tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73388999280353254592024-03-14T05:42:30.497-04:00JWalking: The BlogWhere I write longer things....Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-69206551111250853872022-09-25T11:49:00.001-04:002022-09-25T11:49:14.979-04:00We're Wrong About The Lasagna<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgvPTs6W3rf6DbLL6_Samt9Wi3Zy7j9hM6Rqy3UTKY2z6Dz5Tjw5gBnjHcESbOW8pKEdThX65jsDkNtznj8fVrtHP6mHQdwxsAiVu2iQJWYI9LWFdi2gnIREAqBr-7FaTHc-fgrCiYt3DfCi952R0xB4Ykp6HwwWxDce5HqbQMs49tJdP2XXRmxnX/s4032/lasagna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgvPTs6W3rf6DbLL6_Samt9Wi3Zy7j9hM6Rqy3UTKY2z6Dz5Tjw5gBnjHcESbOW8pKEdThX65jsDkNtznj8fVrtHP6mHQdwxsAiVu2iQJWYI9LWFdi2gnIREAqBr-7FaTHc-fgrCiYt3DfCi952R0xB4Ykp6HwwWxDce5HqbQMs49tJdP2XXRmxnX/w400-h225/lasagna.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p> </p><p>I am going through one of the most difficult seasons. I don't want to say there haven't been offers of help, or people concerned, or even steps taken. But, the truth is, if I'm making forward progress, I'm quickly not making forward progress again.</p><p>I don't have enough blog space, nor do you have enough time and capacity to understand the journey that I have been on and what it has transitioned into, both in the last several years and the last several weeks. I am drowning in both a loss of information and too much information that may or may not apply. I reach out for help only to receive cancellation, or month-long delay, or interest but inability to move much beyond that. I receive helpful suggestions, action plans, treatment courses, therapeutic interventions, prayerful support from well-meaning and loving friends. Still, I can't figure out what's happening nor determine the course for how to make effective change. And change is needed yesterday. </p><p>Until you come to this place, you only read about these stories -- the ones you hope never happen to you. Then, you find you are actually living "one of those," and you not only feel helpless but you are helpless. You are told you are not alone, but... you are.</p><p>Having a moment of respite with a friend who is living "one of those," she said, It's not the kind of thing where people bring you over a lasagna.</p><p>I understood the sentiment, even though my first thought of action when people are going through circumstances that require their full attention on other things more important is to bring them food. It's something I know how to do. It's tangible. It's important to live. It's one less little detail of life on which to have to focus when they're fully into the other thing of much greater magnitude.</p><p>But, people don't bring you "the lasagna" when you are dealing with this kind of life stuff. While I was all-in with my friend when she said this, I have had new thoughts about that today: We're wrong about "the lasagna." We actually need "the lasagna."</p><p></p><p>Because, what happens with this kind of life stuff is that those who are lovingly concerned suddenly feel stymied and uncomfortable about their ability to offer help in that tangible way of connecting with someone else. Suddenly, the magnitude of whatever this season is is so large that they aren't sure how to respond at all. So, they slowly stop. I have done this. I understand it.</p><p>But, now being the increasingly vulnerable one, seeking relief from this season, I am suddenly craving "the lasagna" for which I could never directly ask. Because the connection through "the lasagna" IS CONNECTION. Connection is sustaining, even when you can't help with any of the life stuff.<br /></p><p>Those of you who know me know this post is not about my need for a pan of lasagna. (It would have to be gluten-free. I have lots of issues đ .) But, I have enough clarity left in me in this season of the moment to know that I still need connection. I know many people who desperately need connection. I feel terrible that I am unable to make the kinds of connections I want to with people given my current state of limited capacity.</p><p>But, whatever "the lasagna" is that works for you, will you share that "pan" with the people around you who need connection? You cannot solve their problems completely, but "the lasagna" feeds them more than you know.<br /></p>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-88791341471032684112021-12-24T20:11:00.001-05:002021-12-24T20:11:56.519-05:00On Hovering Wing: Christmas Eve 2021<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP2eSAy4jK9Wgj6_cLz2bzx_gPqc38z92ppsbdatgt1P818Zs4LIEvzjhr4CGgXtxh5CmogVHuOQkeNLDXWmrinp2cg6P_rR1sedIhj5ldsQIQc54Xgn_cmcI6AlBfCJMMqJTR4gAJjcrw_MJLoFPHJvdiZizhxKNhpljk9aMWFJOZpW1kNOUWJC4j=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="2048" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP2eSAy4jK9Wgj6_cLz2bzx_gPqc38z92ppsbdatgt1P818Zs4LIEvzjhr4CGgXtxh5CmogVHuOQkeNLDXWmrinp2cg6P_rR1sedIhj5ldsQIQc54Xgn_cmcI6AlBfCJMMqJTR4gAJjcrw_MJLoFPHJvdiZizhxKNhpljk9aMWFJOZpW1kNOUWJC4j=w640-h348" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">"Still through the cloven skies they come</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">With peaceful wings unfurled</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">And still their heavenly music floats</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">O'er all the weary world</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Above its sad and lowly plains</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">They bend on hovering wing</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">And ever o'er its Babel sounds</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The blessed angels sing."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Christmas Eve never fails to bring out the wisdom captured in a carol. Seems my go-to song for years has been my favorite musically, too: <i>It Came Upon The Midnight Clear</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">I've re-read Edmund Sears' lyrics every season with something new grabbing my mind. This year, I wonder just how long the world has been 'weary'? <i>O, Holy Night</i> speaks of the same ("The weary world rejoices.") Why are those <i>Merry Gentlemen</i> commanded to "rest" and not "dismay"?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Some might think we've experienced the ultimate in weariness with this continuing state of pandemic, which has brought new meaning to the "sad and lowly plains." The range of sadness runs anywhere from literal death to the loss or temporary suspension of freedoms once enjoyed without second-guessing. 'Lowly' as we look to a situation that is commonplace and humbling throughout the whole world.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">There's more to our lowliness, though. We have seen in this time, if not a significant shift in people's values, a crystalized defining of people's values -- and we have been shaken by these shifts. Our weary state has left us struggling to adapt to change -- as if we are seeing people and situations for the first time. We read the headlines and hear the stories -- some very close to us -- and we ponder: <i>What are you thinking? Where are we going? Why don't you seem to care anymore? Why is that what's most important? What's happened to you??</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">There's a passage in Genesis 11 in which the people of the day built a city with a tower of great height, to "make a name for ourselves." (vs. 4) What God saw was concerning. Rather than destroy the tower and the city, though, he left the things but "confused" the language. Those "Babel sounds" have an echo.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Have you felt the language of this weary world become confusing? Polarizing? People seemingly scattered into further and further diverse "plains." At a time when the world needs more compassion and genuine love, bricks are still made to preserve the towers of what we have left of ourselves.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">On Christmas Eve, angels were sent to announce the birth of a savior and the promise of peace. Angels, who came bending, leaning into the weariness, "on hovering wing." Were they hovering to maintain their space above the shepherds? Maybe. As another definition suggests, perhaps they were trying to maintain a position between two places -- knowing their home was above the cloven skies, though their desire to reinforce the message of hope on Earth was intense.</span></p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">"Still...."</span><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">"Still...."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Though the world be weary, sad and lowly; though we are confused, perplexed and still seeking peace; though we long for community, love and togetherness in a world that is increasingly scattered and in its own pattern of hovering --</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Yet "ever o'er its Babel sounds, the blessed angels sing."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> Merry Christmas, friends!.... <br /></span></p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"></span><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"></span></p>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-79008638759158087772021-02-19T21:15:00.002-05:002021-02-19T21:15:49.532-05:00On Melting<p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span>"<span>Earth stood hard as iron, </span><br /><span>Water like a stone...."</span></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>In the Bleak Midwinter</i>, Christina Rossetti</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Started writing this on a warm afternoon for February -- the day before another powerfully icy, iron-hardening nature-spraying arrived in Central Virginia. Aside from choosing to postpone a couple of appointments and having some appointments postponed on me, the weather is what I expect from a February -- maybe not in Central Virginia, but of other Winters in my life.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When our area was hit last week with a similar storm, I gave myself 30 minutes of alone time to just stare out the back window and take in the whiteness, the stillness. We had had more snow with that system. It wasn't the same as Rossetti's "snow on snow on snow," but I was captivated with the glimmering highlights on the tree branches and appreciated her idyllic capture of a similar scene.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But, this week, I came back to "Earth stood hard."