7f3r5O6IKj6m/w400-h350/IMG_8701.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-11258005036635519562024-02-08T08:08:00.099-05:002024-02-09T14:54:41.002-05:00Changes<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDpXak9FFG9_VC7ESVhCkZlT-OQRK9Ze76GsVEBAqykKjqvtjsuVljuzufxq3kLL-N6u_Isj8Nxi4mhonoWdIRnck-ipkVq4Rv4O9OjPIYIWJflJOMJV_okDzjz-NK9zIO9Ltuf5D6-Y4kaQHxGwZVQDKDeRup3JRDxTmB5-wHZStRUNSRvYWN1PqrH9z/s2016/IMG_8743.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDpXak9FFG9_VC7ESVhCkZlT-OQRK9Ze76GsVEBAqykKjqvtjsuVljuzufxq3kLL-N6u_Isj8Nxi4mhonoWdIRnck-ipkVq4Rv4O9OjPIYIWJflJOMJV_okDzjz-NK9zIO9Ltuf5D6-Y4kaQHxGwZVQDKDeRup3JRDxTmB5-wHZStRUNSRvYWN1PqrH9z/w640-h480/IMG_8743.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p> Our view across the road has changed. When I lamented about the loss of our view, Steve said, "Well, we got to enjoy it for twenty years. Like all things, it comes to an end." I can't help but feel happy for the new family who will live out their vision of country life there. We were once in their place and I wouldn't begrudge it for anyone. But, that view was beautiful. </p><p> Change makes me uncomfortable. One of the quotes I placed in my banner when I designed this blog was, "What some people view as stagnation, I view as contentment." I am happy and content with familiarity. I do not rearrange our furniture. I do not replace things for the sake of updating. And I need to know exactly where to find the masking tape when I need it. Last month, in a fit of insanity, I decided to wear. bangs. As if that wasn't enough change, I also parted my hair on the opposite side. I have never felt so uncomfortable and awkward. I couldn't wait to get home and dunk my head under the faucet to wash all the changes away. <br /></p><p> If I could manipulate time and make all the sad and uncomfortable changes go away, I would. Imagine that a stream represents the flow of time. I would place pretty rocks across the stream with a gentle net to catch all the good things that flow by. Time in that net would stand still and we would live with all the people and good things that gathered there. We would have our grandparents, parents, children, and all the things and people we love, all in the same place at the same time. Sigh. In writing this, I realize I may have described Heaven. </p><p> The photo in the previous post is of the view across the road as it was up until last fall. I know changes come and I must try to accept them. Some changes are mildly uncomfortable and some are incredibly painful. As the lyrics in the Fleetwood Mac song below say, "Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know." The best we can do is take it as it comes, with all the grace and love that God gives us.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ov1SOhwfbys" width="320" youtube-src-id="Ov1SOhwfbys"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-35235939057562703732024-02-07T07:38:00.000-05:002024-02-08T06:16:45.044-05:00But Mousie... A Repost From June 2018<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3G-MkqeetLQ/WyucHawrJVI/AAAAAAAAHdE/n_YMrJgMnfI845GR930oh_Yv0lC79QorACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_5426.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1600" height="430" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3G-MkqeetLQ/WyucHawrJVI/AAAAAAAAHdE/n_YMrJgMnfI845GR930oh_Yv0lC79QorACLcBGAs/w640-h430/IMG_5426.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,<br />
In proving foresight may be vain;<br />
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men<br />
Gang aft agley,<br />
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,<br />
For promis'd joy!</div>
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Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me<br />
The present only toucheth thee:<br />
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.<br />
On prospects drear!<br />
An' forward, tho' I canna see,<br />
I guess an' fear!</div>
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These are the last two stanzas of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_a_Mouse" target="_blank">" To a Mouse" by Robert Burns</a>. I quote the third line often. Here's the modern English version:</div>
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But Mouse, you are not alone,<br />
In proving foresight may be vain:<br />
The best laid schemes of mice and men<br />
Go often askew,<br />
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,<br />
For promised joy!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Still you are blessed, compared with me!<br />
The present only touches you:<br />
But oh! I backward cast my eye,<br />
On prospects dreary!<br />
And forward, though I cannot see,<br />
I guess and fear!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This week was to be my first week of vacation which would be free of commitments. I had a list in my mind of all the things I wanted to catch up on or enjoy. I had made my "best laid plans" and it was to be all about <i>me.</i> And then things began to "go often askew".<i> </i>Not one, not two, but all three of our cars had mechanical issues. On a Goldilocks scale of problems, one car's was minor, one was medium, and one was major. Behind that scene, some health issues were creeping up that could no longer be ignored. The final straw (and it only takes a tiny speck of straw to set one over one's limit) occurred when I had resigned myself to stay home because I had no car. I decided I might as well catch up on the ironing. I got everything all set up, ready to dig right into that mountain of ironing and... my iron conked out. As in permanently. A small thing indeed, but it did cause me to raise my face Heavenward and ask, "Really?"<br />
At this point I began to be just a little bit afraid to leave the house. We've been studying Job at church and images of Job's suffering were filling my mind. I knew my annoyances compared nothing to Job's suffering, but still, things were heaping up and "forward, though I cannot see. I guess and fear!".<br />
By Sunday morning I had reached a point of pure agitation. I was in constant pain from aforementioned health issue and I was angry at myself for feeling angry. At one point I firmly sat myself down on a chair and told Steve I was not going to church. Period. (I'm not actually eight years old but I'm good at acting that.) Of course we did go to church but I made up my mind I would <i>not </i>be fake smiling. As the singing began and as our guest speaker began to speak, I felt my heart slowly softening. By the end of church I was "real" smiling without being aware of it.. Our guest speakers that morning were the Bonilla family. Juan Carlos and his family are missionaries in Spain. I had spotted Juan Carlos at Fine Arts Camp the previous week. He was dancing and singing his way down the path between our buildings. His joy was so obvious. I thought a lot about that. We also had the wonderful privilege that Sunday morning of witnessing a family baptize their three children. Pastor Stephen lovingly held each child and reminded us all what it means to dedicate our lives to the Lord and to be called a child of God.<br />
Anyway, I knew my problems weren't about cars and health. They were all about attitude. I had been losing my focus. It was no longer on God, nor on what it is to walk this life with him. I was trying to handle all life's annoyances in my own strength and I was miserably failing. A friend took me kayaking on Monday and there were no calamitous accidents. I did end up tipped into the river and I did clunk my friend in the head with my kayak. But these were more hilarious than anything. The next evening, other friends invited us to swim in their pool and we had a great conversation about our faith and what it means to live with this faith in our world. And yesterday, I hooked, as I do every week, with my dear and wise friend of eighty-something years and again our conversation centered around our shared faith. <br />
I am so glad God turned my face again toward him. I cannot be any kind of help to my family or others when I am consumed by my own problems. Evidently, my best laid schemes were not God's schemes for me this week and because of that, I have been blessed.</div>
Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-20278606630940758862023-07-29T07:48:00.000-04:002023-07-29T07:48:21.542-04:00Summer Favorites<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2cMMxXvDVXbuQ1vIaigTdGIIy1PmM1CsUmGlMfC7ZiiLnZPE1dqS6saM68WTUQL6LK0cIULCD1VzpXtzhCinDkQ0QSA59xcrhvMfQosScFDwfXWRyxajROGs8eDPXqevb4VsHuPXMORodFn4mjIjGDdar_TZQCNi4RMkDr8Uw1CkxB1Oy-Sh84Xcr2RL/s2016/IMG_8129%20Tomato%20pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2cMMxXvDVXbuQ1vIaigTdGIIy1PmM1CsUmGlMfC7ZiiLnZPE1dqS6saM68WTUQL6LK0cIULCD1VzpXtzhCinDkQ0QSA59xcrhvMfQosScFDwfXWRyxajROGs8eDPXqevb4VsHuPXMORodFn4mjIjGDdar_TZQCNi4RMkDr8Uw1CkxB1Oy-Sh84Xcr2RL/w340-h400/IMG_8129%20Tomato%20pie.jpg" width="340" /></a></div><p></p><p> I struggle with the joys and pitfalls of summer gardening. As the summer heat builds, the garden becomes less joy and more burden for me. But, it only takes the first tomato pie of the season to brighten my spirits and make that whole garden worth the trouble. A tomato pie may not be to everyone's taste. I think it's the best thing ever and it is, by far, my favorite summer dish. I feel a special bond with my friend, Eleanor, when we can gush about our love for tomato pie together. I also recall our daughter, Chelsea, making a delicious tomato pie for us when we were visiting her family in New Hampshire. Now that's spreading the love!<br /></p><p> Thin slices of tomatoes are layered with sauteed onions and fresh herbs on a pie crust. A mixture of cheeses and mayonnaise are dolloped on the top to melt and brown as the pie bakes. My favorite recipe for tomato pie is from Southern Living Magazine and can be found here: <a href="https://www.southernliving.com/recipes/old-fashioned-summer-tomato-pie">Old Fashioned Tomato Pie </a></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmZt8QJR8Qo2zLW5cVwmFm8Gj-cjgs9V39ukyS0RqqVGld8_uKtAaQc9Au7zdbM23u1Inn10J8p58gwpBfH-24syKCTDZKTF_3JS0iOkOkmTaIaMitGSQ6TyAZY15yrncbEi88VsulTwwKM7yawsIxFQP68dEXM8MyOZNZDeor1enWAZNez6m_NIasMIy/s2016/IMG_8127%20fresh%20fruit%20trifle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmZt8QJR8Qo2zLW5cVwmFm8Gj-cjgs9V39ukyS0RqqVGld8_uKtAaQc9Au7zdbM23u1Inn10J8p58gwpBfH-24syKCTDZKTF_3JS0iOkOkmTaIaMitGSQ6TyAZY15yrncbEi88VsulTwwKM7yawsIxFQP68dEXM8MyOZNZDeor1enWAZNez6m_NIasMIy/w300-h400/IMG_8127%20fresh%20fruit%20trifle.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p> Another summer favorite of mine is this <a href="https://www.marthastewart.com/314662/red-white-and-blueberry-trifle">Fresh Fruit Trifle</a>. It is super easy to make because it uses a Sara Lee frozen pound cake. It presents beautifully if you have a trifle bowl. I make this multiple times throughout the summer whenever we have guests and it's too hot to bake dessert. It's also wonderful as leftovers for breakfast. ; )<br /></p><p> Enjoy!! <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-52566507763607443512023-07-15T11:18:00.000-04:002023-07-15T11:18:05.071-04:00Archeology of the Future<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5Eyj3V6yppcdn6anFXDyrTu0b8Vuy6VsrXvIgaJDQ-AK-blq_wlWhqXxt07u_-A0LMcMlFfg2txczRwssagm-KTChcMRiQEd8OVdebvxqAjoJnV49uiSrViqbUDGOpT6w_B-DtioiXUQiOB-mTNiHPklSSCCRbm7Ma-0FntSQIjJJl4vy2uojGdkA_lU/s585/Capture%205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="585" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5Eyj3V6yppcdn6anFXDyrTu0b8Vuy6VsrXvIgaJDQ-AK-blq_wlWhqXxt07u_-A0LMcMlFfg2txczRwssagm-KTChcMRiQEd8OVdebvxqAjoJnV49uiSrViqbUDGOpT6w_B-DtioiXUQiOB-mTNiHPklSSCCRbm7Ma-0FntSQIjJJl4vy2uojGdkA_lU/w640-h253/Capture%205.