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Earth usually doesn't stand. It is in constant rotation, and revolution, for that matter. But, here we are: Remembering almost a year ago, when the Earth came to a place of standing hard, and nothing responded with the intent that we had once understood.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Although I have witnessed through these times glimpses of renewal, grace and deeper understanding, there remain those areas, those communications, those relationships, those patterns of life and choices which all continue to just look "hard." It's as if a pandemic ice storm encapsulated the whole of individuals, environments and states of living, fusing them into chilled casings with their beliefs, ideas, worldviews, and personalities inside.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This ice built up thick walls; clear walls for seeing out, but thick and insulating nonetheless. We can see beauty, as Rossetti did, in capturing a moment in time. But Earth doesn't stand.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Society has pondered what things will look like "when we return to normal," or words to that effect. The thaw is definitely underway, and actually has been, to a certain extent, since the initial days. We don't do standing hard, but we have reflected in other ways "hard as iron" throughout this "winter" of our discontent.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Ice melts in a time of warming, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily cozy. There are physical and chemical bond-breaking transformations. Tension and release, and change. We cycle through freeze and thaw, revealing only a part of who we are much of the time -- whatever the heat yields to a release point. Not unlike the pine boughs bending under the weight of the slush, it's, "Look out below! Contents may have shifted since encapsulation."<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I studied the semi-frozen drips on a walk today, with melting temperatures fashioning longer and longer mini-icicles. Not cracked or broken, they were still thickly clinging and somewhat sinister along the limbs. I found myself with Michael Hutchence's voice in my head, singing, "Who put those tiny daggers in your heart?"</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hn-oEivnexM/YDAMEkyNbfI/AAAAAAAAedc/Tnh1YpaNBI4YmqGQrwV_tSruQ5EMHj8jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1806/IMG_20210218_152156393.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1806" data-original-width="1469" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hn-oEivnexM/YDAMEkyNbfI/AAAAAAAAedc/Tnh1YpaNBI4YmqGQrwV_tSruQ5EMHj8jwCLcBGAsYHQ/w163-h200/IMG_20210218_152156393.jpg" width="163" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If we think we're seeing well through those icy coverings, we need to be honest. We also need to continue to gain some perspective, and that not from our own point-of-view. If we struggle with others seeing us well -- it's the same thing, friends. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Can we accept that these shape-shifting days ahead are still going to be hard? Can we extend even more grace, with the understanding that tension comes before change, and change does not necessarily come with the next sunny day?<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We are all longing for a new season.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"...I ask how to best fight the things that make me less human </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and make others less than human to me."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sara Groves, </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Songwriter</i>,</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;">from <b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif";">Uncommon Ground: Living Faithfully in a World of Difference</span></b></span> <br /></div><p></p>
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<![endif]--></p>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-78139241411094185742021-01-18T21:41:00.002-05:002021-01-19T07:29:20.294-05:00Prospecting<p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>I am certainly late to the formal announcement of my word for 2021. But, it's not that I haven't had one, or don't continue to think about it. I even used a form of it already in a text, and found myself grinning with affirmation.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-gpZhGLtdk/YAYxbVKrDtI/AAAAAAAAd8E/5O0OxsZ_FhwYw8d6b9WH2FwIbf6ujNynwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20210102_120047087_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1662" data-original-width="2048" height="520" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-gpZhGLtdk/YAYxbVKrDtI/AAAAAAAAd8E/5O0OxsZ_FhwYw8d6b9WH2FwIbf6ujNynwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h520/IMG_20210102_120047087_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span> <span><b><i> </i></b></span></span></span><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span><span><b><i>Prospect (v; n)</i></b></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>Oddly, I had thought of the verb form first. Maybe it was subconsciously taking root after bingeing on movies over the holidays. (One day, I'll get back to a time of weekend movie marathons. 2020 was not enough of an excuse to catch up on cinema.)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span><i>There Will Be Blood</i> opened with the scene of a single gentleman prospector, deep in his hand-hewn vertical shaft of rock and earth, picking his way to a few shavings of gold. The scene played long, beyond my comfort level, in that the way it was shot amplified the riskiness.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>Do I plan to prospect for gold? No. At least, not in the traditional, metallic sense. The word is not just exploring, but probing. Not just surveying, but looking deep with the intent to see the makeup of something. Or someone. My word prospecting implies an ongoing seeking -- to see the gems, the preciousness, the value, the substance of what makes someone who they are.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>I don't back down from the deep-dive into something like a word study ('prospect'!) or conceptual research (inclusive education, for instance). But I admit that I've never been really comfortable with getting to know people beyond a certain point. As an editor/writer, I've interviewed many people, but depth for a story is not the same as truly knowing someone. I know more people than I ever thought I would know, but going deep with people has been reserved for only a few. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>Frankly, 2020 wasn't very encouraging in regard to making such quests. It didn't seem like most folks were themselves on any given day -- myself included. It was not always easy to see the best in people from the limited view and lack of presence available. I was comfortable giving people grace and second chances, but I'm wondering where things are headed.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>This brings the noun form as something I've also decided needs to be included with my word.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>I split that word apart (pro/spect), and it becomes "forward looking." It doesn't say to look back. It doesn't say, "Remember when...?" If anything, it says to look extensively, thoroughly toward the future, with vision that anticipates possibility.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>Vision excites me. It points to newness and creativity and energy. I can even get around anticipating possibilities, because it's not saying to have expectations. Expectations are crushing when we're talking about vision at the same time. Expectations have set me up in the past like Lucy holding the football for her favorite blockhead kicker. I am continuing to learn the kinds of expectations that are helpful, boundary-setting and preserving.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>What I want to experience is getting to know people again, and, perhaps, better. I want to put expectations out of the picture and consider the prospects instead.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>I received an invitation to be part of an evening of conversation (in a safe, masked, socially distanced environment). All coming were people I knew, but some I hadn't seen in the flesh in months. With my acceptance came the first drop of my word: "I am intrigued and excited by the <i>prospect</i> of us joining together in this."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>The time brought with it a restored level of comfort in seeing people, albeit, sharing with people, in person, had me feeling a bit vulnerable. Prospecting is not without risk. But, there was a great sense of renewal in understanding and an even greater longing to want to spend more time getting to know these friends again.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span>So, here's to where the road leads. I expect to be surprised by whatever I discover: beyond the surface, through the layers and toward the essential elements.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></p>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-30601280881460712002015-10-06T21:32:00.003-04:002015-10-06T21:32:33.892-04:00What You Don't Know<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You can't know how sorry I am.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">No, really. With today's privacy rules over schools and students, you really can't know.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unless you ask. And I really wish you would.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because on top of telling you how sorry I am for what happened to you--even though it wasn't something I did; even though I've been told I shouldn't need to feel apologetic, that someone else has taken care of what needed to be said--I could have that opportunity to hear out all of your concerns about what happened, to offer you my sincerest sympathy, and to share the part of the story that you didn't hear--'cause you can't know.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can imagine your shock and your pain. Anger, perhaps? (I wouldn't blame you.) Confusion? Fear? This is the problem I have: I don't know what you experienced outside of the obvious, and speculation beyond that can lead one down wrong pathways. I don't want to go there, and it's why I can't just let go when things like this happen. There is no real resolution between us over this, and how can I not be a part of this story?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My hope is that you were given enough information to understand that this was not acceptable, but it is also not the norm. If you thought the actions you witnessed today left you with myriad responses, I tell you the truth when I say that you can't even imagine what was going in the mind of the one who brought those actions forward. If I knew, you wouldn't have known such a moment, and we'd be in a very different place.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So, please know that I am truly sorry, and if the opportunity presents itself, I have things to tell you. Because I believe you not only can know, but you NEED to know....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-44336048651647572922014-03-18T19:37:00.000-04:002014-03-18T19:37:06.102-04:00Time for a Test--on Testing<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Pv631KElPg/UyjYhXR4OuI/AAAAAAAAGog/_7Fx3RvpkGM/s1600/test+bubble+sheet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Pv631KElPg/UyjYhXR4OuI/AAAAAAAAGog/_7Fx3RvpkGM/s1600/test+bubble+sheet.jpg" /></a></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></b></span>here has been quite a bit of buzz in the news and social media about the use of standardized tests. This position paper recently caught my attention....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Take a seat, sharpen your pencils, and turn off all electronic devices. Itâs
time for a testâon <i>testing</i>. <br /><br /><span> </span>Are
standardized tests:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>a.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>an accurate measure of whether
teachers have educated their students,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>b.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>equalizers through their
uniformity,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>c.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>ensuring that No Child is being
Left Behind, or</span></span></div>
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</span></span><div style="margin-left: 0.75in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>d.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>tests which improve studentsâ
critical thinking before they enter the Real</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> World?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span></span><span></span> Actually, the answer is e. none of the above. Standardized tests stifle
creativity and individuality, leaving students to trade original thought for
perfectly filled bubble sheets. The number of tests children must take has
rapidly multipliedâeven as early as kindergartenâand thus, anxiety about them
has done so as well. Yet they are still used in every state, despite being
largely inaccurate. For these reasons, standardized tests in public school
should end.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> First of all, the tests
themselves are clearly fallible, with reports of mass errors appearing year
after year. In the 2004-2005 school year in Hawaii, 98,000 tests had to be
graded again when students received scores for âblank booklets.â<span> </span>A
few years earlier in 2002, Minnesota denied diplomas to 8,000 students because
of faulty test scores that made it appear they had failed. According to a 2012
study, the United States spends 1.7 billion dollars a year on standardized tests
(Brookings Institute). Thatâs an exorbitant sum of money to be putting towards
assessments that may not even be<i> </i>reliable. But perhaps the greatest cost
of this mistake is measured not by money, but the number of students whose
intelligence is based off these imprecise
tests.<br /><span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span></span>Secondly, standardized tests
have no room for any difference from the ânormalâ test-taker in data. Thomas
Armstrong wrote that âThere are a wide range of differences in the people who
take standardized tests: They have different cultural backgrounds, different
levels of proficiency in English, different learning and thinking stylesâŚand yet
the standardized test treats them as though they were all identicalâŚâ Students
are forced to alter their natural thinking patterns to take a test; if they find
they do poorly later, they are considered âunintelligentâ despite the fact that
they were working in a way completely unfamiliar to them. It can be concluded
that the tests are not helpful towards those who think differently.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> <span></span>Finally, standardized tests cause even the
youngest student to experience damaging mental pressure. Seventy-five percent of
students in New York alone are stressed by standardized tests (Klein). The
anxiety can have dreadful effectsâresearchers have found that when faced with a
test, elementary students in grades two through four show behaviors such as
crying, throwing tantrums, and wetting themselves (Urdan). The Stanford-9, a
California test, even comes with instructions on what to do with a booklet if a
student vomits on it. It is obvious that testing causes unprecedented levels of
anxiety for students to the point where their well-being is in jeopardy. It can
be assumed that we have reached a point where the act of administering a test
has become more important than studentsâ mental health. <i><span> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>However, defenders of standardized testing insist that without
testing, those in authority would have no way of knowing whether students
learning what they are supposed to learn. The fundamental problem with this
argument is that standardized tests arenât helping learning take placeâif
anything, theyâre decreasing it. The pressure for teachers to âteach to the
testâ and only cover information which they know will appear leads to declines
in higher learning (University of Maryland). In addition, fifty to eighty
percent of year-to-year test scores are temporary and have nothing to do with
long term changes in learning (Brookings Institute). This shows that the
preparation for the tests cuts back on learning, and after students finally sit
down and take it, the short-term information vanishes from their brains. Thus,
standardized tests reduce the amount of actual learning that takes place in the
classroom. <br /><span> </span><span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> In the end, behind every
testing sheet and every hour spent in class reviewing lies one multiple-choice
question: âShould we continue to use this systemâyes or no?â There would be many
quick to pencil in âyes,â but just as it is taught during test preparation, it
is always important to go back and review the other possibilities. Do we want to
spend millions of dollars on error-prone tests known for showing up blank at
grading time? Do we approve of indirectly encouraging students to abandon the
natural way they learn to conform to the pattern of a test? Do we find it
necessary to cause second graders to vomit and older students to have panic
attacks from anxiety? Perhaps there are some who would keep their answer,
believing that all the negatives would somehow result in a greater good, but the
correct onesâthe ones who truly pass the testâare the ones who bubble in
âno.â</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Photo: sites.psu.edu</span></span><span class="_up"></span> </span></span></div>
Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-33524727314611146132013-10-05T13:53:00.001-04:002013-10-05T13:53:44.916-04:00There is No "Position-Perfect" in the Key of Grief<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b>T</b></span></span>his week, we've been coping with the loss of the father of a close friend of CJ's. It was one of those incidences of seemingly run-of-the-mill symptoms turned into vicious infection whose effects could not be altered or stopped. Very sudden and very tragic. Though we don't know the family really well, the fact that a 14-year-old girl lost her dad resonates here.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had very few encounters with the dad. Whenever he dropped off or picked up his daughter after a visit or a party, he was always pleasant, smiling, polite. He always treated CJ well, too. His occupation was one I admire--teaching children and youth how to play and share music. It takes a certain demeanor and a great amount of patience to bring out the best in kids learning to play instruments. He definitely had those, and the kids he taught had great respect and admiration for him.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There is one memory of him that I will cherish whenever I see his daughter. It was a middle school talent show night. Several of CJ's friends were performing, and I took her to see the show. The daughter took the stage for a vocal/piano performance. I remember the piano not being in quite the right place and the microphone stand clearly not being at the proper height or floor position. The daughter and stagehands did what they could to make things right, but I knew that it wasn't an ideal set up and could affect her performance.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then, up from the seats, moving swiftly toward the stage steps came her dad. He tackled that microphone stand like a true roadie, making all of the necessary adjustments with speed and ease. He made everything position-perfect, which I have no doubt is what he would do for any of his students. Then I remember the look from his daughter--the smile that said, "Thank you, Dad. Now, I'm ready to play." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Though her dad never sought any attention, and left the stage as quickly and stealthily as he got himself up there, he garnered a big round of applause from the audience. I remember thinking, if not actually saying to CJ, "I wonder how many people know that's her dad?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course, she performed beautifully. But the picture ingrained in my mind from that night is the dad who sought the very best for his girl.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">* * *</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It is not easy being 14 and having to navigate what it means to have a friend lose her dad. CJ and I have had a few talks this week. We've talked about how sad we are. How shocked we were at getting the news. Then there are the "I don't know what to do to help" questions. What has made this situation a little more challenging is that some of CJ's other friends had a deeper relationship with the girl's father--being as he was their music teacher. Understandable. But CJ was worried whether she was being supportive enough. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's a good conversation to have, because--as other friends of mine have written over the past year--grief is not something that comes in a standard-issue box with an end date. It would make sense that her other friends would feel a different kind of loss than CJ and that their response in this time would also be different that hers. It didn't mean that CJ's grief was any less real nor was her response to the situation any less appropriate. Death is not an easy thing to deal with <i>period</i>, and there are no black-and-white responses. No "position-perfect" postures--regardless of how society might try to suggest that there are.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As a starting place, CJ wrote her friend a letter. What she might not be able to say effectively in person--especially in an environment like a viewing or a funeral--she could surely capture through her writing. I thought that was just right. Knowing that grief is not an event that closes out with the funeral, I encouraged her to keep listening to her friend. Find out what she needs along the way. She and her family will need support for a long time. The most important thing really is the being there.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And, the being yourself.... </span></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-61548712104279784372013-08-06T22:14:00.001-04:002013-08-06T22:14:23.838-04:00A Touching Story<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span></b></span>art and parcel of the summer schedule at the J's is RJ2's month-long+ tenure in Extended School Year, or ESY. One of the things we discovered early on in her school career is that she needs to keep school in her blood so she doesn't forget what it's like to be at school. Generally successful. This year, challenging. Mondays--especially challenging.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">Yesterday was no exception, as RJ2 struggled to accomplish her work. The weekly Monday reports from the teacher were not encouraging and difficult to hear time and time again upon dismissal time in the school's front lobby. "We'll try again tomorrow," is what RJ2 often says on days when she knows she hasn't been at her best. Her aide sighs a smile, as do I.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">[It was all I could do not to lose it laughing in the hallway a week or so ago when RJ2 flew into her classroom announcing in her biggest voice, "I'M STILL HERE!" Oh, what her teacher and aide were thinking....]</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">Today, RJ2 started with a great morning at home. "I feel happy!" she said. She dialogued about everything she saw on the way to her room. Everything suggested today would not be Monday.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">At the end of the class time, I met RJ2 at the front lobby, as usual. The teacher was speaking with the mom of another student. I waited my turn for the update. The front door opened, and another mom came in with her preschool-aged son, who was to begin his ESY morning.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">He looked unsettled and became increasingly agitated, starting to cry. His mother suggested going back outside, perhaps to calm down. I understood this picture all too well. Something would have to change soon or this child was going to have a lobby meltdown. He rejected his mom's thought to go out, pacing the floor with his little steps.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">"Are you looking for Ms. R.?" she said to him.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">Ms. R. is one of the ESY preschool aides, who just happened to be a helper in RJ2's preschool classroom back in the day, and still makes an appearance every now and again at our school. I knew she was in the building, but she hadn't made it up to the lobby yet. Then, it happened.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iIIbqJ4JfhA/UgGa64vvweI/AAAAAAAAGd8/jCNbk4F3jyA/s1600/hand.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iIIbqJ4JfhA/UgGa64vvweI/AAAAAAAAGd8/jCNbk4F3jyA/s320/hand.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">A little hand, much like this one, squirmed its way into mine. Soon following was a sweet face looking up at me.</span></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">Uh, oh!</span></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">Honestly, it was the cutest thing ever! Brought back a flood of memories of tiny fingers coming out of a chubby, warm grip. But, reality snapped shut the flashbacks, and I thought, "Now, what do I do?" He had no plans to let go.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">I'm still not sure if he thought I was Ms. R., but he seemed to think I could help--which, actually, I could.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">"I'm not Ms. R. Ms. R's class must not be done yet. Do you want to go find her?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">He pulled a little harder on my hand and we started walking down the hallway. I didn't think until later that I hadn't eyed his mom to check for her OK. She didn't say anything, but followed right behind us with his backpack. And that 'us' grew to be four.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">"Can I hold your hand?" piped up RJ2, grabbing what was left of his open left hand, as he was already holding a box full of multi-colored pencil-top erasers.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">We walked three abreast down the hallway--with mom behind us--toward the classrooms. Immediately upon leaving the lobby, I saw Ms. R. at the other end of the hall, bringing up students who had finished their ESY day. Ms. R. stopped and stooped to check out our new friend's little face, which then looked up at me a little confused. "Here's Ms. R!" I affirmed. He collected his backpack from mom and looked ready to get on with his morning, relieved.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">"[RJ2] had a great day today," said RJ2's teacher, who ended up being the fifth member of the hallway entourage, passing us by, but giving me the good news.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">"[RJ2] has been a great help," said the little boy's mom.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">We left the school lobby and headed out to the crosswalk. "The boy was a little bit nervous, so I held his hand," said RJ2. I told her that she did a really good thing. "He was a little bit nervous, so, he needs to use his words. Or, he needs to hold a hand, right, Mom?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span class="irc_ho">This is one of those stories I won't mind her remembering and repeating, and recreating....</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="irc_hd irc_iis"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="irc_ho">Photo: cheeseandtoast.com</span></span></span><span class="irc_dim"></span></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-74941090192793943532013-08-02T13:35:00.003-04:002013-08-02T13:35:57.846-04:00The Call to Retreat<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Remembering the Magic</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We packed bags of dreams, junk food, and clothes, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">and set out for Pennsylvania.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">They called it a "retreat,"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">but four consonants, three vowels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">can't capture six days</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">of truly living.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We bled Mountain Dew and grass stains,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">lived for running and jumping,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">and being whole. Being young.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We found shortcuts through the woods</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">and ran through with bobbing glow sticks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">under a full moon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We covered ourselves in war paint--</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">mud and shaving cream</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And we would always sing songs of praise,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">sometimes hand-in-hand amongst</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">the burning spotlights of the stage,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">but mostly through shouts and laughs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">of jubilation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">They asked us to challenge our thoughts,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">to believe in the unbelievable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We congregated on stone steps one night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">to put faith in the unseen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The last night brought tears as</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">we exchanged handshakes and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">parting words.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And under another brilliant moon,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I filled a glass jar with fireflies in my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Memories, glowing brightly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">They still burn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">--CJ, August 2012</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">* * *</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b>CJ</b></span></span> wrote this poem as an entry for the PTA Reflections competition last fall. It did quite well, reaching the Richmond district finals. But, so much more than that, this piece captured the place her heart was in upon her return from The Great Escape--a week-long Christian retreat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">For as many road trips as we had taken as a family, this was the first trip in which she would be away from us for a week. Could not imagine a more fun atmosphere into which to venture nor more wonderful people with whom to send her. Still, the worries about the little things: Would she find something to eat? Would she keep track of her stuff (as past history shows this is an unmastered area)? Would she get to know people more? How would this impact her spiritually?