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p> The other day Daughter #3 asked me what I would do for a career if I could do anything in a do-over. My love for history and discovering things brought a romanticized image of an Archeologist to mind. I quickly dismissed this as impractical. Instead I answered, "I would be a professional metal detectorist." and we both laughed. <br /></p><p> Today, I was looking for a document that I buried on my computer years ago. I recalled having saved it and so began my deep dive into 'saved documents' on my laptop. It only took me one fat minute to get sidetracked. I began opening folders under all sorts of labels. Deeper and deeper I dove into photos from 2009, 2011, 2012. I clicked on old school reports the girls wrote, music saved on MP3's, photos of our good old dog, Gunner, photos of old boyfriends, click, close, click, close, on and on. I thought it was time to delete some this useless school stuff and other frivolous items. It crossed my mind to make a project of cleaning this all up, here and now. I could free up all kinds of space on my laptop if I deleted stuff. Suddenly I felt that I was in way over my head. This job was much bigger than the time I had available in this moment. I needed to focus and look for the document I originally came here for. I closed all the screens and scolded myself for being ridiculous. The document I wanted was nowhere to be found. I probably purged it during a previous spell similar to today's experience. </p><p> I sat for a moment and felt the weight and burden of all these saved tidbits of the past. I thought, "What will our children do with all this shit on my laptop after I am gone?" Then I realized, this is the buried archeological treasure of the future! Light years from now, archeologists will no longer sift through dirt and sand looking for bones and telltale signs of human culture. They will search and sift through laptop data, mapping the customs and lifestyles of humanity via our saved documents. The thought compels me to decide, should I save or delete? I have gotten myself into dangerous thought territory here and it's time to go back to freezing green beans. I will have to look somewhere other than my laptop for my freezing and canning information. I think I should just bury the whole laptop and let someone else deal with it a long time from now. <br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-82898453608437051922023-06-28T09:18:00.002-04:002023-06-28T09:19:08.102-04:00The Garden of Goals and Dreams<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BpLHbkzskNoX67SzDXukqvNm6BTUJW7nNzOLtDtyzf42P8uR94DNGVHtxR9D1yUePYTCbgdNKcMQdGRSaQuVxcKfdrEQ8ixrD7ucinqPjJThOsMJqHIJMBZRMBMNAuAZgeF-Dj58YRu6lrVKVhYIBWCsYGTCCTi5infXJTmoGZj6Wo2SHhIENHFYZscf/s2016/IMG_8072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BpLHbkzskNoX67SzDXukqvNm6BTUJW7nNzOLtDtyzf42P8uR94DNGVHtxR9D1yUePYTCbgdNKcMQdGRSaQuVxcKfdrEQ8ixrD7ucinqPjJThOsMJqHIJMBZRMBMNAuAZgeF-Dj58YRu6lrVKVhYIBWCsYGTCCTi5infXJTmoGZj6Wo2SHhIENHFYZscf/w640-h480/IMG_8072.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"> I was feeling encouraged by the breezy, beautiful day and I was so happy to be feeling better that I thought it was time to get back out into the garden. We had five days of soaking rain last week. The sound of rain pattering on the windows was a soothing sound while I was sick but, I knew it also meant the weeds would be overgrown by the time it stopped. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> We call this garden bed shown above, "The Step Bed" because it is thirteen steps made from landscape timbers and gravel that go up the little hill at the back of our house. Steve installed the steps years ago. I planted spreading greenery and creeping varieties of plants to fill in the beds on either side of the steps. It was a lot of area to cover so I thought that large spreading shrubs would get the job done. Over time, those shrubs have overtaken most of the flowers that were there and now its one overgrown tumble. Our son-in-law replaced five rotting steps for us last year signaling the fact that this garden needed a little attention. I had been eying this project since spring but the ground had been so dry and hard that it was impossible to dig or pull anything up. With the past week of rain, the timing was perfect to tackle the clean up. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Normally this job would have taken me a day to accomplish. Today I got about one third done and had to stop. I was winded and red-faced and light headed every time I stood up. It was frustrating to want to do a task but not have my body cooperate. It was so beautiful outside and I love to dig in the dirt that I really wanted to stay at it. I got some water and sat in the shade of a tree thinking I just needed a little rest. The breeze at the top of the little hill was instantly cooling and it was glorious to sit and look down the valley from this raised up spot. I glanced to the left and gazed at the tool shed and perennial bed. Everything was in full bloom and from this vantage point it looked really pretty. I knew there were weeds to be pulled over there as well but I brushed that thought aside. I gave myself permission to just sit and enjoy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> I pondered all we have accomplished over the past twenty years here. This land was an empty, five acre field when we bought it. We have always felt thankful to God for giving us the ability to own this land for a spell. It is home and we have worked hard to bring beauty to it. It is a gift to even have the ability to do the work. As I cooled down and relaxed in the shade I realized it was time to call it a day. I made an appointment with myself to come back out here early Thursday morning to get dirty again. The garden isn't going anywhere and the weeds...they got enough scolding for one day.<br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCOG3g-fmatjaUgX0WDZv8xxCzIWLDdQeBoVKSuw95PIP037IIx8a3V7AROxkwrjsLUxhMxTqNpLfgG1gXDeXGNthUSsVBSImLyxBMwB4a4tkmylxlt5L9LrysXky0aKfmI70nTBMClgvpuhE0aClcgzaksz3cTosnrXqatVz7uyq0_gNpnxbYfiD766C/s1947/IMG_8071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1947" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCOG3g-fmatjaUgX0WDZv8xxCzIWLDdQeBoVKSuw95PIP037IIx8a3V7AROxkwrjsLUxhMxTqNpLfgG1gXDeXGNthUSsVBSImLyxBMwB4a4tkmylxlt5L9LrysXky0aKfmI70nTBMClgvpuhE0aClcgzaksz3cTosnrXqatVz7uyq0_gNpnxbYfiD766C/w640-h498/IMG_8071.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /> </div>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-40620471933024033892023-06-24T07:22:00.000-04:002023-06-24T07:22:03.965-04:00Covid Round Two<p> Hello again you evil fiend. I had hoped you would stay well away from us. Just when life was settling in to a nice summer routine, my husband and I were taken down with our second bout of Covid. We first had it in the beginning of the pandemic, two and a half years ago. This time around, it is a variant of the original virus and is reported to be not as deadly. I can testify that, for me, it is still a <i>very</i> miserable thing to have. We caught it locally at a small, unassuming meeting that Steve attended. He came down with it first. Although he mostly stayed up on the second floor of our home while he was sick, I soon caught it too. Anyway, the good news is that after one week we are much improved and we get to continue on our way in life. I hope for everyone to stay well. Covid is still out there and, as we know, it's not going away. Steve and I take every precaution that is reasonable yet we still catch this virus. I know some people who have never caught it and I would love to know the secrets of their immune system. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi9rPvzi9EZRclZ06eiaNQzs_qsss3q3jawGhKvD3hzHvlyMfN9dVfsM4UcLe9WVyxO6k1z6sW4d3TiiGMnjqsNHU0D2WQ-7icNt5Ld_FZ3knLsf0Ns8ow9CsrC6HOte4IwpzVM-PW-n-T3ln2lyYeXXCHI80XfK3kghOfZQRz__Sp43Vu7iMClCaucp4/s2400/91z05DPTMRL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1556" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi9rPvzi9EZRclZ06eiaNQzs_qsss3q3jawGhKvD3hzHvlyMfN9dVfsM4UcLe9WVyxO6k1z6sW4d3TiiGMnjqsNHU0D2WQ-7icNt5Ld_FZ3knLsf0Ns8ow9CsrC6HOte4IwpzVM-PW-n-T3ln2lyYeXXCHI80XfK3kghOfZQRz__Sp43Vu7iMClCaucp4/s320/91z05DPTMRL.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br /> I was able to stitch and read during the first couple of days of illness and this buoyed my spirits. I had a small stack of used books that I bought at the Bedford Library a couple of months ago. I like to have a reserve pile of books to use for traveling or for when I just like holding a real paper book. I enjoyed both of these stories immensely. "My Italian Bulldozer" is a very simple story about a writer who publishes books on food and wine. He travels to a little Italian village to finish writing a book. The story transported me away to Italy, to the sights and sounds of a tiny village and life in a far away place.<br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRDc2sFVQJLQX2rlBM_SgJlKn3cXE5FDISfgHHukHPkPE3u2JYJFw1ZScwzqoXSUNmZ5TfII29mSaoPWN8VILWpNR_W2pjjUXjWhZ4_KBg1IUtAV4ZGxzPVXlGwoxUpCzND06HYzH9lfNCziBqxkHWQ5v1So9hh9Xpg4T5QIksKo2rE1Sw5x7Tp9hXRTq/s259/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRDc2sFVQJLQX2rlBM_SgJlKn3cXE5FDISfgHHukHPkPE3u2JYJFw1ZScwzqoXSUNmZ5TfII29mSaoPWN8VILWpNR_W2pjjUXjWhZ4_KBg1IUtAV4ZGxzPVXlGwoxUpCzND06HYzH9lfNCziBqxkHWQ5v1So9hh9Xpg4T5QIksKo2rE1Sw5x7Tp9hXRTq/s1600/images.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><p> Equally amusing and pleasurable to read is this old story of "Greyfriar's Bobby". (Some may remember Disney making a movie of this story back in the 1960's.) It is a sweet, amusing story of a little dog that is dedicated to his owner, an old shepherd who sadly dies. The little dog is adopted by all the village folk, old and young, and the story tells of his escapades. It is written using a lot of Scottish dialect but once I encountered the phrases over several pages, my brain clicked into it and I was able to carry on in amusement. The story takes place in the mid to late 1800's which made it even more interesting to me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHt8kLYT8mFVWmCVdjCWra4Xv30qcEp0FJNbQLDXJIXrEST-9uNfqHv5IBrlaZ7C8ID13uMI7YcUvGwOAzc63wXVBqQyniYTARMv-ZQ6vqSazRgBwRSykq4fMi9cMOrUA7t213wugKsvJQz7aw9DCkerLq-VMiNIEaoxaDYoVGGv42rNs9L3jaIZq3p6g/s1471/IMG_8069%20Embroidery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1455" data-original-width="1471" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHt8kLYT8mFVWmCVdjCWra4Xv30qcEp0FJNbQLDXJIXrEST-9uNfqHv5IBrlaZ7C8ID13uMI7YcUvGwOAzc63wXVBqQyniYTARMv-ZQ6vqSazRgBwRSykq4fMi9cMOrUA7t213wugKsvJQz7aw9DCkerLq-VMiNIEaoxaDYoVGGv42rNs9L3jaIZq3p6g/w400-h396/IMG_8069%20Embroidery.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few stitches a day might see this finished by the end of summer. It is done using one thread of floss over one thread of 40 count linen so it's an eye-crosser for sure.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-34730303003928912852023-06-15T07:55:00.021-04:002023-06-15T08:08:26.374-04:00Garden Inspiration<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpLuhcq0eZ-0m46gxV6nt8YFsNgPE42R38K8ibjYb8V193pKqRGI-HW4-KnwmxqFK6M2gGHb_fydrNOltj4_9XW6ul-f77hpSew0nXRc98f-SohjfSIGpoKEjkukfuRh9tIclgtqLyPYpS_JH7DGRDe0tjlCOUUMXlGpqFkeEjTASKG3in1sGkDvYUg/s2016/IMG_7899.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpLuhcq0eZ-0m46gxV6nt8YFsNgPE42R38K8ibjYb8V193pKqRGI-HW4-KnwmxqFK6M2gGHb_fydrNOltj4_9XW6ul-f77hpSew0nXRc98f-SohjfSIGpoKEjkukfuRh9tIclgtqLyPYpS_JH7DGRDe0tjlCOUUMXlGpqFkeEjTASKG3in1sGkDvYUg/w480-h640/IMG_7899.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garden shed at Airbnb in Abingdon<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p> Last month we took a weekend getaway to an Airbnb in Abingdon, Virginia. The two story "Carriage House", as it was called, sat behind the owner's historic house on Main Street. It was beautifully decorated, comfortable, and clean. It was also within walking distance to the head of the Virginia Creeper Trail and to several downtown restaurants and businesses which made it an ideal place to stay. The beautiful gardens surrounding the carriage house and the main house were a pleasant surprise and we found ourselves spending most of our time outdoors on the private patio. We learned from the owner their garden was to be on the Abingdon garden tour in two weeks time. It was a lovely, whimsical garden with wandering paths. We found benches placed in out of the way places and a gentle creek along the back edge of the yard. It was both well tended and accidental at the same time. For example, each planter was strategically placed but it was filled with a plant that looked a little wild like it had shown up all o its own. The wall fountain, a modern addition, looked like it had been there for ages. A small tool shed was built completely out of white paint chipped windows and an old wheelbarrow stood nearby overflowing with hens and chicks. It was easy to imagine this place in the French countryside somewhere and that we were much farther from home than merely an hour and a half drive.