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Reading the draft of the poem left me nodding. I didn't want to give too much feedback; this was being written for a competition, and parental input is forbidden. But, I told her how much I really liked it and reminded her to fill out the accompanying paperwork for the awards application. Honestly, I couldn't wait to share the piece, because it had touched me so much. CJ did have a faith revelation during the retreat, and she returned to us a changed person (even if she still didn't put her clothes away all the time).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But, as happens in a journey of faith, challenges emerged. Distractions. Nuisances. Stumbling blocks. Disappointments. Pressures. The hard wall of life. Something happened--a lot of things happened--and it was as if the retreat had never happened. What she had found in her heart to be true was confronted at every turn by something or someone to make her doubt, which led to a lot of questioning, argumentation and rebellion. In middle school lies the initial years of "Who am I?" We were an audience treated to a season of discovery. (Ouch! Feel the sarcasm....)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Church-related things fell into the mix, as CJ struggled to find her place. I feared she was another piece of evidence in the growing number of analyses suggesting youth-based spiritual retreats were more "polish and glow" than "worship and go [make disciples, etc.]." She would claim on more than one occasion that this kind of retreat brought her closer to God than anything else she had experienced. The "mountaintop" experience is hard to top (pun intended, I guess), though much of daily life is spent on the hillside if not, sometimes, in the valley. Yet the more I tried to explain, the more she had reason to find fault with my <strike>years of life experience, been-there-done-that</strike> reasoning.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I had actually said that she wouldn't be able to go on this retreat again if she wasn't making an effort to try and take a new look at spiritual things. I wasn't trying to throw religion down her throat, but I'm sure this all would have made more sense if she had heard what I was saying through someone else at a retreat. In the end, I was the one who retreated from her statement, opening my mind to the realization that this girl doesn't take the straight path to anywhere. Several friends and mentors deliberately or coincidentally shared their own faith experiences and the challenges of seeing their kids on their paths. My own faith experience isn't exactly a straight shot of belief. I got the message.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have taken a lot of deep breaths in this season--some more helpful than others. I booked CJ for the second retreat, leaving certain expectations and hopes behind. (I'm still hopeful she doesn't forget anything.) I might hope that she returns to those stone steps tonight and reflects back to last summer. But I know better than that. She can go back, but she is not the same. And she won't be the same, if God knows what's good for her, which I believe He does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">[<i>Deep breath....</i>]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-50740929152640856702013-07-30T12:15:00.000-04:002013-07-30T12:15:51.616-04:0035 "Measures" and Counting<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b></span>f it weren't for the date on the newspaper clipping, I'd forget that I have an anniversary to celebrate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGV4VX6j57g/UfbyUGOjm0I/AAAAAAAAGcE/k_v8OhMVjA0/s1600/197808+Tintinnabulators.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGV4VX6j57g/UfbyUGOjm0I/AAAAAAAAGcE/k_v8OhMVjA0/s640/197808+Tintinnabulators.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">August 1978--35 years ago, I picked up handbells for the first time ever.</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It was the year in between 8th grade and freshman year of high school. Not exactly the time when you think about taking on new things, other than your course schedule. Graduation had just marked the end of a huge year--first term paper in English; Confirmation class; playing on the school's inaugural girls softball team; algebra; yearbook staff; a pool party with friends. But, a call came in to break up the summer of "life on pause."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The woman who had directed the Junior Choir at our church called to talk with my mom. Bettye Lee had served this choir for years, embracing kids in that challenging "approaching and into middle school age" with a combination of humor, strictness and, always, professionalism--or, as close to that as you get with this age of kid. I was fortunate to have participated in two musical productions under her leadership, not to mention weekly rehearsals and many opportunities singing in church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Our time together might have been longer had she not followed her husband in taking a work-related leave of absence from the country and moving to England for a time. I still remember on the night of her farewell party begging my mom to take me, and then eating too many fig bars with cream-cheese filling while watching Mrs. Lee open her going-away gifts. Too sad! What I didn't know is that her going to England was a necessary part of this story. For there, she discovered English handbells. Not that they weren't around, but she wrote in a letter to the church that it would be lovely to have these back home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">She did come back home, too. Flash forward several years to the Spring of 1977. The church hosted a handbell concert with a guest choir. [Pretty sure it was The Klokken Ringers, because their director, Betty Garee--lifetime handbell enthusiast, composer and arranger--later hooked up with our Bettye to go to a bell festival together.] Not sure how it happened, but my family attended the concert that afternoon. I remember very little about what the group played, but it was interesting to watch them. Fairly certain I was too shy to approach their table to even look at a bell up-close. It was not long after that concert that the Teen Tintinnabulators became a reality, with Mrs. Lee directing high school students from our church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">When the call came in to my house a year later, it was a little surprising. I had not even started high school, remember. But, Mrs. Lee was in a pickle. About half the Teen Tintinnabulators were heading off to college leaving quite a few openings for new ringers. She was seeking the newest crop of high-schoolers with the thought of training them under her remaining group--most of whom were rising seniors who would head out the door the following year. She was calling her former Junior Choir members, scouting out interest. My mom gave me the scoop. Nervously, I would give it a try. (And, the newspaper came a few rehearsals after that. It was kind of a novelty to have handbells in the county, back in the day.)</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VRqfaCgOOdM/Ufcg4AMSjqI/AAAAAAAAGcY/3gmM0x3gxuY/s1600/197905+Tintinnabulators+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VRqfaCgOOdM/Ufcg4AMSjqI/AAAAAAAAGcY/3gmM0x3gxuY/s320/197905+Tintinnabulators+framed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>The arm motion has always been totally natural for me. </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>I think 9 years of ballet lessons helped with that.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That first year left indelible marks. I not only learned to play, but learned so much of the behind-the-scenes. With each rehearsal, we were all involved in the regular set-up and clean-up of the bells, and their needed accessories. I had only sung in choruses before, and playing alongside others in a musical group was a completely different experience. With handbells, you handle your own part, but that part must fit seamlessly with everyone else's parts. Rehearsals were intense because musicality and professionalism were mandates. But I learned to appreciate being in a group and found a comfort level with people that I hadn't before experienced.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At the end of the season came my first multi-state handbell festival at the University of Orono in Maine.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VRqfaCgOOdM/Ufcg4AMSjqI/AAAAAAAAGcU/WwpWNP2oiJk/s1600/197905+Tintinnabulators+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lhGPRZjKSdc/Ufcg4hD37bI/AAAAAAAAGcc/YF6g3ay7xj4/s1600/img109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lhGPRZjKSdc/Ufcg4hD37bI/AAAAAAAAGcc/YF6g3ay7xj4/s320/img109.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At that time, handbell festivals lasted 3 or 4 days and were held in the summer on college campuses. We stayed in the dorms, ate in the cafeterias, and went to morning chapel and bell classes in between massed-ringing rehearsals and ensemble concerts. We performed two pieces at one of the ensemble concert venues--one of which was supposed to be "Variations on Chopstix," which got nixed fairly last-minute by Mrs. Lee in favor of a newer piece released by the festival's main conductor [Donald Allured]. No pressure switching out the fun crowd-pleaser for the more difficult composition in front of the big cheese himself! (Mr. Allured did complement us after our performance and told us to work on our triplets, to which Mrs. Lee responded with something like, "You see? I told you....") I also participated by choice in a music theory/bell composition class. It was out of my league at the time, but I still have the handouts....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I would continue to play through high school, eventually having two of my sisters join the group. My college, which had a music school, didn't have handbells, so there was a gap in playing regularly until life in a new state brought me back into the church--one with a handbell choir. From there, more festivals, solo-playing workshops, conducting and concerts led to a 7-year church choir directorship with more than 100 outreach performances and services--and lifetime friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now, I'm a two-choir gal with the most amazing collection of people playing.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JDZoEnYVZv8/Uffeuoz0w2I/AAAAAAAAGcs/CXbx0hSnhAg/s1600/Prime+Chimers+2013+concert+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JDZoEnYVZv8/Uffeuoz0w2I/AAAAAAAAGcs/CXbx0hSnhAg/s400/Prime+Chimers+2013+concert+(2).jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<b><i>The Prime Chimers of Meadow Glen</i></b> </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sKNiyQqdxPw/Uffe7ccrPiI/AAAAAAAAGc0/XU3zeTTEN24/s1600/Verena+Ringers+Easter+2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sKNiyQqdxPw/Uffe7ccrPiI/AAAAAAAAGc0/XU3zeTTEN24/s320/Verena+Ringers+Easter+2013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><i> </i></b></span><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The Verena Ringers</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Still