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuxl6VnoK2HOlXf_mVFE0RKbidG5_2RMFrAcX6fKHzkmi0ovblJ7TDssW7adXA7bwUVNQXlz2YOQc1Vz8LP9fDndNpRKHKv8NYn-cPd52kKGQPSqhod24uBN1z4PX_rrndWrKVThS3kBfI_zRHOesMwLueGDB-C2GgYmpnZY1fNXRC3udrN5l4toxRw/s2016/IMG_7907.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuxl6VnoK2HOlXf_mVFE0RKbidG5_2RMFrAcX6fKHzkmi0ovblJ7TDssW7adXA7bwUVNQXlz2YOQc1Vz8LP9fDndNpRKHKv8NYn-cPd52kKGQPSqhod24uBN1z4PX_rrndWrKVThS3kBfI_zRHOesMwLueGDB-C2GgYmpnZY1fNXRC3udrN5l4toxRw/w300-h400/IMG_7907.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Potting bench at Airbnb in Abingdon</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The biggest takeaway I got from this trip was the desire to go home and get into my garden and play in it. Margie's garden inspired me with new ideas like putting my hens and chicks in adorable little pots! I found myself saying, "Why didn't I think of that?!" when I saw a pepper plant in a pot with little petunias planted around it or a bed containing flower combinations I never would have thought to place together. It was timely that I had not yet planted my own garden so many of these ideas I could incorporate without spending any extra money. It was all the same type of stuff I would normally plant but somehow <i>different</i>. I did make one splurge and that was to buy a lovely cement planter that I call "Dancing Angels". One of the antique shops in Abingdon had a wonderful assortment of heavy cement planters and bird baths out behind the shop and that is where we picked up this planter. It will be eons before this planter ever wears out and it makes me smile every time I look at it. I also found some plants at a little health food co-op in downtown Abingdon that we walked past. I was excited to find two things I have wanted to plant for along time- a rhubarb plant and a fig tree.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Gardening in general is never a cheap hobby but it is an extremely creative outlet and it pays back big in satisfaction over the long run. You definitely have to step back and look at it with a long eye, never becoming too discouraged with an annual failure. A tree or perennial might become diseased and die but you plant something else in its place and move on. It simply opens up new possibilities. If cucumbers won't grow in your soil, plant beets instead. Or, you could spend a gazillion dollars on good soil and grow the cucumbers; it's your garden so you can do whatever you want! I try not to calculate the true cost of my home grown tomatoes because it really makes no rational sense at all. Steve is not a gardener but he will dig a hole if I ask or put up electric wire around the vegetable garden for me. He does not always understand why I do the things I do, like pull up half the yarrow I put in just the year before (It's invasive.) or ask him if we can please (!) pull up the half dead bush because I can't stand to look at it one minute more. (We compromised and I pruned it way back.) I find that I have gained more pleasure from my garden this year than I have in quite a while. This is partially due to better health but the rest of it is to do with inspiration. A garden is also a source for healing, comfort, and respite. A garden, and nature in general, is a balm to the nervous system. It is worth its weight in gold for the calming effect it gives just by sitting in its beauty and taking a few deep breaths. I did not expect to find garden inspiration at our Abingdon getaway but I am happy for the way Margie shared her garden with us and for her son's lovely Airbnb. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> I picked a few of my flowers today and placed them on the blanket chest in my bedroom just for me to enjoy. If I calculated the cost, they are probably my one hundred and fifty dollar flowers in a jelly jar. They are worth every penny for the joy they give me when I walk into the room. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQa2Imu17czVgTPV1Dm29x5kQnITrG_TDyszl_lXrkJAG-mXWeiMmD8lD2cKejf8tMNQHyYSzhUt_Z9tdDniqnki-Uhp5XV5RgS80IrMQJcTvjX2gFLPS0Jb8Mz29g1GdnfkE9fkKcos-JyzdmGYEOe1eedMntDrOcrOZQkKK8kJ7tt6yk_KSGV9ROPA/s2016/IMG_8050.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQa2Imu17czVgTPV1Dm29x5kQnITrG_TDyszl_lXrkJAG-mXWeiMmD8lD2cKejf8tMNQHyYSzhUt_Z9tdDniqnki-Uhp5XV5RgS80IrMQJcTvjX2gFLPS0Jb8Mz29g1GdnfkE9fkKcos-JyzdmGYEOe1eedMntDrOcrOZQkKK8kJ7tt6yk_KSGV9ROPA/w480-h640/IMG_8050.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>The following are a few photos from our garden so far this year. I hope you are inspired! : )</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxYVtqo5WYU1-HJ3ntlxsET17jBOGazVK3wCKSxSjOtlMHGnwbJ2IYDS8NtTkJ_vi5Av_5YQTufHxNKEMCLDDQHLeXRhGWmH7WCuCiEUrv89uzLjnGOZUTSAuaZSKK4yNlKF-WEH9saUqL6lbMtMxzQERheCeNEnG1WaXyDgPIClLywhYnxd99rGVrA/s2016/IMG_8040.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxYVtqo5WYU1-HJ3ntlxsET17jBOGazVK3wCKSxSjOtlMHGnwbJ2IYDS8NtTkJ_vi5Av_5YQTufHxNKEMCLDDQHLeXRhGWmH7WCuCiEUrv89uzLjnGOZUTSAuaZSKK4yNlKF-WEH9saUqL6lbMtMxzQERheCeNEnG1WaXyDgPIClLywhYnxd99rGVrA/w640-h480/IMG_8040.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarrow, miniature baby's breath, bee balm and annuals in the pot.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6JsoGFTF5IADRCIk7ozG6bv4FGG90qSg1E4UUbOJixui1XTg7W-7gED-uHbFjqMUdkHNxHZrhUL-OMmLFJrWX4zyhKjrVytEqzEApf7S8FXrV6ViqNAzwE3Fq5Ctgd90TOwZO5gP7008Jcp2lADT7bytyFlZFH8Wg8qJtg5jF2DdZNGZjXGcYcwnFA/s2016/IMG_8043.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6JsoGFTF5IADRCIk7ozG6bv4FGG90qSg1E4UUbOJixui1XTg7W-7gED-uHbFjqMUdkHNxHZrhUL-OMmLFJrWX4zyhKjrVytEqzEApf7S8FXrV6ViqNAzwE3Fq5Ctgd90TOwZO5gP7008Jcp2lADT7bytyFlZFH8Wg8qJtg5jF2DdZNGZjXGcYcwnFA/w640-h480/IMG_8043.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve built our shed and the raised beds years ago. A crab apple tree provides shade for white and pink astilbe, fern, hellebore, and two varieties of coral bells<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5SnN8iocPN9Oi03QzGZlt7Upna0iG3X_jkuwX7sDyrLf2rVIncnPe7RGsyfiIqtvKdS_UY8bEDHTXyUdYiqeWNfRLCWzrjY-wS7AUfeey3Af6aLuFmic0lPFVPUumc0_B1VjhuB9VCz12O1cdi9hTHixWTIVXZknwScpzBOZP-D7GT5ElVSxFqbErA/s1627/IMG_8044.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1627" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5SnN8iocPN9Oi03QzGZlt7Upna0iG3X_jkuwX7sDyrLf2rVIncnPe7RGsyfiIqtvKdS_UY8bEDHTXyUdYiqeWNfRLCWzrjY-wS7AUfeey3Af6aLuFmic0lPFVPUumc0_B1VjhuB9VCz12O1cdi9hTHixWTIVXZknwScpzBOZP-D7GT5ElVSxFqbErA/w640-h582/IMG_8044.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Carolina Jessamine grows up the pergola. The red plum tree on the right is only about twenty years old but it is reaching the end of its life span. I will be sad will be sad to let this tree go because it gives lovely shade in the afternoon.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFEQ9j_0qjkVnDenYvfFMfAo_mdpCocVQu_QBCiOv2z7AvYuVpes_D_r3GctpSgae7U3_1H8SpxOyV8cWZDdc1-OYP1G-bj04ga79JuxgC7s7TsOyPGp93OWOZFSyzh4Cd9Ud4ilYIS3wVYEXr4EhQXwYis42C8cUM2nUi-dEUOsRK4hQrvuYATBq6g/s1909/IMG_7955%20dancing%20angels%20cropped.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1909" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFEQ9j_0qjkVnDenYvfFMfAo_mdpCocVQu_QBCiOv2z7AvYuVpes_D_r3GctpSgae7U3_1H8SpxOyV8cWZDdc1-OYP1G-bj04ga79JuxgC7s7TsOyPGp93OWOZFSyzh4Cd9Ud4ilYIS3wVYEXr4EhQXwYis42C8cUM2nUi-dEUOsRK4hQrvuYATBq6g/w640-h406/IMG_7955%20dancing%20angels%20cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing Angels planter with double pink impatiens.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-3nYh2maB-oPnQIqESpYEkXLVyUQgJ6xbSizP91R7pWbN7aLzqyRnCUXlixu4G83ERLA5pbdkuBSzElU91DV1CnBwLpWe6nlorfNe-Ozj0U_lDXziT9Dvvcub9KxmjsdxQV1PXel_IgS_sjji2qlNhh2hVLfXn2uqUSO0FXDR4Cn9UEogkj2AL6fIQ/s1770/IMG_8052.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1770" data-original-width="1251" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-3nYh2maB-oPnQIqESpYEkXLVyUQgJ6xbSizP91R7pWbN7aLzqyRnCUXlixu4G83ERLA5pbdkuBSzElU91DV1CnBwLpWe6nlorfNe-Ozj0U_lDXziT9Dvvcub9KxmjsdxQV1PXel_IgS_sjji2qlNhh2hVLfXn2uqUSO0FXDR4Cn9UEogkj2AL6fIQ/w453-h640/IMG_8052.jpg" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I copied Margie's pepper plant with flowers idea. I chose red flowers to reflect the heat of the cayenne pepper plant in there.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEB5dzxbo-N2SFm2GxFGtJT6wPJqWRN6a8XPIdJ6lxIfg5UnxhxwtAiQb4izM1aV6-JFvhI0eeUNmUa7ByHIP3JS6MeHmUWhw1O0NpoKW0ykpU_rpz-up2_1axs7lrEaE06J_oSKP3tT93Dbrl6PloC6JUWGsqsLl1ExwKdWbj0GYvCBXmvrcbTErIMA/s2016/IMG_8051.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEB5dzxbo-N2SFm2GxFGtJT6wPJqWRN6a8XPIdJ6lxIfg5UnxhxwtAiQb4izM1aV6-JFvhI0eeUNmUa7ByHIP3JS6MeHmUWhw1O0NpoKW0ykpU_rpz-up2_1axs7lrEaE06J_oSKP3tT93Dbrl6PloC6JUWGsqsLl1ExwKdWbj0GYvCBXmvrcbTErIMA/w300-h400/IMG_8051.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found this wall planter for a bargain $10 at a Rutland, Vermont antique shop last week. It's new, but what a deal! I just planted it two days ago and I can't wait for the plants to fill out and spill over the top.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTChMtyvNhL5mGen84I4q_vU1TNzJGFmHxaUzgXYMYpM10OQkPuzV9hRZpEdptGVaA_lEf2RalLcwU4SyqC3aQC6I_V2eRU6Qn-RiIk_8MfcqW6e7KWJPfyyeiMmPVoCOXxO_kWmP-FJ1kvZTHdfU2grQ3ugNrK5t3m8-ZQbXZ1-6SumYBvOimTlvcug/s1686/IMG_8053.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="1489" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTChMtyvNhL5mGen84I4q_vU1TNzJGFmHxaUzgXYMYpM10OQkPuzV9hRZpEdptGVaA_lEf2RalLcwU4SyqC3aQC6I_V2eRU6Qn-RiIk_8MfcqW6e7KWJPfyyeiMmPVoCOXxO_kWmP-FJ1kvZTHdfU2grQ3ugNrK5t3m8-ZQbXZ1-6SumYBvOimTlvcug/w566-h640/IMG_8053.jpg" width="566" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I lined most of our beds with salvaged bricks from a smokehouse that was demolished years ago on the property next door.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNLYBaAivWDQObetnSghnU_eFMVxK742r_i061Iy2UrQ-ufFtRBJCq9jcYH4qi_fcofAuoVrBcYj7OfSpec_R09FvPpAhZ9A_slSVixJv6ktzXj9O8jEUZDcqc9eAB-YZmqPGn4AFUQqa5uPvQ6eiSrmDFL2LhvukMSPlQw1SwX2rRZKYZCdN2YyqjQ/s1958/IMG_8047.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="1958" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNLYBaAivWDQObetnSghnU_eFMVxK742r_i061Iy2UrQ-ufFtRBJCq9jcYH4qi_fcofAuoVrBcYj7OfSpec_R09FvPpAhZ9A_slSVixJv6ktzXj9O8jEUZDcqc9eAB-YZmqPGn4AFUQqa5uPvQ6eiSrmDFL2LhvukMSPlQw1SwX2rRZKYZCdN2YyqjQ/w640-h446/IMG_8047.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The garden paying us back in lettuce. The gathering basket was a gift from our daughter for my birthday a few years ago.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-70292216184116640602023-06-07T14:56:00.002-04:002023-06-07T14:56:29.809-04:00Northward Ho!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmsl1Gvnw-ttoXlapQ93dBhX-KXZ-dsxb4J-5fxYaPm3Hr_2MOT1McQvKqsudi42JJd1n8zgHAHnMXLSOaA-57G7hfpqvMYqFote-3IFbGA4yNMQt9xkBcSiQZsJvxy9aecRkaJeiAvw6myIJzfyWessm5vsJBFLJ9e5DvOfrwygh3OhmUfXfyLE8Bw/s3679/86C73FE5-B4D3-4E8B-85F2-603D50437924.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2759" data-original-width="3679" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmsl1Gvnw-ttoXlapQ93dBhX-KXZ-dsxb4J-5fxYaPm3Hr_2MOT1McQvKqsudi42JJd1n8zgHAHnMXLSOaA-57G7hfpqvMYqFote-3IFbGA4yNMQt9xkBcSiQZsJvxy9aecRkaJeiAvw6myIJzfyWessm5vsJBFLJ9e5DvOfrwygh3OhmUfXfyLE8Bw/w640-h480/86C73FE5-B4D3-4E8B-85F2-603D50437924.