schlepping, setting-up and tearing-down bells and assorted equipment; taking that music theory interest and applying it toward scoring parts
for handbells, so more can play in more types of playing opportunities</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> more easily (and it's on the computer, now, JuBELLees--thank you so much!)</span>; facilitating a group
environment that allows everyone to participate and have fun while making
great music (though I'll never be Bettye Lee). And, of course, still working on the skills of playing. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Because bells are my instrument, and "measure" 36 is coming up....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-92321383872353072013-03-08T11:34:00.001-05:002013-03-08T11:34:18.086-05:00They Need to Write Something Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eR8B7C1REv0/UQsj6CZa65I/AAAAAAAAGQY/nEzLrT3yE2Y/s1600/Writers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eR8B7C1REv0/UQsj6CZa65I/AAAAAAAAGQY/nEzLrT3yE2Y/s400/Writers.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b></span><span style="font-size: small;">t started out as <span style="font-size: small;">the</span> good parent thing to do: reading the E<span style="font-size: small;">-mail update from the middle school lan<span style="font-size: small;">guage arts teacher<span style="font-size: small;"> about <span style="font-size: small;">the current topics the kids were studying, projects, due dates and<span style="font-size: small;"> the like. <span style="font-size: small;">Th<span style="font-size: small;">e teacher even went so far as to <span style="font-size: small;">question the parents about their experience with said topics<span style="font-size: small;">. "What is your writing process like?" "What are your thoughts on revision?"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It then became an opportunity for me to share, thinking the teacher would use the responses as part of her teaching material. I took on a few questions <span style="font-size: small;">in some detail.</span> What I wasn't expecting was the foll<span style="font-size: small;">ow-up E-mail from the teacher, asking me to be a guest speaker to share directly with some classes about my experience with writing.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly, I had a <span style="font-size: small;">Dad moment, as in my Dad<span style="font-size: small;">. <span style="font-size: small;">Being a now-retired <span style="font-size: small;">professor</span>, he loves <span style="font-size: small;">any opportunity to get back into a classroom environment to share his stuff! I definitely didn't accept <span style="font-size: small;">my</span> invitation with the same kind of confidence and excitement that he would have.<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">T</span></span>his is m<span style="font-size: small;">iddle school in 2013 after all. (Not to mention that I have a middle schooler w<span style="font-size: small;">ho co<span style="font-size: small;">uld potentially be subjected<span style="font-size: small;"> to this presentation<span style="font-size: small;">!</span>)</span></span> B</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>ut I <span style="font-size: small;">did think I had something to offer<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thankfully, the teacher had some <span style="font-size: small;">tho<span style="font-size: small;">ught </span>qu</span>estions in mind, which gave me so<span style="font-size: small;">me structure for a talk out of the gate. I am not a writing or English major. I <span style="font-size: small;">don't teach writing. <span style="font-size: small;">Still, I have had many, many opportunities to write, <span style="font-size: small;">for different audiences, </span>in different formats, for different media. I could just share<span style="font-size: small;"> "My Life as a Writer," which sounds like a composition I would have written back in fifth grade. (I wrote so many "My Life as a...<span style="font-size: small;">" stories that year that my teacher finally told me I had to write <span style="font-size: small;">under a new premise. Good for him!)</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> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I<span style="font-size: small;"> outlined my talk question by question, filling in details as if I were teaching students <span style="font-size: small;">w<span style="font-size: small;">hy we write and how<span style="font-size: small;"> to do it. Then, I hit the attic for the box of writing samples.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> There are so many items in that box, even as I have tried to pare things down over the years.<span style="font-size: small;"> I've thrown away diaries, but I still have a fi<span style="font-size: small;">le full of lyrics to marching band fight so<span style="font-size: small;">ngs</span> and num<span style="font-size: small;">erous work-related </span>song parodies. Lots of <span style="font-size: small;">newsletter<span style="font-size: small;">s, magazine articles, brochures<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and, now, even a book entry,</span> but, more importantly, a story <span style="font-size: small;">behind the story for<span style="font-size: small;"> each. Plenty of things to share<span style="font-size: small;">!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">went in with some e<span style="font-size: small;">xpectations.<span style="font-size: small;"> I figured I'd know some of the kids. Some, but not many, as it turned out. I figured there would be some issues with gaining their interest. Alth<span style="font-size: small;">ough my girl is a language arts af<span style="font-size: small;">icionado, I kn<span style="font-size: small;">ew most of the larger eighth grade class was not. This proved to be quite true, even beyond the point of my expectations. I expected the kids to participate by the time we got to the end of the talk, at least having one question or comment in mind. <span style="font-size: small;">Hmmm......<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></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></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The teacher, on the other hand, wrote down so many things on a piece of paper the first time I spoke that I had to wonder what all I had actually said. When I spoke the second time, it was clear that she had taken notes, <span style="font-size: small;">as she had my basic skeletal outline for the presentation up on the s<span style="font-size: small;">creen for the class to copy down. YIKES! No pressure.... Nothing but encouraging, she thought I had offered up just what was needed, as the classes were to begin their pursuit of <span style="font-size: small;">subject matter research in preparation for a writing project.</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></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">She and I s</span></span></span>poke afterward of how much lang<span style="font-size: small;">uage arts has changed from when we went to school. We both remember having English being t<span style="font-size: small;">aught <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">seperately</span> from Reading. Now, all of the<span style="font-size: small;"> elements of both are <span style="font-size: small;">taught together throughout middle<span style="font-size: small;"> school, which is how high school still works. But the loss of time in <span style="font-size: small;">being able to focus teaching on <span style="font-size: small;">and for stude<span style="font-size: small;">nts to </span>perfect the basi<span style="font-size: small;">cs</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></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> of <span style="font-size: small;">writing </span>shows. The advancements in technology are not helping in this regard<span style="font-size: small;">, as I tried to persuade the students that their future success will requ<span style="font-size: small;">ire more communication than text talk and emot<span style="font-size: small;">icons.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">polled the <span style="font-size: small;">cl<span style="font-size: small;">asses to <span style="font-size: small;">see how many students were interested in pursuing writing as a career. Only one or two per class. I changed up the question: "How many of you think you'll be writing in your jobs?" Again, the same one or two plus another one or two.</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> Really? I reminded them that they will all <span style="font-size: small;">need to write a college essay or a cover letter for a job<span style="font-size: small;"> application.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking away from<span style="font-size: small;"> this experience, I take away a couple of things. I did connect with a few stude<span style="font-size: small;">nts, helping them to narrow down research topics and suggesting ways to get started with <span style="font-size: small;">research. That was especially gratifying.</span></span> The teacher reminded me that it was important to give the students the lowdown<span style="font-size: small;"> on writing, even if they d<span style="font-size: small;">id not fully appreciate it</span>. At some point, they will look back and think, "Oh, yeah--what she said that time." Planting seeds. Good reminder!