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> We are back on Lake George in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains this week. The northern most part of the lake and mountains have a wildness about them that I love. The lake is shrouded in low clouds combined with a smoky haze from Canadian wildfires. The landscape looks prehistoric and mysterious this way. </p><p> I took my coffee down to the dock early this morning. The same mother duck with her six ducklings that I saw yesterday came paddling by. She gave them time to explore the rocks and then led them away. I gave them a smile of appreciation for their visit. A little while later, a beautiful blue heron landed on the dock. We held our breath in wonderment as it paused briefly, then took up wing and glided up and away. And then a flock of Canada geese came swooping down in V formation. As they landed, their legs unfolded to slow their landing on the water. They stayed in a group and paddled up the lake. We observe only a small bit of shore on this thirty-two mile long lake while we are here. I can only imagine the wildlife that visits its shores every day. </p><p> There is a lot we could see and do while we are here. There are boat rides, an entire village on the south end of the lake, forts and historical sites, outlet shopping, and souvenir shops. But mostly we do nothing. We sit and watch the changing surface of the water. We make plans and then scrap them because we are happier to do nothing. A good book solves any boredom issues and we talk about coming back next year. So much can happen in a year but it’s always nice to dream and plan. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBimu-5EURCfYyjOJO4RnSQ3Nx1Ua5lBipxccyAikRWxS0vN1teTfA-187w5IntUvqJvsQVqOnVlTzSNTtmwdm_xmX7nl-IBwz2VUqAIDMDq9vYlThjq1aD4DYJjsd-DtkMlyRhTEtvq2YvBdhJSEkXoSJIWfcJer65HV4bD8lTEHq5hU4-ZZJNtX96w/s4032/5E9FBEE5-42AF-4080-952E-8E005254869B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBimu-5EURCfYyjOJO4RnSQ3Nx1Ua5lBipxccyAikRWxS0vN1teTfA-187w5IntUvqJvsQVqOnVlTzSNTtmwdm_xmX7nl-IBwz2VUqAIDMDq9vYlThjq1aD4DYJjsd-DtkMlyRhTEtvq2YvBdhJSEkXoSJIWfcJer65HV4bD8lTEHq5hU4-ZZJNtX96w/w640-h480/5E9FBEE5-42AF-4080-952E-8E005254869B.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_-MHOrOKTeZ7CODQR9tB1MkLymt2qvjnf7Ur5Iwq58joNmZPfcCj6ewPvWmRPBzLfL0wml6uOsv8EWJJap9vMgRAShepla7LzqT_j9-IvX164YD_-Z0S_VYlVE1-p51Qcx3VgdjuXg0-jRySecLUTanxSFJo59YcEe4q66XOV3PM0RWHb-T8NN2OsA/s4032/995814E5-A108-42A2-8649-8BCEC8713A63.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_-MHOrOKTeZ7CODQR9tB1MkLymt2qvjnf7Ur5Iwq58joNmZPfcCj6ewPvWmRPBzLfL0wml6uOsv8EWJJap9vMgRAShepla7LzqT_j9-IvX164YD_-Z0S_VYlVE1-p51Qcx3VgdjuXg0-jRySecLUTanxSFJo59YcEe4q66XOV3PM0RWHb-T8NN2OsA/w640-h480/995814E5-A108-42A2-8649-8BCEC8713A63.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-27458514737600651572023-05-30T09:07:00.003-04:002023-05-30T09:07:53.043-04:00Exploring Patterns and Designers in Rug Hooking<p> Our local rug hooking guild continues to grow much faster than we expected. A lot of this is thanks to our founder, Eleanor, who invites every woman she meets to become a hooker. Many come to visit our monthly guild meeting to see what it's all about and quite a few stay on and pick up the craft. Eleanor and I formed the group in 2019 with the thought that if twelve people showed up, we would deem it a success. We began with twenty and have more than double that number on our roster today. We call ourselves, "Blue Ridge Ruggers" and we are a happy, very creative bunch. </p><p> This year, we arranged our first teacher workshop. We brought in Cammie Bruce for a three day workshop and she was marvelous! Most teachers have to limit their class size so we used a lottery to choose which twenty members would to attend. Cammie is a dynamic, talented designer who works so well with students. She brought many of her patterns and a huge inventory of wool to stoke our creativity. I personally began working on one of Cammie's patterns called, "Grandma's Blue Pot". She helped me color plan the rug and it is my current work in progress. It is my first rug of Cammie's and in her primitive style of soft, medium value wools. The workshop was a great success. This was an encouragement for me to continue bringing more teachers to our group. <br /></p><p> Nearby, at Smith Mountain Lake, another local hooker has begun arranging teacher workshop retreats. Last fall she brought in Karen Whidden for a three day retreat at the 4H camp on the lake. I was happy to attend and brought a Trisha Travis pattern designed in the style of a vintage postcard. Tricia is also a new designer for me to hook and I enjoyed working on this pattern a lot. Our teacher, Karen, was very helpful with tips and comments although I had color planned this rug myself in keeping with the original design.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mpzkwsJiF4h--vWhKRj6dAaiqmszuYzmPJib1rM9DxxgowDDTmlQV96YJXbWG37l2n6Xgg2cpal_fqm0YM11Ug7Lnt0Qmxww3tFptVrfXARmaw1QGsWL36MEGIOWUwIn4qaAz15ybC5r300Jz0G2hDlafyghyb6dstKV1zboipeRmgj45SMAXYtDPw/s2016/IMG_7964%20Will%20He%20Come%20Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1443" data-original-width="2016" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mpzkwsJiF4h--vWhKRj6dAaiqmszuYzmPJib1rM9DxxgowDDTmlQV96YJXbWG37l2n6Xgg2cpal_fqm0YM11Ug7Lnt0Qmxww3tFptVrfXARmaw1QGsWL36MEGIOWUwIn4qaAz15ybC5r300Jz0G2hDlafyghyb6dstKV1zboipeRmgj45SMAXYtDPw/w640-h458/IMG_7964%20Will%20He%20Come%20Christmas.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p> Another new designer I met last year is named Katie Kriner. She published a book titled, "Rug Hooking With Wool Strips" that contains twenty patterns for enlarging. Her style is more contemporary and I find that her designs work well in my home. She has a brick and mortar shop in Pennsylvania called, "The Bee and the Bear" as well as an Etsy shop under the same name. I made her "Six Flowers" rug and an adorable pillow called, "Bird in Foliage". Both patterns were from her book. The wool used in both rugs were also from her shop and were all hand dyed by Katie and her team. I have them pictured in the room in which they were placed. I love antiques and old things, but I don't style my home in the primitive style. So, these rug styles have found a good place in my home. </p><p> I have a few more finished projects in rugs and cross stitch that I will post another time. Each one gives me much joy to create and some very lovely people to create with.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPp4gY8jH6dBjKf-Ge7-s-uf2ymUMwsZQjgUGJx0meX2DmXuYp3ac9jhpH_WBiff4mHFPfrWYgt9H9A6n3hgHg6FkrftuL4IjHUP9C5TB3x7jjqLAxueS-x5H1yrF4hE1mOXxElWJwQpXyMMjUwLbsI9F-HwvL1zfjl5qMW9sGM69JSD3TMEqdshyfQ/s1506/IMG_7950%20Bird%20Pillow%20Katie%20Kriner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1506" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPp4gY8jH6dBjKf-Ge7-s-uf2ymUMwsZQjgUGJx0meX2DmXuYp3ac9jhpH_WBiff4mHFPfrWYgt9H9A6n3hgHg6FkrftuL4IjHUP9C5TB3x7jjqLAxueS-x5H1yrF4hE1mOXxElWJwQpXyMMjUwLbsI9F-HwvL1zfjl5qMW9sGM69JSD3TMEqdshyfQ/w400-h376/IMG_7950%20Bird%20Pillow%20Katie%20Kriner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4tG4XiTDOIBStAkcSmeL7OZ7qADAUFifBXoQWyJiwg7f7XjxOi34w6-ZVQKKKLIlyM-4zXU21PiEkTzwfi7AY1OmhJs11xy1TfTO56r33b04QDQ3xo-NVKBWQuNyzKX4ZGwi4fxhuVjhi4wgkpjgoSGrvREjumf8B_Hvz4E008qP4QdJSzENPXjUOw/s2016/IMG_7965%20Bird%20Pillow%20on%20Bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4tG4XiTDOIBStAkcSmeL7OZ7qADAUFifBXoQWyJiwg7f7XjxOi34w6-ZVQKKKLIlyM-4zXU21PiEkTzwfi7AY1OmhJs11xy1TfTO56r33b04QDQ3xo-NVKBWQuNyzKX4ZGwi4fxhuVjhi4wgkpjgoSGrvREjumf8B_Hvz4E008qP4QdJSzENPXjUOw/w300-h400/IMG_7965%20Bird%20Pillow%20on%20Bed.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMhFj0556o4VITckuijxrYid00Jx9b-zgblWyvl2e9bq-A3GLs1OyEkXoqIc49dr-j9f-YjXeNBV2HvCChwWiMbyVhJ-aVcQAPiRo6lLdFN74KkKmJkooQ6HOJd-4kIdIaIgCRk_6TtXx9_ABj2HUPFolTZpQEsDNbP7eS7APp7ib0B2nPGXZ_seFkQ/s1855/IMG_7962%20Six%20Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1855" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMhFj0556o4VITckuijxrYid00Jx9b-zgblWyvl2e9bq-A3GLs1OyEkXoqIc49dr-j9f-YjXeNBV2HvCChwWiMbyVhJ-aVcQAPiRo6lLdFN74KkKmJkooQ6HOJd-4kIdIaIgCRk_6TtXx9_ABj2HUPFolTZpQEsDNbP7eS7APp7ib0B2nPGXZ_seFkQ/w640-h484/IMG_7962%20Six%20Flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMILfRBgDC-wXF39HMEJF4Du6zjVYNwXg1Y1ufyhMmBUqhMaIX4RPjgrArJf7i9IQLTGolHzXyi5wBl2o-ssw8aCh_IB1HjNe4vCgIlLI-WMVqGNWVAq7IqOp5g6lUWTRv4kdjNCREuhegnIDUcTpYQwnbQ-Wdg6yoIQbfzdbpa34U_HcxBaZxaodV4g/s1977/IMG_7961%20Six%20Flowers%20in%20Bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1977" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMILfRBgDC-wXF39HMEJF4Du6zjVYNwXg1Y1ufyhMmBUqhMaIX4RPjgrArJf7i9IQLTGolHzXyi5wBl2o-ssw8aCh_IB1HjNe4vCgIlLI-WMVqGNWVAq7IqOp5g6lUWTRv4kdjNCREuhegnIDUcTpYQwnbQ-Wdg6yoIQbfzdbpa34U_HcxBaZxaodV4g/w306-h400/IMG_7961%20Six%20Flowers%20in%20Bathroom.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-13229621889634621032023-05-28T22:08:00.012-04:002023-05-29T14:47:26.608-04:00Still Learning About Everything<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJcyoyz98PEwTFlmKDPF454nrrTiT95uJ07FUg_Be85tdHSVp9uJUAIIPib5pWBWnqFN1jg7zyKv9dBWRMxanebanJ0yu7WZqv2BK_OF718r-zVzyKN_U0YhYlCgXMPDrZxfyKTv-SAiPMBrXuA5T31cQFeRms39hTVGRZWUf5q-fosTC7DDuzDilwQ/s2016/IMG_7963%20Unicorn%20Embroidery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJcyoyz98PEwTFlmKDPF454nrrTiT95uJ07FUg_Be85tdHSVp9uJUAIIPib5pWBWnqFN1jg7zyKv9dBWRMxanebanJ0yu7WZqv2BK_OF718r-zVzyKN_U0YhYlCgXMPDrZxfyKTv-SAiPMBrXuA5T31cQFeRms39hTVGRZWUf5q-fosTC7DDuzDilwQ/w480-h640/IMG_7963%20Unicorn%20Embroidery.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div> Nothing much has changed around
here. I am still hooking, stitching, sewing, gardening, reading,
cooking, loving, fussing, etc., etc. There is still much to learn about
everything. I took the time to be still last week and I learned some
things and worked out some troubles. It was a wonderful thing and it
felt really good to have benefited so greatly just by sitting idly on
the porch, staring at the field. <div style="text-align: left;">
This silent adventure started when I took out a piece of crewel work I began working on
about thirty-eight years ago. The best that I can recall, I bought it around the time our first daughter was born. The piece was
almost completely stitched except for a few bits here and there. I must have gotten too busy to finish it (ya think?!) and tucked it away. I
decided I would finish it now for our granddaughter. I took it out to the screen porch and settled in
for an afternoon of stitching. Steve was away so I had no need to cook
dinner nor anywhere to go. Time was of
no concern, the weather was perfectly mild and the only sounds I heard were the birds singing. A memory from childhood slowly came forward as I
stitched and listened to the birds. I was nine years old, sitting on the
back porch of my childhood home. Like today, I was listening to the birds singing while I
stitched an embroidery onto a dresser scarf. The joy of summer vacation
stretched before me like an eternity that day. I had no cares other than thoughts
of swimming, playing, eating good summer time foods, and sleeping with
the windows wide open to the sound of crickets at night. And, there would be no school for two and a half, whole months! In an effort to
ward off any boredom that might occur during the long summer that year, my
mother taught my sister and me how to embroider. She took us to the five-and-dime to
choose a dresser scarf stamped with a design in blue ink and to pick out embroidery floss. I still recall the excitement of making those choices and the prospect that I would be creating something beautiful. Mom taught us the basic running
stitch, the chain stitch, the lazy daisy, and the French knot. She told
us that she had spent her childhood summers embroidering on her back
porch with her sisters. I imagined my mother and my aunts as little girls doing the same thing as my sister and I, only a long time ago when the world was in black and white. We spent many days that long, hot summer stitching on the porch. I sat for hours on the floor with my back leaning against an old sofa, stitching away. I was so pleased when my first scarf was finished that I asked to buy another. We put those dresser scarves to good use, too. Once they were completed, they alternately graced our bedroom dresser throughout our childhood. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
It was a good memory; one that has stayed with me for days now. My thoughts while I was stitching were almost as carefree as my nine year old self's would have been way back during that summer in 1968. But this day, I paused from stitching and stared out into the field for a while. My mind was working something out. (Which, by the way, happens when you keep your hands idly busy like stitching, knitting, or pulling weeds.) It was something big and important between my mother and me and I slowly and gently realized that it didn't matter anymore. It should have never mattered. I took a moment to tell my mom in Heaven that it didn't matter anymore. She probably realized it herself already, being in Heaven with God and all. But I thought she should hear it from me. So, all is well and I am once again back on that summer filled porch in upstate New York stitching away the afternoon. I can imagine mom is singing in the kitchen and I'm pretty sure there will be something good for dinner. And for now, I have not a care in the world.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> I still have two of those dresser scarves I crudely embroidered some fifty-five years ago.They were well used and are still well loved.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uGw-3U2LdgYE_9pvaxdPN5acnwb1whaCwoc6cfo1pMVKke5NPNBQ6I8GwqkhoA3JBq33vPGpQ2c7UV21mc6PWhFwEogbgk0EAOCLFs7MTeNfwc2_R9R6iPvkm99jCSF9938UuzNH8tijeEMD0_jNIfKcfRikdR01oNLbTW8cQaKhRc2_R5v7bjZi7A/s2016/IMG_7957%20Embroidered%20Dresser%20Scarves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uGw-3U2LdgYE_9pvaxdPN5acnwb1whaCwoc6cfo1pMVKke5NPNBQ6I8GwqkhoA3JBq33vPGpQ2c7UV21mc6PWhFwEogbgk0EAOCLFs7MTeNfwc2_R9R6iPvkm99jCSF9938UuzNH8tijeEMD0_jNIfKcfRikdR01oNLbTW8cQaKhRc2_R5v7bjZi7A/w300-h400/IMG_7957%20Embroidered%20Dresser%20Scarves.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-42648925748273711972022-06-22T06:47:00.069-04:002022-06-23T05:37:59.737-04:00The Queen of American Lakes; Lake George, NY<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhY_rsNmYEwgbn3mvB4eN7rIlzmdWhLMDdjCgYNSbPSW28BIADubmKUaaxWKImSKFe9EmLnUmj1u8tuONeYrwCpPalIaQsINgca5qtgeH2lIOOSZ_aItBjkYeO22P92MvDdhBozhW34KX4pyZ_0amCtpgKABEBPUQqznSkYUTIJrkAUIf2Cm3YBIKzDA/s4032/IMG_6605.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhY_rsNmYEwgbn3mvB4eN7rIlzmdWhLMDdjCgYNSbPSW28BIADubmKUaaxWKImSKFe9EmLnUmj1u8tuONeYrwCpPalIaQsINgca5qtgeH2lIOOSZ_aItBjkYeO22P92MvDdhBozhW34KX4pyZ_0amCtpgKABEBPUQqznSkYUTIJrkAUIf2Cm3YBIKzDA/w640-h480/IMG_6605.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p> In all of my American travels I have yet to find a lake I love more than Lake George. I suppose the nostalgia of spending childhood summers there camping and riding the lake steamboats may have something to do with it. But, in its own right, Lake George is a grand and beautiful lake. It is located in the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York. At thirty-two miles long, it is the largest of many lakes that dot the Adirondacks. Brant Lake, Loon Lake, Schroon Lake, Blue Mountain Lake, Lake Placid, Fourth Lake, Racquet Lake, are just a few of those cold mountain lakes. All were formed by the movement of glaciers and are fed by springs so the water is clear and cold. </p><p> Two hundred islands are scattered over Lake George. A handful of islands are privately owned and the rest are owned by the state of New York. They are maintained by the state for camping and day picnicking. For a small fee you can rent a spot with a boat dock, grill, and outhouse. Whether you want to spend one day or a week, it's a fun way to have your own little slice of piney heaven all to yourself. <br /></p><p> Much of Steve's family also summered in the Adirondacks. They spent their summers at Brant Lake and after I met Steve we spent many of our dating weekends at their place on Brant Lake. Steve taught me how to sail on the catamaran, paddle in a canoe, and water ski. (Steve was a pro at skiing and I could barely stand up.) One of Steve's brothers has continued the tradition of summers in the Adirondacks and still goes up regularly. This year, their youngest daughter planned her wedding to be on Lake George. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQ7LJSli2fh0GOb15BQ_lKjkVzC8KzE12E9nx_45V_VXwNXU-FVVxXdxBS832SMK8_y543HSDDHzuRHzWLAqdltvffRuNB5vuBcYoscir4ifrRoX085U38IVjsx4V6b3DdWiGuKq5DNvfdO9p1wAsWfKhc-AhmDADPFq981X6kHOqzEMdLw4IZA-PWg/s4032/IMG_6617.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQ7LJSli2fh0GOb15BQ_lKjkVzC8KzE12E9nx_45V_VXwNXU-FVVxXdxBS832SMK8_y543HSDDHzuRHzWLAqdltvffRuNB5vuBcYoscir4ifrRoX085U38IVjsx4V6b3DdWiGuKq5DNvfdO9p1wAsWfKhc-AhmDADPFq981X6kHOqzEMdLw4IZA-PWg/w300-h400/IMG_6617.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><p> The wedding was at The Barn at Lord Howe Valley in Ticonderoga, Lake George. It is a stunningly beautiful wedding venue nestled in a valley with a mountain backdrop. The timber frame barn soars to the roof like a cathedral. The young couple planned a fun wedding with lots of music, dancing, great food, and good memories. We enjoyed spending the day with our family in this happy setting. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfgeeBS1z7dZA-qqr8LkdDzJOAu5IZpn3HguZk4zfyb6jxk0cMLWvWZEuDx0RGMs5AwTIPvgYBRNWIitX3pYekN3uwcYGPfzrVjgttSUyINkzOgJjtylOvu3BDW7IIS1bpzSwe9-l8C7ie6waeAPVsYN3QZCbc0vZFums7GXXTbimEdr9dlWFfrcrNQ/s1440/HQHP1509.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfgeeBS1z7dZA-qqr8LkdDzJOAu5IZpn3HguZk4zfyb6jxk0cMLWvWZEuDx0RGMs5AwTIPvgYBRNWIitX3pYekN3uwcYGPfzrVjgttSUyINkzOgJjtylOvu3BDW7IIS1bpzSwe9-l8C7ie6waeAPVsYN3QZCbc0vZFums7GXXTbimEdr9dlWFfrcrNQ/w400-h301/HQHP1509.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p> When we learned of the wedding plans last year we decided to find a house to rent for the week and make a vacation out of the trip. We found a lovely house on Lake George in Bolton Landing. W shared the week with my sister and brother-in-law. The water in Lake George this time of the year is a chilling fifty-four degrees. It was difficult to get in and swim but we had loads of fun nevertheless. My sister and I laugh a lot when we are together. She is a jokester and I enjoy making her laugh. We spent the week mostly just sitting on the dock watching the changing moods of the mountains and lake. We ate dinners out, took a few lake tours in my brother-in-law's boat, spent some time on an island, played games,browsed the little shops in Bolton Landing, and visited the Adirondack Museum at Blue Mountain Lake. It was pure relaxation which was exactly what Steve needed from his overly busy work schedule. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZk2XmKVRjDYAiCS0yaKo60HDfRe_Vt7G1LGqpXVs5g4H2CZWeKad7QUOJJEiOJPjZHQ4nUteCHpwrmdTS3VWP9W3k55u6KWbtiggq_THUe0fx0rOEQb1PabCJeyO2lU1ZbMEcEVYoRG5mso8PvOVYJJI75tvBStEah4yTNmjXKXCkY2fI0eQwQCjmA/s4032/IMG_6669.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZk2XmKVRjDYAiCS0yaKo60HDfRe_Vt7G1LGqpXVs5g4H2CZWeKad7QUOJJEiOJPjZHQ4nUteCHpwrmdTS3VWP9W3k55u6KWbtiggq_THUe0fx0rOEQb1PabCJeyO2lU1ZbMEcEVYoRG5mso8PvOVYJJI75tvBStEah4yTNmjXKXCkY2fI0eQwQCjmA/w640-h480/IMG_6669.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p> We decided to rent the house again next year. With the same families returning for "their week" year after year, available weeks rarely become available. So we decided to keep our spot rather than lose it. I am already looking forward to going back. I doubt we'll see another rainbow off the dock like the one we saw below, but we took it as a sign that we should return. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQD76RXPQwOUQsvqmp7a60admwmDL2rxQXqUlT2L7EsK-8yeBaJq8zFryGCdxHu6awUqiNusSRVxvXxMlrPg2WnNVav05r3fBrxBG_BDGezjXEJ7zwwKeUZPVDfTJK307m46uWF5wXPL2W1hAllTgqym6nCm609Z8iPu5L0Y50YoZ12q5krt2x5APn8g/s4032/IMG_6665.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQD76RXPQwOUQsvqmp7a60admwmDL2rxQXqUlT2L7EsK-8yeBaJq8zFryGCdxHu6awUqiNusSRVxvXxMlrPg2WnNVav05r3fBrxBG_BDGezjXEJ7zwwKeUZPVDfTJK307m46uWF5wXPL2W1hAllTgqym6nCm609Z8iPu5L0Y50YoZ12q5krt2x5APn8g/w640-h480/IMG_6665.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlgAmiWruQLQ0uBLE8bJTrqooBAs5Op_-hm6hrxN5j2tRvkrQbl0cN3DS_5Nuu1gYV5J1KX_nzz-zFBNcZqIWVh79bW47s9_9S1VEkKNywv7vMKpGYTMa32AW35EuEmvf2z6e5subKX1QqXlbNZjfV8-FqYtrtTMBHMqr5m6ZhFEQ_9duUCHIc8cQHg/s960/IMG_6719.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlgAmiWruQLQ0uBLE8bJTrqooBAs5Op_-hm6hrxN5j2tRvkrQbl0cN3DS_5Nuu1gYV5J1KX_nzz-zFBNcZqIWVh79bW47s9_9S1VEkKNywv7vMKpGYTMa32AW35EuEmvf2z6e5subKX1QqXlbNZjfV8-FqYtrtTMBHMqr5m6ZhFEQ_9duUCHIc8cQHg/w300-h400/IMG_6719.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-71688079407502029912022-05-24T06:41:00.005-04:002022-05-24T07:43:20.948-04:00Girls' Getaway Wintergreen Resort<p> The introduction of Airbnb has opened up a new realm of traveling options these days. Decades ago, our options of overnight stays were confined to hotels, inns, and the standard bed and breakfasts. There may have been a hostel here and there, but they were not common in the US. So, if a town didn't have a hotel, inn, or traditional bed and breakfast, we were out of luck. Nowadays, we can travel to any destination we fancy and find a nice, clean place to stay. Over the past few years, we have stayed at several Airbnb's and they have all been exceptionally nice. For privacy, a unique experience, access to out-of-the-way places, and options for families to all stay together in one home, Airbnb's are great. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtH78hSeT5VcNbn8Mz1bJK026GMZmmiy-gt_RdENdUWWX6_VtwyTWQC_5hh2u67kH4NTITl7wkJglILSoYSt8sWmdYUTJzIrr4sVbkem-CVpZdFHPp8FH2XC1t324fp1MrahPqXYx0BtAwHHvP3KKy7Se9UHslAQN5hGoRbLRU33ti3yjt7FYqKvRyEQ/s1875/IMG_6505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1875" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtH78hSeT5VcNbn8Mz1bJK026GMZmmiy-gt_RdENdUWWX6_VtwyTWQC_5hh2u67kH4NTITl7wkJglILSoYSt8sWmdYUTJzIrr4sVbkem-CVpZdFHPp8FH2XC1t324fp1MrahPqXYx0BtAwHHvP3KKy7Se9UHslAQN5hGoRbLRU33ti3yjt7FYqKvRyEQ/w640-h516/IMG_6505.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the neighborhood at Wintergreen Resort<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Last week, two friends and I rented an Airbnb in Wintergreen Resort, Virginia. This destination is only an hour and a half drive from home so it afforded us a three day getaway without needing to spend a lot of time in the car. We packed our rug hooking and cross stitch supplies and headed to the mountains. Our goal was to make some progress on our crafts away from the distractions of home and duties. We ended up having a lot of fun! The rental house was three stories large and we each had our own bedroom and bath. It offered all the amenities of home along with a huge deck where we could work outside in the sun and shade if we chose. We were renting the house off-season (it's a ski mountain) and we were splitting the cost three ways which made this a very affordable option. </p><p> I had never been to Wintergreen and I was struck by the beauty of our Appalachian mountains. I was in awe of the multitude of homes built right on the mountainside yet hidden by trees in an unobtrusive way. I enjoyed the serenity of the woods, watching and listening to the variety of birds, walking on a trail nearby, and stepping away from everyday chores. It was good to get away and explore some place new. It was equally good to go back home feeling refreshed and inspired. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QUbFgBuCm32LzeDfjPlBcLoXseESCNJKGcBkNQMMr7kRhHU9i5g58ZABmw2Z0_LdOhjSfsK04jpem5S_IMychbTODR3Fw_O0MQMyOQne051i17yaDeyqo7In8S8UwLXKv41DRYT-9lF5JVzAUM6SDX9lVAiy5Lrtjysj4XGPIsJVjqa_i0LwFTqB9g/s2016/IMG_6504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QUbFgBuCm32LzeDfjPlBcLoXseESCNJKGcBkNQMMr7kRhHU9i5g58ZABmw2Z0_LdOhjSfsK04jpem5S_IMychbTODR3Fw_O0MQMyOQne051i17yaDeyqo7In8S8UwLXKv41DRYT-9lF5JVzAUM6SDX9lVAiy5Lrtjysj4XGPIsJVjqa_i0LwFTqB9g/w640-h480/IMG_6504.