</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><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I also see the opportunity for another talk, if not a change in the curriculum. Students are not making a connection between <span style="font-size: small;">'</span>writing' and communicating using words. <span style="font-size: small;">Kids to<span style="font-size: small;">o often see w</span></span>riting <span style="font-size: small;">a</span>s a have<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>to<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>do, as in<span style="font-size: small;">,</span> "She's making us write 5 paragraphs about <span style="font-size: small;">this!" The larger picture of being able to share with others what you have learned through writing is not operative for students today. Kids are getting their information from the <span style="font-size: small;">Internet, v<span style="font-size: small;">ideos, radio, and their friends on their phones. But, doesn't anybody think about who is writing up all of that information?</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></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even when<span style="font-size: small;"> texting or </span>posting to a social media site, they are using<span style="font-size: small;"> words to communicate thoughts and information. Are they going to choose to do it well, with intention and purpose<span style="font-size: small;">? What lands in print<span style="font-size: small;">, even electronically, is hard to erase. What you <span style="font-size: small;">write speaks to who you are. <span style="font-size: small;">I</span>t really does.</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></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's <span style="font-size: small;">time--past time, honestly--to revisit what <span style="font-size: small;">our kids are learning and opining a<span style="font-size: small;">bout writing.<span style="font-size: small;"> The <span style="font-size: small;">world needs writers!</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></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></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></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></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></span></span></span></span></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-2498578818759095612012-06-12T13:35:00.002-04:002012-06-12T13:35:26.008-04:00Let the Bells Keep Ringing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8HKbvNcDTM/T9KH6FW19kI/AAAAAAAAF5k/DqghqXpX_50/s1600/julie-andrews-sound-of-music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8HKbvNcDTM/T9KH6FW19kI/AAAAAAAAF5k/DqghqXpX_50/s320/julie-andrews-sound-of-music.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">"'W</span></span>hat will this day be like?' I wonder.</span>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_2"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_2">'What will my future be?' I wonder.</span> </span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_3">It could be so exciting to be out in the world, to be free.</span>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_4"><br /></span></span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s" id="line_4">My heart should be wildly rejoicing</span>.</span></i><br />
<i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Lyric"><span class="line line-s hover" id="line_5">Oh, what's the matter with me?...."</span></span></i></div>
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<b style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">L</span></b>ast week, I had to face a day that I had hardly pondered becoming a reality: I announced that I was stepping down from directing the New Hanover JuBELLees--the bell choir that I have directed for seven seasons.<br />
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A week later, there's a part of me that's still throwing up inside over having made that decision, even though I know it was the decision that I was supposed to make.<br />
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I had come to the determination a number of weeks ago. It was a troubling feeling. I had felt I lost my passion for what I was doing. Not that I didn't love handbells. This is my lifelong instrument--the only one I've been able to play with any real success. Not that I didn't want a handbell ministry to continue through my church. As a ministry, our group has seen individually, collectively and in the community what God can do through a handbell choir! Far more than all we had asked, thought or imagined!! (Ephesians 3:20)<br />
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I had been fulfilling multiple roles--conducting, playing in the smaller ensemble that was an offshoot of the JuBELLees, arranging contemporary music for the bells to play with our Praise Team, and directing in every other sense of the word as we navigated our busiest season ever. Was I just burned out? Or was there something else?<br />
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A couple of years ago, I had tried to launch a daytime group. I thought there might be other people available during the day who would like to come forward and ring. It would give us the opportunity to broaden the reach of the handbell ministry to more places--more senior communities or other audiences--while bringing on new people to learn the art of ringing. I handled the publicity. I planned music, organized resources and made myself available. The newspaper never ran my press releases (which was very odd for our small town paper not to do). I was never contacted. I was always alone in the room each week in which I had tried to have a rehearsal. Clearly, it was not to be!<br />
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Not that the thought left. And this is what came to settle within me as a new focus--a calling whose time had come.<br />
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In recognizing that, I had to share the news with the administrative director of the JuBELLees. One of the great blessings of this venture has been the growth in the relationship that I have with her. Early growing pains in knowing how to run this group and figuring out how to work together are long since gone, as we have become true friends and ministry complements. What I hadn't expected was that she was having her own struggle with calling and moment of focus epiphany. This would make our next steps all the more difficult, even as we were both shown such clarity.<br />
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We still had a season to lead and play through to completion, which we did. We received amazing tangible and prayerful support from our Minister of Worship and Arts (though he wasn't expecting this turn of events either). All we had left to do was to share the word with the group.<br />
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(sigh!)<br />
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A dear friend posted this Facebook reply to me last week, as I was saying how hard it is to say no.<br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">"You have to say YES to what GOD calls you to....not what PEOPLE want YOU to do! For years HE has been knocking at your heart."</span></blockquote>
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">She was surely affirming me in what I knew to be true. But to come before the people who have now become my sisters and brother and say, "I'm moving here. Go and may God be with you...." It felt like Major Tom had made his last communication before drifting off into space, or I was singing "The Breakup Song" for Greg Kihn.</span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br /></span><br />
<i><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">This stinks! Change stinks!</span></i><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br /></span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">I have been where they sat, and I knew the pain, the sadness, the loss, the confusion, the indecision, the ________. I didn't want to be the cause of that, and yet.... It gave me perspective on those who had "done it to me," yet whose purposes were similar to mine now. It's not a leaving; it's a change of focus. We are committed to keep meeting together; we have grown too close--we're family--we're not letting go of that. But....</span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br /></span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">(Sigh! And tears....)</span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">* * *</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>ometimes, I think we change things to make things easier for ourselves. Simplify our lives so we can enjoy the blessings of what we have. This change was not about that. I admit to doing a lot of (i.e.,too many!) good things at once--a longtime habit of mine with which I haven't successfully dealt. But this change will not make things any easier.</span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><br /></span><br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Obedience to a calling is an effort in itself--joyful and fulfilling, but they don't call it "works" for no reason. Within a couple days of the announcement to the JuBELLees, I had a meeting with a senior community. It was a new assisted living facility on our list for whom we played for Christmas and again just a couple weeks ago. I came in to ask if they were interested in having bells as part of their schedule of activities. The residents decided that they'd like to start a bell group, with weekly 30-minute rehearsals! I now find myself back to finding resources, planning music and taking on a new outreach challenge--"which God prepared beforehand" [in advance of my knowing the perfect time]. (Ephesians 2:10) And, at this time, there is the potential for two other groups. </span><br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">But with that calling also comes being obedient to the words of Hebrews Chapter 10: "...</span>A<span class="text Heb-10-24" id="en-NASB-30158">nd let us consider how <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NASB-30158AU" title="See cross-reference AU">AU</a>)"></sup>to stimulate one another to love and <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NASB-30158AV" title="See cross-reference AV">AV</a>)"></sup>good deeds,</span> <span class="text Heb-10-25" id="en-NASB-30159"><sup class="versenum"></sup><i>not forsaking our own <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NASB-30159AW" title="See cross-reference AW">AW</a>)"></sup>assembling together</i>, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another...." (Hebrews 10: 24 and 25a) Staying in leadership in this ministry, and encouraging and meeting together with those involved is a greater task, as there will not be a Monday night rehearsal for me. But how I long for all those with whom I have served to continue on!</span><br />