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our view for dinner at The Edge restaurant at Wintergreen.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_bicL7x7ZYOu4fqNS7TAdOenwvELpYuG1vS1_HWA2ADc3S2nUc3niB8E0sFHUrX3ZCd6wB7MZ-Z2RBZog6V8eoITh6LxViMEDkcc-tUCf98_cMjvnNWJ3wbD7PiE0Rl710yoczVAdfTKUWgDsErCYcUo6Cm1d8Lzqz_xDqEWUAEBNfYGQe86T-hPYQ/s2016/IMG_6525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_bicL7x7ZYOu4fqNS7TAdOenwvELpYuG1vS1_HWA2ADc3S2nUc3niB8E0sFHUrX3ZCd6wB7MZ-Z2RBZog6V8eoITh6LxViMEDkcc-tUCf98_cMjvnNWJ3wbD7PiE0Rl710yoczVAdfTKUWgDsErCYcUo6Cm1d8Lzqz_xDqEWUAEBNfYGQe86T-hPYQ/w480-h640/IMG_6525.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The waterfall at Upper Shamokin Trail, a loop trail open to residents at Wintergreen Resort. We could hear the falls from our deck.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXpZlk1o9qEGfNXSVzjQj01076wqmMXhvOzC3aWaE5mRWpgxVLqFpw9oC9KR2jpTavk5mqk7tumhb5FkJJvmtv4P0qgWjNdb0lQKNv-1i__m0nJnu8DAaQ5uRfWJb2UXExH55lplcJKVkx5RT8p3wCNEu1HNC3nbV2cRU7Dz5Q1M9JvuT8uWETDt-ow/s2016/IMG_6541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXpZlk1o9qEGfNXSVzjQj01076wqmMXhvOzC3aWaE5mRWpgxVLqFpw9oC9KR2jpTavk5mqk7tumhb5FkJJvmtv4P0qgWjNdb0lQKNv-1i__m0nJnu8DAaQ5uRfWJb2UXExH55lplcJKVkx5RT8p3wCNEu1HNC3nbV2cRU7Dz5Q1M9JvuT8uWETDt-ow/w480-h640/IMG_6541.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Current rug project approximately 2x3 feet in size. I hand-dyed the background wool for my interpretation of a punch needle pattern by Kathy Barrick. I wanted a very simple color palette for this rug.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0xzxhhe_8ru0Ry3CZHwx4uGgtQJGUzpCnfex9yK0SHaQUKPzN32fUAvUbr3df-KD5Rik5kSRbo9UfveGnP9sY-XFV5OFbQw94FrvmNPL15TKV1wM7f1mpalKwad9mh12AAFSxuR02V7kXFxEoh6_M0CFJcosITrmfBgIVqd7sATLgxfob90c5bIt7g/s1861/IMG_6553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1310" data-original-width="1861" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0xzxhhe_8ru0Ry3CZHwx4uGgtQJGUzpCnfex9yK0SHaQUKPzN32fUAvUbr3df-KD5Rik5kSRbo9UfveGnP9sY-XFV5OFbQw94FrvmNPL15TKV1wM7f1mpalKwad9mh12AAFSxuR02V7kXFxEoh6_M0CFJcosITrmfBgIVqd7sATLgxfob90c5bIt7g/w640-h450/IMG_6553.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost finished with this counted cross stitch pattern by Stacy Nash. Stitched with one strand of thread over two strands of 32ct. linen. The white thread of the house and fence show up brighter in person, thank goodness.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-88878448986671793612022-05-11T07:21:00.006-04:002022-05-11T07:24:02.836-04:00"Goodbye Reality, Hello Vegas"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CdV4mtd5bqSXgqnaAQ1zXD5Z2THaVF_hNDU_hq6mjK-jOzXRcMgTbfdjlAkSICs_GyW_VngaQZW5KUOU0penZnYzxW0j1skR3_WqzW-8YxS8dD3HbGWWuSfCKXwf5vW05CzORdOgVxOyIfQja0iofZ_MqT1ei0gaclf08uK6nOXPYXcOulMKjVvz7A/s1818/IMG_6444.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1818" data-original-width="1049" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CdV4mtd5bqSXgqnaAQ1zXD5Z2THaVF_hNDU_hq6mjK-jOzXRcMgTbfdjlAkSICs_GyW_VngaQZW5KUOU0penZnYzxW0j1skR3_WqzW-8YxS8dD3HbGWWuSfCKXwf5vW05CzORdOgVxOyIfQja0iofZ_MqT1ei0gaclf08uK6nOXPYXcOulMKjVvz7A/w370-h640/IMG_6444.jpg" width="370" /></a></div> I found the quote for my title online and it reflects my Las Vegas sentiments precisely. Reflecting back on my week in Las Vegas leaves me with so much to contemplate. The environment is so foreign to my reality in every way, the geography, the opulence, the sadness of the human condition, the noise, the lights, the fun, that I still find it hard to wrap my mind around the place. Judging it by my own experience, I had a great time. I met nice people, the food was fantastic, I saw an exciting Cirque de Soleil show, I enjoyed the warm sunshine, and I didn't bet one penny. We stayed at the MGM resort and each day I went out exploring the area. Our room was nice and quiet but once one steps off the elevator to the main lobby and casino, it is an explosion of noise and music and people. How crowded this place is! I found the the array of humanity to be the most overwhelming. The scene from the cantina in "Star Wars; A New Hope" kept flashing through my mind. All the languages, styles, and craziness of humanity swirl about within a few square miles. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVmivZlveVU4rsUIjdDREASO4pjXSzIXR5pvLrzr3zfqQ9mxsa6ghZjpqanbTmx29x-cVG_LdciaG79ZSIl6ulL-HJLE35K1J_0iuWvfwMsecFnEMLlsdS1QXnspTu5GboDRM1aMiJDTX1M6XDovhOg_cPxBEvHnqM6jwXTxjCXFdzJbUFka9hg5wkQ/s1786/IMG_6373.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1786" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVmivZlveVU4rsUIjdDREASO4pjXSzIXR5pvLrzr3zfqQ9mxsa6ghZjpqanbTmx29x-cVG_LdciaG79ZSIl6ulL-HJLE35K1J_0iuWvfwMsecFnEMLlsdS1QXnspTu5GboDRM1aMiJDTX1M6XDovhOg_cPxBEvHnqM6jwXTxjCXFdzJbUFka9hg5wkQ/w640-h444/IMG_6373.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p> The week prior to our trip was filled with a visit from all our children and grandchildren. It was the annual, "Everyone Come Visit at the Same Time" week. We had two bonfires that week, ate lots of food, didn't break much of anything, managed to stay out of the poison ivy, and mostly laughed. The grandchildren are growing up but not so much that they didn't enjoy some Cotton Candy Explosion ice cream. (Violet is missing from the photo.) They also still enjoy the blow-up swimming pool. The weather was so hot for two days that we dragged it out and blew it up and the kids had a blast in the water. Chelsea found some good, local, family friendly hikes and I accompanied them on one hike to a wetland area and waterfall that isn't too far away from our house. We had all the woods to ourselves and it was lovely.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtMqyThqNJeHIYU__OTzXyQmR1ki_q-h4GARUwx1oRHz7Zn6f4XJSWjQOaxiYRNaEyXQ8Svv-zfCthqFa5l_3kyKKZ6p5PrU_udLizwRJQPHEz0ao_4U-Ia1CB4yEHZudjCAidg04v98Nj0Ek0otlz0uXzsceCCvxHcdKhKDg7GnrP_4mc2p7lmCIYQ/s2016/IMG_6434.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtMqyThqNJeHIYU__OTzXyQmR1ki_q-h4GARUwx1oRHz7Zn6f4XJSWjQOaxiYRNaEyXQ8Svv-zfCthqFa5l_3kyKKZ6p5PrU_udLizwRJQPHEz0ao_4U-Ia1CB4yEHZudjCAidg04v98Nj0Ek0otlz0uXzsceCCvxHcdKhKDg7GnrP_4mc2p7lmCIYQ/w300-h400/IMG_6434.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p> Now that the house is empty again, I see all the signs that our little people left behind. There are hand prints on the windows, a Lego block under the chair, a carefully constructed fairy house, a collection of stones in the garden bed, chalk smudges on the wall, and crayon pictures hung on the fridge. I'm taking my time putting everything back in order. It's gardening time so I divide my day between inside chores and outdoor fun. These perfect, seventy degree days won't last long and I want to enjoy every moment. It's back to reality, which after Las Vegas, is pretty swell. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxnspNS9VvxDsJK0fcc4wSLaoA2RjF5zalBC0pxErKWAgfLPt7rxsoROYhoB21_IgoaoEcQ0XWXHQr_v9CBSL6fr-YhVAeq_mJnv-l7jZV9BYdPmiRwrwQOICD1bi42QyyokE2T-VTDltUek8_sOqHgz2zSBOx32BVeQMeTcLNbyp3WJ-gnk4LSd-NA/s2016/IMG_6421.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxnspNS9VvxDsJK0fcc4wSLaoA2RjF5zalBC0pxErKWAgfLPt7rxsoROYhoB21_IgoaoEcQ0XWXHQr_v9CBSL6fr-YhVAeq_mJnv-l7jZV9BYdPmiRwrwQOICD1bi42QyyokE2T-VTDltUek8_sOqHgz2zSBOx32BVeQMeTcLNbyp3WJ-gnk4LSd-NA/w640-h480/IMG_6421.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-80064306046813949382022-04-22T07:35:00.027-04:002022-04-24T05:37:53.076-04:00Recent Reads<p> <img alt="The Lincoln Highway: A Novel" data-atf="0" data-frt="0" height="320" id="plahover0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcS7CivJvRvwVR38HC2hnHX5YzeoYhWdVjC0OlPMTwlhOVC6ZT5RvhL6cxgo3tEipXkeHilAkkbsIxDaquMofxDoorehc3No8XOmCZ_PJ-CU&usqp=CAc" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px; vertical-align: middle;" width="213" /></p><p>I loved this book! Towles previous novel, "A Gentleman in Moscow" was one of my top favorites so I was eager to read this one as well. Towles' storytelling is mesmerizing and his writing is brilliant. He not
only writes beautifully and descriptively but he brings his characters
alive in such a way that you really <i>know</i> them. The story in "The Lincoln Highway" is not complex but it is compelling. You can't help but become personally invested in the plight of the characters. I easily give this a five star rating. My only complaint is that after reading such a good book, my next read is destined to be a letdown...</p><p><img alt="The House of Mirth (Signet Classics): Wharton, Edith, Quindlen, Anna, Gorra, Michael: 9780451474308: Amazon.com: Books" class="rg_i Q4LuWd" data-atf="true" data-deferred="1" data-iml="1822" height="320" 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TUFGV8F3GM/iWKze5VK6aS9n8Y9wEsBAYqD1j9KZ98DpG50HWi6wcsotOmHWCB6k6+lGK8gfGltq4DoBJHKjC5ECJqyYgDfuMMQciZmNoBSfqrLGSx6aDTnFC47g6kocxlfrk/b1knykz+xTRwwEjafdQHFL05czFVLQzDSBB58pMCa6tPXluUY4ZCenGm3khZ4VhxLblRmIYyAAJOm59s0SuPTIGQl5OVQNCW6a7dfSlL8JVlL22Jn6syBvBk7nSaK7P4IKWYtOUkA8htnI90f7T1q89ji5OTbXZ/wRjvUtqSSfdHecR/8Aq971lDfx0fdb3Gt0myf5UPcPzM8Nc+6pBxWZdKaYPgV25aW7AW0WK5yRymdB6EaxVG6yVSt0hp2Hv5RrsLhP/Ch+298m6DBgaDpTXAPZtJktwOp5ses7+6geJYtdzmPq7H3a1yqbc7SOp6aUMsrTPWGueJOZpAgf+d/OOdGcDs3nuC3anMwIPkOZJ5D9866W8Wc1ZL/2B4BhzYt4hlzN4mcsJ2YhVUbAaSeZ9NK9Iw98OgI3K6H9Y90eVVzsRgltYc2jJX73VjqaNwZa25tiYIOT+YakGfKfhUFltlUsUVPtTb7rFq5X/EEDyI0P786b8IF9rbQElcwzb5jy0ERAMfpXXtbgzdth/to2dT+Pw/Ch+xGMZMN4tSzEj+o08ZPbhjX5G68Tu2bUFwQBOZgTlmdRG/kK62+0FtigzhpXeZ1kiCBt7a4cVx1vLGQKTMxplH5+Y2qp8aREGdSbbBixKj6x+qCeRHl/etcYyjtY6fcv68QBIVXAJ9dar3ajGAo3eOFUHKERjmIIgwTpEidRy99TwmIe5cUuwaACNI56Ebeta47YzPmJJPqdhA5+cinilHCBSxYR2exSW0Az+GSCsww84/1a/Cn1rFglfLnpFUayiZWVtDpBjURPP05UZheKKog6n0muTV0blaE3Jqy9YbE6mN/OP1pjZbYnXnvVDscZt9B7m/SirfG7cfV+B/SkWlIR0WvG4y4CqW8stmPi2ABHvOtcrmJAUd4yKx3EiPcTt61Vr3FEbyI5wf8Atrn8/tmZadOhH5V2afs8ZxVuq/e/7HLqTlCTpXf7F6tDmRp5FdfjQOGuBrKWwd1DXT0DeIj1aSI6SelVm1xS3oM0AaGAZ98V2w2MQQvlI0Oo60LQ2p1l2uP5Nc9zV4VPktvzpPuD/jWVWPna9DW6z7PPwzepDyjyM3KsvZXiOfD3cI2zfSJ5HnHtCn2mqsQZ1qeFuFGDAwRTvKKLAYMdGmunWuWIxOb8df3tQ76mepJ99RbajajXJnUtV2+SrCy73OUBTpOlUJNwJjXfkK9E7KYUFM1hHNtP8R8+VrhGoC/pGntrVDe9orlsW4v1x0VSmY66gBog8o5A0FYx5uaNC3F81MxsdCfaKqXHeN4lrot2i4KaMI1M6+KRvymprjLoCm/ba2/2WML7mX8DUNTRlBumU09Tcrot926TrEcj5mtcF7NObrHNktEArprqSfQQTpNR7O3UvHUSQuo01jUdPhV0sX5A0jTSpwxkZvsC4bs/hk/9MtoB4iTsI2nX21DGdmcLcAm2BBB020MwQdCKZd7tULlzw1TcLbKnxzsbnc3LLKGAACEaRrO3PXeq9h+zGLuO4ZUtAES1wwswIyAA5tIM9fdXo74g7LrQ3FcCtxIzHOBE8vdzp4STlbCUpbaR4rxzh9zDXnt3GzFTo4PhaVzAj3/jQaAKIM6b+p/Yr0ninCUtrca6ouQYkkxlyhhC8zM66RXnOXOzGY1mOQ1/v61XVjGObuyUJOXYItYn3ctdqKt3/OaSLcKnKV1B60Zhrp+6PfUYxHbGnec9K6qAyaQI60BnOX6vxrOFuveeMRvHMT/4mujSXqp98EdX3bXbIdCgNGpESYrWGxE6E5ROh5eYrldxCWyAPEDJbUHeP0oYYvMIyBQDI9vXzqzqErTp1Vf5Iq5xprHNjvMOordIe+/0/Gt1T7TLx9SX2WPn6FMrUxW051hFcR3mCuZapTW7yRHmJoAiomvQ+w2LHzV5U93aEZQYNy4zZ11GoE5NOZidq88Ap52bxtzSyPqNcW4w5+AE+4wv9Ipoy2uxZR3YPRsHj89wh1TvJyXGAAzxoCBy0n4dasNy9bcQACOYImY9evKvPbF9jcuAGDJbT2T67Cuo4/dsliwzsCoAmIgakaRO1QlKUjpiopYPQMH2ZKkXbVwI24QqCu0coIkc6Y2lvJGdW/mWCKp/CvlHQAd5bcbawCPhT7C9vMG/28v82n41Gu7MeR+2KXr+/OonEjU1zsXrGIXNbYH/AFKRVO43ib+CuxcJe0wbKRz1n2EaaHl7aODKsumHvnVtPLTSsR83iMgeVVTs12lTEKLYkXOY6CYknarQp01I9KomFHDiOBtXl7tw2WZ0OsyDryjSvI8bg7lrEvauTIYnWNQTodNNhXso02BJqh9vcGBfS/r4lYMOQKlY1jmCfdWORqRUeIcLZvpLc+EagSTvvQNifPzq09nseqjMxgbbfeg1bL3DMFifG65WI+spyzHWNDp1FEJ1hmSV8HmjsTs3wFcHLb5vwr1FeB8MtKWhCetxi3wmKrXHr+EWA2FtG0wJF2y3iBGmp3HodKpvT4F2lVs2MylzcUAGDoTE7bDbzo/hNpczAsjgiBB1HXQwdfyoEplu/QsXVjAJUjQ8nBEUZieGhRmkKeY1Kg+RiQPWuzRSa3pccnJquntbq+Bn9H0/4n9Kyk3d3Pvr/wDIP1rVX6y/KQ6H9ZTFNSaoFq2K4DvNE1qa3FQ50AECrJ2HwoLNcIkAFdpA2Pv/AEqrhtKuvyfEG1dnk34gE/hSTdRHgrkdBiMt4xpmEj4jSkl+85LMxzfZHPQNTHtN/jAqAIGg6AHT486F4BhTcvIh1GeT6L4j+FYuLHl4LPwng+lqRr4i3rlAHxJojF8GXQEDVGY+ca/n8BVgw1iQnrJ9J1/Co8SI7xRy7pvhFQl5Hiym9nePfMMTbDSLTjLcGhgEkqxjSRI9k+VeocWs28RaIZle0YIZfrIdMpB1n97g14l2wgNbCmRknaPEWObXny9gFcOz/H8RhWzWbhXTVTqh9VOntFV2blYknUqLLisFdw2I+iuAkESVI8atBGx0Ou3Ueleo4S4WRSRlJAMGvG37TXMRdVrpRTpGVQq9SSRr8a9H4fx8FVt3QFYgZT9lxyg9fKs2uPJrp5Q5vYq4DtpSjtJb77D3VOhCswJiBlE/hR/fq2itr0O+lB49wLbg/dYc+YIrJIxHmuJYBbajnrHrAFEW8ddVCA8CQQwJ5b+ccuVCYZVa42YnwCFjqBJ/T/dPKt4iQjIZEwsRtJBMewD31sWhWRUG62VQbpPMn8Sdz6U8wfAHUQzEK32Q3h9xFEdnbC21BWJ8v3rR93iCMRBkgjykgxp1olJvC4GUaFzYG7bOaM0c4zdPvSfZIqdy2txWUvkzCQY09COX9qsWFxNsjLz50DxDBgyyxpv09optLW2RcXiyerpb2pc12Kr/AAa595P6qynn+z/kf1rKfraXl/QTp6nhHlIbpzqJNaU1umNMO1QepGsNAGLT/s1iIs3VG+e2R5zIPwpDbFE4LGG2LgH21A9zA/rWNYGi6Y7xzsbjZjJM7+cjlVg+TzDyS51g3B78g98LVEuY92id69H7B2yuEVjzLEe+pyxEe02WpLkFD+9zQnEj4h5Wz8YFQxd8C2p81/Go8Uf/AKPwipyXpYy5PP8AtlbI7qSDKtBGx+r7NBHvpHk6dKfdrbkraBYGDc2AHK2T8T8KQvuKvp+6LP3maErDKYI5irv2Y473qMl1UyhfCNpiAIJMzM++qTcptwHcDyP/AFTVFFSwybbWUek4J1VAFfOu4O7CTI23jagu0nGltWXgiWkLn05Qd9+VU3FcRuYe6MhJlYg7ak6ipXeLfOBkuoHXXwnWD1U8jykVGUEnS4KKd5AMNc3IOupkHUaE++mHD7RYW9oLHmZ0AFKWtIgKoWidJAzEk6A/h7KecBXxAfd1Pt1/SknhYCKt5HbIcyBSQADI5ajQ+ev51q4CoI5TAA8/wrviLuQTE+lKmxjOTJkQYMR76SLZTbbHmFRiV1iOemoMT+FMcJKyrc9tZ9KruHvNMGdf3607wV0ka1k3mmG3adfmidBWVmasrKMtniFWXgvZUX7at85RGNi7iChR2K27TshJI0k5TAFVeauXybYhnuYkH7HDsSi+kFvxY12HOV/jnDhYdFW4txXtrcV1DKCHnSG1BBBBpdNP+yWETGYhLN4uFWzcym3lBHdI90A5gZmGHtFcu0PDLFqxhLts3Sb6O7BysLkdrcCAOak+hFYaJg1aY1Zu1PBMNYtI1trud0sXALmTKVvWjcYDKB4km2D5NOlVdjQYWbGdlxbv4Sz84UnFJbuI2R4Vb2lvMN5J0IG1eirg/m1oWcwY2gVZhoCykhonlM0h4hgg+K4O5vWkK4XA+By4douE+EBSNdt6tWLw5u4i7bJIBu3Sx3hVZ2YgegMDrFTnmikBVjbwWwkiZVfeefsrfEbv1SNjb/IVrtDYRFw5GY23CkbZvCxRhMQSCN45iiO1GFt2gyhnLI4tgnLB8LyTp/pPvFK1aKHnHaaRdCHZQNeubUn8B7KWNvVi7W4RAquXfvQtliDlCOl5XcFOfghVO4JJ2itY7hGHTCW74e73l20zgNk7vMl7uihgT4grsus6etWhwicuWIHHKmPAzqo6j8aW3TqfZRPCn1U/veqQ94SXDD+0e6HyiuWCUQuXeNfSunaI+FPMn8qH4ecrQTruPP0P5UuqsmReAq+g16zp6jUUx4BiQzz/AKQPcANfbQuMtg+IqZ0OmpJAiOlTwa92ytybT26e79+dRatFU8liuiEIkn260mxjlWG45beVOAwKk+6g3QSQdjrG/t/GkjLa6HTNYMF49hjYkbDXpofdTPDOxmW0zabfl7KWYJiGnyCgctOZ99MrL76Ukmtw1hvejrWUH3tZRRlnk4YcxVw+SywzXMYVBI+ZX0H81xIRfVoMDyqlzWjXUc5bvkvtuOIDTVLV+ZjQ9xcQSDp9YqsdSBU+3IuHC8Oa4oVu5uAgIqAE3nYDKgAXwlTEDeaptZQB6H29wlxsNazqFTD4XDQ3hBa49qzaZDzJXIxJ1iI0rz2tVlAHpfGcG/z/AIMMh8OHwat5NbctcB6FV1I5Vb7l4JjLwYhRcN9AToJuh8hnoSV1868e7IWs2JSRoJPw0r0DEEC7aUqrgsoI1IIO8x60knkeKCO11/LZwlttHtqWcc1Ny4Xg+YWDHnRXbpoLnSLl3PbO4ZStwyOo8aieunKjL3BrLcVS0VBsSHyyYKta8AHOM7KKp3FsV/hyoWWfQCB9bSJ1pM0OuxPtXjHPDUtXQCifN3w9wxmm7bZ7yAjdU2IOo8M8qziGFvPwvC28oFtLF287nKCpS5ee2s7nOHXSdjMVTMa8iTHrz/elB3FAPKqx4Jz5OzNRXDtYA/etL81HcI1IA3zD27VSL9Qr4GHHjNtT0NK7d/UE0z44foyOhpLhQWIA3193Ot1ORY8Fr4VfR/CA2kHlGgI5+ppnirKQCEYxrqOm0Qd96A4Eqqog/W2HpRVrFKS+bUKW9gX+2tc8nRWMbOpEAMDvyPL9zWDcHSdvZQt5y6A2zngnl8NzrEb+dBrjZ0bSD+5qVdyljkN1it/OYJHkKVWuJKZ106+lDNxESY6b1jizR/34rKqvz4+dZRtZlorZHnUaytxXUQNVlZUiB11oAsfyfYZXv3LjAMLGHv3wpAILW7ZySDvDFW/20Xx8T/DsWIFy8k3CAPE9q81vORsWZQs9SCedJey3FBhr+dgWRke3cUQCUuIUaJ0kTmHmooviPFLV25hUTOtjDottSVXO3jL3HK5oBZmPhzGABrQBfe0FtlxTIckC7ddMgQZLfetaW2SnnbLQdRqIFL7mIXvrYJg94kb82/UCul7Fpeu3L6Zwt24zqHABUMzNGjERJYzzmYFJxil+dJnLZFdCcoBOhBMaieQ1PnUW7kyqWD1LCsGvYK9zuBbPttNdLH/ilU3hd0/PLexBw98mVBEradwYI5OFM+QrsnaJLN2yzC41uzcu3FAC5m73KIILQIhjMnfakPDuLWbN1bj96yhLyrCJmIuq9sSDcAEZidCdo8xsXYUS+TXvHGJVchcpaZe8CZQzYi2v2xGqswjnmiCSKB4XjLdvi10WreW3cxAtW1ZB4EOKtkgq48PgVliJGaOtDdm+L2sKuIzZ2Z0RbeVVIm3dS6C0uIkoBpMSTygj4rithuJnFgXBaOI7+Mq5x4+8Kxny/WkTm21jlVEJIY8fx+fiqAKFNrENa0VQCBirhGgEEBGVNfu1Ye1IdMNi5Nv/APJsiZDaJW2EuFUOSSkFV8Jg6VSMVxC0+PfEgXO6OI74+Fc4DPnyxmyzOk5td/KnXEePYa9axFtBdzXca2LGZECqHVlKEi4TIznUDWNhOjLkR8CnjKRaI9KV8M+tI3j8aacSfNbb0FLuGDX10pp8mR4LNwl8rIJiI+OlKOK3mzPqYzmRPU8/bTHC/wCIYIkCfdypZjtTcB3k/rUFllOEF2btywGC6yROsTv+M0uxlxi7MdCxJPt1phjjNskdAfgpoFLxA3j+Ux76IcXRsiOEt3rjZbaFmOug/M6U1HZzEAIxhiYhQSIkT45A0HlM7V27PYIytxSwgzqN9I8J2qyYrHhQQx3G3P2edT1Jte6Ec8lb/g+J+839Fv8A7qyjP4jd6N7jWVP7zwbaPPwakRU+6YVAk12EzHidBA6b1Cp5ecj86hQBumvAcGHaW2Hx6D2/lSy0smrDwv6MbAzv5VqQ0Vks1nRdNhsPIUlwviuFo+18Jpg1wZdN42pbakQCYk6j1MifdUViyiD+KOCBOnmPShuKDRFy6BRr16/Gp8RbQeR1rnjbobIRO39vyrY8GiPGkQRG2n7+NAxEijuIjf8AfOKX5tKoicjcUXw3c+yhAdaK4S4V9RyplyIw3ENpdXov5UNwvV1ArGuy109fy0rXCdDOk7CibMQ9sIUYg6Nln3gb0lx96LjCZM70ajNmJ0nr671x+Zm5fYchBJqMcPI7yE2rgNsA81j4QfyodcOgIkafvrTe3glChZgKwM6GAYB35AhT7TUMRhcrwRIrN2RqwO+GXVyAlvIaiByEUPiMEQ/e3GQEmFKgljpAmBvANCWrY5EjntsRtXcKJk6nqRr796RQaDac81r/ADH/APjat137z9xW6ajNp5yHPU1GakqkzHISajVhDKvZwmAt2OG3bmGDDE5++Pe3Fy5Lot5l8UCR4jOk9Koor0u49kcKwYuBs5weMFtswCg98JDKRJJWYg+w8gCkWbIRm5gMQPODAo+20wKN7Boj463auW0dCl0FbiKwlLVxxow0IZR57jmaI7QW0W3hsUiKnfWM7IoGQXLbsj5V2CsVBy7anlTRY6EuJuHMAukdOtZh8e/eqCwyg7mDE6bnpVg7VmzZ4lcIs2+7tqhFsW0yEth1YZlAAP0jyZ6eQFcu3rWg/dJat22VbL5rdtEkXMNbZgSoE+M5tdpokrGsGvODILDnrp+4oG9dVVhGJ6zsfOrpfwAFp7vzayLf8JtXlbubUC83dlmHh0JDN8Ogrz/EXnykQpHkCPPr5Uig0jN1l37G8FweKs4drtokvi2w1xhccb2TctsIMAloU/rVc7RYfD27d8Lhwjpdt2gwuO0MEZr2hMHxAKOgJ507+TK8XsYhB9a3iMFiFjlkvhLh9it7hS35T8L3OJuWp+tfv4gdMt5lCf8AQ3sNakI3ZUlNTwx8VelcZ4cq2cVc+bWltjAYe4jizbAFx+6zlTl0Y53+HQVU+xPClvDGFgCbeEuPb5nvF+kWPPIlytMEVpoLeYP41vCYgodACOYOxqx/J3h+9vYle7t3W+a3ntq6I/0iAFCAwOsn2865domw2H4niO6tq1pDcVUKh0W4bZWMraFVukxM/VFYADgMTLwTAIgTrB5a0zwtwK7KdzBnrRfyg2rRx3zWzat22W6FGS2qAi5bsZM2Uaw+c6/e9x3H8JZK44W7a2/mOJtWkZQAWtuHtEXD9s57YfM0nxMJAOiSVjRdAueNfYfQ6UPcxJIZdJAlTvt19lWbgCW7uDR+7t97YJe5NtT3lpzdtDMpHiKOiGTsG86ot29ABnqNOnL4UtDDHC4uRmzR1G+v5V3TFGDDTtSfB4iAdD7NaItYgAmQfcaGAx+dXOtZS/56Oje6t1lBkqdZUlQmu6WxlJnXz/KrEyNq31q5Y7FYG9hcFZfEvb7hLi3Iss095czkJqBI2k86qAuaRJ8ppt2S4SmKuG214WjlzKSoIaCMwJLLEA5p10VugBDRx2e4lh04ldxDMy2i+IZfAWYi6LiIIG2jyf5TQ3abH27gsYe2W7qzaW3nZYLEszO+UEwCzEhZmAOZgd8FwIEoBc0L5WJHiB723ZYqBIIDPMzEDzgC4bgt3PcBKF7ds3dzBXKryJEzDAAEDXSmQ6oI7dYy1dxFy5bYlLgtCShUjLbW2dJ1+pPtFa7Y4qzevC5acspS0hzIUINu2iHQ8iVn21xtcH720HF1Q3iJRoEgMFVlYtDDMQGgSsg+ISV6Y7gly2jMXtRaJDjOcwIy7KVBOrovq3qRqNVDy/xPCZbkXn8XDreCH0TfXTu5bfRTk+I6VTGXT1H7/CrDhuClrNu4X0bOXUL4lCW3vJtM94qOBpp4d5rjjOz9wTFy3Aa4oYl//Stm8xIVCYyDTTUkQIINanRmBf2W4wMK2JJJHe4S7ZET9ZwMu22o35Vy7b8b+d4kXZ07qymo2K2lzz1+kL11bszeYoBcsnOoYEOTAJt7+GRAuW2PRWnYNHMdm3WzcvM6wlpLgC5iZud0wVpAj6O5mkSNCNYaEYjLBxPjmCZcTlvMTcwNjDp9Gwl7XdzPQHu9/wDUOhoX5PONWMIUd3MNdPfL3ZY933VxFyt1LO2gg6jlNKr3Zw91auLetw9o3CHJVhlGZwoAOYKsnTXwtpMAk9nuA/OLXeC6EOZ1yFZLBLWcFPEM3ihCPsyDrtQjCHZLF4ezcxQuXSFfD3rFtgjHMbgyqxG6jYkedcu2uPsYrHPetuRbu5GYsplCVUPI+0QQTpvXVey7d6FNxQpD5TqTmSx3/iyg5RJVdfFrIBrjiOyt9FZma3Cq7GGJMWyqsAI1JLLHLXcVgHTtvxW1dx74jDuSG7t1JUqVZFVdj5qDPnRnafj9h7eJNgtmxt63euqVgWxbVjkn7RNx3MjTKq8yQAsP2ezX8RaVye6vCyIC5mDOyZzmYBVGUSZiXUSAcwH/APp653XeF7YXuxc3cmD3QUQqnUm8g6SHEypgAacA4+mF7orcLBsPfs3kyEZe8zskEnxeIodPumlTXVayp+1Oo5xrUeMcCuWEzsyMouNalC31kLA6Mo0lWE+VcMApKMM1sQdmBzewgUskuRk2SsX0BYNEabgn8KkuItidQf8AaaWNua0aNpm5jH51b6/A1lLstZRtQbmGKQPOuTvM6VFiTzrbJTgaya6GfOpab8vOpoOVczqYoNO+Ht5yWI8I+MV1xGJUwSPQdK5/OSFKwI2oUzEzQzboMwxBbbnMkCfLXrrXZl8XSNK58NG5/e01pDuTrTIZB11RB2ND4dRAEDcio3SMpMQRzBiuiN9GdPP8qZIwFvWlgiBIPT+1AXFg02xW4PUflS3ED9++smhZI1buESASAwhoJ1EhoPUSAYPMCpW7pSSOYI9hrga3UxTVSYVGp8hQBzrZrK1QBKjMEfCT50EKKwv1T6/pWM1A5OprJqJrK0wlNZUaygD/2Q==" width="198" /></p><p>Well, well, well. Not such a letdown after all. I can't even say why I chose this book but I am so glad I did. Two five star books in a row is unheard of but here we have it! I have never read anything by Edith Wharton before and this was new territory for me. To be more accurate, I listened to this novel on Audible. The narrator, Eleanor Bron, was masterful in her reading and spoke in that perfect east coast aristocracy that was familiar to the ear earlier in the 20th century. This is a tragic tale about a woman born into high society but left penniless by her father at his death. She must keep up a certain standard of living in the only circles and lifestyle she knows however, it becomes more and more difficult as time goes by given her lack of money. Wharton's familiarity with society during this time period is personal, from what I understand. Gossip, elitism, old money, new money, and women whose only goal is to marry well are the driving force behind this tale. Wharton's writing is of the time period and beautifully done. It makes me a little sad that all of this beautiful language and grammar has gone by the wayside.</p><p><img alt="Mass Market Paperback Swann's Way: Remembrance of Things Past, book one Book" itemprop="image" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41MA2MV01YL._SL350_.jpg" /></p><p>I am currently listening to, "Swann's Way, Remembrance of Things Past" by Marcel Proust. This is the first of seven volumes of Proust's memories of his childhood in high society France in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. It is elaborate and rich in detail. While the detail may bore some readers, I find the depth of memory from this author astounding. I doubt Proust was aware of the historical journey he would be providing to 21st century readers simply by telling of his childhood. He recalls in detail the little Madeleine cakes he would be given dipped in tea. In his heavenly description of their flavor, I find myself wanting one and wondering where can I get a Madeleine and even if I could procure one, would it would taste the same as Proust's French baked cake of the 19th century? He also has me pondering high society parenting in that time period which seems a little harsh to me today and leaves me shaking my head in wonderment. Yet, here we have a literary genius which leads me to think perhaps not coddling children, as they did back then, built strength and character. Oh well, so far I am enjoying the journey on which this book has taken me. *Amazingly, I was at Sam's club on Saturday morning and I saw Madeleine's on the baked goods table! I read the label and they were made in California. I would have bought three or four but a box of twenty-five was too many.<br /></p><p><img alt="The Angel and the Assassin: The Tiny Brain Cell That Changed the Course of Medicine" data-atf="0" data-frt="0" height="320" id="plahover0" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcQD1pSlzGkpGg-pGyR5IFE5XRwfWr64iC0RrePXF-BGzPANt-NBDKmlJcyu8SKzPFGngY3FHarfOP_aOVoJSpEbXhfRLsIjqPvMH34CDzg&usqp=CAc" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px; vertical-align: middle;" width="208" /></p><p>Another amazing book that I am currently reading is, "The Angel and the Assassin" by Donna Jackson Nakazawa. This is a scientific piece that explores tiny cells in our brains called Microglia. First discovered in the early 2000's, these little cells play a huge role in the immune function of our brain. Scientists once thought our brain was separate and excluded from our body's immune system but recent research has proven otherwise. Anyone who struggles with auto-immune diseases, mood disorders, Alzheimers, and an array of other health issues may want to explore this book further. A doctor recommended it to me after I mentioned the brain sluggishness and other health issues that followed my contracting Covid last year. This is a fascinating book, although I have no idea where it is leading as I am only one third of the way through. I really hope it has positive leads and a good ending, of sorts. <br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-21015221587669304452022-04-14T08:54:00.011-04:002022-04-20T19:00:21.216-04:00Beauty, Beauty Everywhere!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoyJaRvCV3E3C8blTA1ekAJEwFEfzMoz-FrBCXeNd2dN0pJ68SXkBDDSptaqzQktn5i3zLle99HICUwwmveX0PpnV-NJHyTdSYe2WnVjdNMmundEj5K1xHsnZuxNCBKZ5vxHkDOZx2OfK5UWo7acBcJuViJxvkhaW8E4D-6UgZUYJj9LHzCqEYkBDRg/s2016/IMG_6342.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoyJaRvCV3E3C8blTA1ekAJEwFEfzMoz-FrBCXeNd2dN0pJ68SXkBDDSptaqzQktn5i3zLle99HICUwwmveX0PpnV-NJHyTdSYe2WnVjdNMmundEj5K1xHsnZuxNCBKZ5vxHkDOZx2OfK5UWo7acBcJuViJxvkhaW8E4D-6UgZUYJj9LHzCqEYkBDRg/w300-h400/IMG_6342.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> Imagine the gaudiest procession of bridesmaids dressed in poufs of
ruffles and flounce in all different colors. Wedding guests would
whisper at the fashion faux pas of such a thing and consider it to be an
overindulgence. However, when Spring puts on such a show, we can't get
enough! <i>Everything</i> is in bloom right now; daffodils, crabapple,
redbud, tulips, wild mustard, cherry, and pear. It's a crazy riot of
color and we love it. The periwinkle and ajuga ground covers add purple
and blue from below and yellow daffodils and trees in every shade of
pink bloom along the interstate. Even the new grass in its bright shade
of lime green adds vibrancy to the color palette. This morning, in the
dim light of dawn, the pink crab apple tree looks like it's covered in
snow. The red crab apple tree is bloomed in a pink that is beyond
description. Every time I walk past the window it startles me. I try to
soak it all in and save the memory of it. I want to recall it long after
it's passed. Inevitably the memory fades and I forget about the
vibrancy of color during the dead of winter because I am startled and
surprised anew by it each spring. I suppose that's the way it is with
new life. It's meant to excite and stir us (and the bees) into action. <p></p><p>
This week I paid a visit to a couple I hadn't seen in several months.
They had some health issues last year and I last visited after the
gentleman had come home from the hospital. He has recovered very well and
it was good to lay eyes on them and have a catching up visit. Julida
served me a piece of cake on a china plate and a glass of sweet tea
poured over ice in a cut glass goblet. While I sat at the table, she
brought me their guest book to sign. What an old fashioned idea! It made
me giggle to think of signing my name. That thought was quickly
overtaken by how to present a nice signature. It's rare to have to
present a pretty signature fitting of a guest book. After I signed the
book, she took out her camera to snap my photo. I gave her my best smile
and said that I would not let so much time pass until my next visit. </p><p>
After I left from my visit, I drove to a dry cleaners in Roanoke called
Wheelers. It has been there since 1950 and it looks like it has not
changed one bit. It smells like the dry cleaners I remember from
childhood. It has a warm, hot-iron-on-clothing smell. It makes me feel
warm and cozy. The geared and numbered clothing racks pass behind the
front counter and snake up and around the high warehouse-like ceiling of
the place. I imagine they can accommodate a lot of laundry and the
racks looked fairly full. I had dropped off eleven yards of white denim
to be washed and pressed before sending it to a seamstress who will sew
slipcovers for me. The owner handed my package to me across the front
counter. My fabric came back to me as a large parcel neatly wrapped in
brown paper. The paper was sturdy, yet thin and crispy to handle. It was
an old fashioned bundle and I bet this is exactly how they have been
returning bundles of cleaning to customers since 1950. I had to break
the seal to make sure I had the correct item but I hated doing it. I
wanted to keep the parcel just as it was. </p> All these little
incidents of the day were wonderful as they occurred. Simple, old timey
things like sweet tea in cut glass, a guestbook, and paper wrapped
laundry. These are such grounding things to me, things that say life has
not changed so much after all. Spring will always come, we can rely on
it. We can also choose to make beauty happen by taking the time to serve
cake on china if we feel like it and wrapping parcels in brown paper if
it makes us happy.<br />Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-23494082135672234622022-03-31T07:45:00.071-04:002022-04-01T06:48:22.782-04:00Forgiveness, Being Grateful and Playing in the Line to Confession<p> For the first time in over forty five years, I went to confession. It's a long story but in a nutshell; I was raised Catholic, practiced my faith as a Protestant for many years, then returned to the Catholic church a few years ago. Almost every Catholic has a funny story to tell about confession. Despite the anxiety-producing wait in line to have your chance at purging your conscience to the priest, it's really not that bad. As kids, we hated it and tried to avoid it like the plague. We agonized over what to confess. We agonized over rehearsing the prayers taught to us by the nuns so we
wouldn't mess them up in the confessional and embarrass ourselves.We shuddered at the thought of Father Reilly's booming voice yelling at us from his hidden presence in the confessional. I recall the time he yelled after my younger cousin, "Come back here, you're not done yet!" We were all waiting our turn in the pews and Rich didn't hear the Father calling to him. We all waved our arms and whisper-yelled to Rich to, "Go back, go back! You're not done!" Oh Lord, good times, good times.</p><p> Nowadays, I openly admit to my priest and fellow Catholics that I struggle with the Biblical case for confessing to a priest. I speak up in Bible study. I share the way I understand things and I seek answers for those things I do not know understand. I think everyone appreciates the lively discussions and we all come out learning so much more when we ask questions. The main thing I have learned about myself in studying the Christian faith is that 99% of the time I overthink things. I am so intent on finding the Truth, with a capital "T" that I do not allow faith and trust to lead me. When I do take a step of faith and fully trust that God has His hand in this, I am almost always blessed. So that is what I did for confession yesterday. Even though I may not agree with or understand the scriptures backing this practice, I figured I have decided to follow this Catholic faith so, I am going to trust.</p><p> Once I made this decision, the rest was a piece of cake. As with all anxiety situations, it is best to run at it head-on and embrace it. So, I imagined myself eagerly rushing to the confessional, smiling with excitement at this opportunity to put my faith into practice. Instead of old Father Reilly sitting in there, I imagined God was waiting for me, smiling down at my child like faith. I spent the morning making a list of my sins for which I wished forgiveness. It was easy. I typed it up in Microsoft Word. This was serious. </p><p> I have been confessing and repenting of my sins directly to God all these years without ever typing them out. This process really gave me an opportunity to reflect on how I felt about these transgressions and how I would like to change. I would be verbally presenting them to someone else, a representative of Jesus, and allow another person to verbally forgive me. It was humbling. </p><p> Standing in line at St. Gerard's in Roanoke gave me time to get nervous again. There was choir music playing from a large speaker and the stained glass windows were beautiful to reflect upon. I heard french horns in the music and I imagined the angels blowing their horns because Leonora was going to confession. As each person before me emerged from the confessional room door, I glanced at their faces to see if anyone was crying. No, they all looked fine. I had no idea who Monsignor Golden was but his was the line I was in. Was he a yeller? Did priests even yell anymore? Was there a confessional booth in there or did I have to sit face-to-face with him? Would it be too dark to read my typed notes? Was I allowed to read my typed notes? I thought I best review them and try to memorize my sins while I waited in line. I told my friend who was in line with me to watch for smoke exploding out from the cracks of the door while I was in there. I hummed a death dirge under my breath. <br /></p><p> Finally, it was my turn. I opened the door and walked in with confidence. Monsignor Golden was sitting right there in a bright little room with an empty chair facing him. He was dressed in proper priestly attire with a beautiful purple shroud across his shoulders. He smiled and motioned for me to sit. </p><p> And I was forgiven! </p><p> As light as I am making of this matter, my faith is something that I hold dear and take very seriously. The sins upon my soul were a weight that God, my Father, always wants me to unburden to Him. Technically, I knew God had already forgiven me but this was a new step of faith on which I had embarked. </p><p> I must make note that this is my personal journey into my faith and I hold no one else to this standard nor do I expect anyone to hold me to theirs. We each have our own walk of life to take and this is mine alone and this is how I choose to do life and practice my spiritual faith. </p><p> The penance I was given by Monsignor Golden was to read the Bible passages about the Passion of Christ. He gave me no "Our Fathers" nor "Hail Mary's". I didn’t feel like reading the passion was penance and I will gladly do it! My only regret is that I wish I had asked Monsignor Golden why this was my penance. I would like to know the significance of how that ties will n to my sins. But there I go again, always needing to know the why's.</p><p>PS. I include this experience as ‘play’ because it fits the parameters for play. I felt safe, I had a connection to the others alongside me and I felt a belonging. There was also risk (Hell!). My friend and I quietly laughed to tears while we waited in line and I shared all my thoughts with her. I recall all of this with joy. After all these years, confession still does not disappoint. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2338243776387462255.post-61532775162833889922022-03-29T07:44:00.001-04:002022-03-29T07:44:32.567-04:00Gratitude, Joy, and Play<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HnEYoDqFNBGgBSlJmBcJInGRhVR0xL6agbrqa8u_iQjvr5-yvZ08AG0ncVAdnLsCG5LXuwUbl03uBClrnAg4z9MD1xt0QLAV_OsO04ywgauqMWTV8CK7ZmwwbAO-0VSuYvpDebm1CtQ-tbDPZwIEgcuYfIb31hBGdDmza4IGJbKeNYrDtiuoDXfQVg/s1599/IMG_6264%20Basket%20Quilt.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1489" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HnEYoDqFNBGgBSlJmBcJInGRhVR0xL6agbrqa8u_iQjvr5-yvZ08AG0ncVAdnLsCG5LXuwUbl03uBClrnAg4z9MD1xt0QLAV_OsO04ywgauqMWTV8CK7ZmwwbAO-0VSuYvpDebm1CtQ-tbDPZwIEgcuYfIb31hBGdDmza4IGJbKeNYrDtiuoDXfQVg/w373-h400/IMG_6264%20Basket%20Quilt.jpg" width="373" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A happy spring quilt mat that I am finally getting around to finishing.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p> A randomized study in 2003 at UC Davis's academic lab studied gratitude. It found, "Those who kept gratitude journals on a weekly basis exercised more regularly, reported less physical symptoms, felt better about their lives as a whole, and were more optimistic about the upcoming week." </p><p> Gratitude, joy, and play have an important affect on our brains. Of those three, play can become lost for many adults. We get busy with life, jobs, child rearing, etc. It's easy to let go of play because we don't realize how important it is. Technically, play involves a feeling of safety among friends along with feelings of connection and belonging. You then throw an element of risk into the mix. If you think about childhood games like Dodge Ball, Hide-and-Seek, Tag, etc., there was a risk involved in being 'found', being 'It', or being hit with a ball. Those risks brought about excitement. Happy excitement does good things for the brain.<br /></p><p> I have been thinking about the joys of play after spending a day last week with my four year old granddaughter. She initiated a day of outdoor play that was sublime. We chased after bubbles, climbed a little tree, swung on the tree swing, climbed rocks, and made flower nests. All the while, she narrated what we were pretending and what my role was to be. Soon, I was completely caught up in the play and when the day was done, I slept soundly. There was only the slightest element of risk; as much risk as a Nonni will allow a four-year-old in a tree. But there it was. : )</p><p> In 2009 I began this blog in the model of a blog called, "Three Beautiful Things a Day". It was intended to help me move through the grief of losing my sister Charlette to cancer. Recently I learned that, "Practicing gratitude does not erase difficult emotions and grateful people do not deny the difficult aspects of life. However, practicing gratitude helps us access the positive side of the spectrum, moving our brains back into a neutral position." (Curable)</p><p> So, my intention is to use this space to bring back around Gratitude, Joy, and Play. The first two will be easy. Play will be a challenge because at this point the scope of my playing revolves around the Scrabble board. But considering my age, most play will involve risk. Heck, walking down the stairs involves risk! So, I trust the age factor will make it easier to come up with ways to play.<br /></p><p><br /> </p>Leonorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04701518822526054010noreply@blogger.com0