<span class="text Heb-10-25" id="en-NASB-30159"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="text Heb-10-25" id="en-NASB-30159">Maria, the postulate, tries to sing her way into confidence through her long trip from the abbey to the Von Trapp residence. I chuckled to the activities director at the senior community that I looked like her on Friday, with bell cases, foam bag and music in tow. The prospects for new and fruitful service are great. But "leaving behind" my sisters and brother in the safety and security of where we have come up and served together is not a picture I want to leave frozen in time.</span><br />
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<span class="text Heb-10-25" id="en-NASB-30159">I am hopeful that as He has led me, that He will lead the rest of us to "climb every mountain." And as we COME BACK TOGETHER to share of where we are--the great things He has done--and that all the bells will ring in the steeple towers!</span><br />
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<span class="text Heb-10-25" id="en-NASB-30159"><br /></span></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-60720697347486213842012-04-26T19:50:00.004-04:002012-04-26T19:50:35.089-04:00I Got Shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span><span style="font-size: small;">he called me again today with tears in her voice. I've spoken with her three times this week: the first, a casual call with a question, after which came some lively conversation; the second, unexpected, with a literal cry of devastation and a complete loss for words; today, the third, still with tears, but also with a request.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After a weekend of difficult news and many prayers, my friend just lost a friend. Not just any friend, but a friend of more than 60 years! A friend like a big sister. The kind of friend for which they wrote the "Grow old with me--the best is yet to be!" adage for the framed needlework sampler in your hallway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">When you're on the other end of the phone and this call comes in, you find yourself feeling pretty helpless. There are no suitable words. I know well enough to stay far away from pat expressions of sympathy. But I found it hard to come up with much beyond, "Oh.... Oh....," which sounds so useless on the phone. Yet when she called, within hours of my supposed to be seeing her, I knew I needed to tell her to stay home, which I did. Because the distraction of our meeting was not what she needed, raw in her emotions as she was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I knew only a bit of how important this woman was in the life of my friend. And she was so very dear. In the past couple days, I have learned even more, and the depth of this friendship is something I don't know yet. What I do know is that my friend is grieving as she hasn't had to do--even though she has lost her husband already. This is quite different, and, no, it's not at all easier. Not the same and definitely not easier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So, when she called, I was concerned. What she requested surprised me: ballet shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She thought my girls were taking dance lessons. Not for a couple of years. She then was hoping I could lead her to a store that would sell her some ballet slippers. Long ago, she and her friend took ballet lessons together. With a visitation to attend, she wanted to bring something to this final goodbye that spoke of their special times together. Something her friend would "keep" on her way to eternity. Ballet slippers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"Oh.... Oh...."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My first thoughts were of stores that are not in our neck of the woods. I knew she didn't have time or interest in a shopping trip. I thought of a local dance studio, and since I was on the computer when she called, I looked up information on their shop. No items listed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I was giving my friend the studio's phone number, I had another thought: "Do you need new ballet shoes or will any pair do?" It was clearly the idea of having ballet shoes that was more important than whether they were new. "I wore ballet shoes at my wedding," I told her.</span></div>
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Then it was her turn to say, "Oh.... Oh...."</div>
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Within an hour, I was on her doorstep. She couldn't have been more thankful. "She would have liked these," she said of her friend.</div>
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<b style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span></b>eople keep a lot of things around their homes that maybe shouldn't be there. Over the years, I have lost a lot of sentimental attachment over things. I've seen too many things get old, broken, lose their effectiveness, fall out of style--not to mention seeing how many people don't have the basic things to get by in this complex world. It's just not about things.</div>
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My wedding slippers were not ballet shoes that I had ever worn in taking lessons. My wedding dress couldn't be worn with high heels, so instead of buying cream-colored flats that I thought I would never wear again [unlike the dress, right?!], I went with ballet slippers, which fell into the "something old" of the bridal "something's." They were never worn much past the wedding day. Still, there they were, in a labeled box in the attic. A future treasure to be unearthed.</div>
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As God would have it, though, today they are a treasure for a friend--not in a way I ever could have imagined, but in a way that couldn't be more beautiful.</div>
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"All God's children got shoes...." </div>
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<br /></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-53681964675112874712012-01-12T23:09:00.001-05:002012-01-12T23:09:19.933-05:00Tripping the Lights Fantastic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>hat seems like long ago on these pages--last summer--were pictures of CJ from a visit to a local treasure, Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens. She and I spent a long beautiful morning enjoying the garden displays--inside and out. On the way home, she decided that she would really like to go more often. A membership for Christmas would be a great gift!</div>
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And, so it is--already! On Christmas Day, CJ received a family membership to the gardens (plus two, for Grandma and Grandpa when they visit, or other guests). What we didn't know is that it came with four tickets to their annual "Gardenfest of Lights." Since we had plans after Christmas, we looked to early January for a late visit to the show. We were not disappointed!</div>
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R and I both had cameras that night. His pictures are much better, because he had a tripod and wasn't running. I had the camera looped around my hand, running after RJ2, who was pulling CJ by the arm to go fast everywhere! There was so much to see. I knew we would end up making a couple loops around things, just to try and catch a better view.</div>
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We started out in the Conservatory. This is the left arm of the beautiful glass domed structure.</div>
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That's a view of the right arm stretching straight toward the camera--across the pond.</div>
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Inside, there were all kinds of light strings. Not what you'd find on your indoor Christmas tree or outside bush. The pink flowers that this butterfly is sitting on were actually all lights on branches. (Take note, Grandma!) There was a stunning tree where the gardens would usually feature tropical plants and trees. A wall full of lighted snow (<i>see at top of post</i>) came down over a very cool train display, with some very rapidly moving cars! (I'm sure if I try to post that video of RJ2 and the train that Blogger will be mad at me. Another time....)</div>
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How about this lighted Christmas ball?</div>
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This is the "LOVE" sign. I think it's sponsored by the Virginia Board of Tourism. The idea was to stand in the letters and take a picture of your family to post on Facebook. We didn't think that was feasible, so we hung out in the pavilions that you see in the background.<br />
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A hummingbird, checking out some flowers, and a frog whose extended tongue has just caught a fly. The lights on the tongue go out and come back on--so fun!</div>
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Just a gorgeous peacock!<br />
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A multi-colored dragon fly, and a girl on a swing, who looks very familiar....</div>
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The children's area has been expanded in recent years to include a tree house with many ramps and a small fountain park for kids to run through and cool off in the summer. The gardens has a big emphasis on education and garden activities for kids. No surprise that they had a garden planted and growing in January! </div>
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Cool watermelon!</div>
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Enjoying a rest in the tree house rockers....</div>
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How about these lighted stars, Grandpa?<br />
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Fun to see these two photos back to back. The stick sculpture palace that was created by a visiting artist was dressed with some a special gelled light that made its branches sparkle!</div>
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There was a campfire going that night, and someone was heating up marshmallows for s'mores. It was more for effect the night we went, since it was pretty unseasonably warm. So has been the season here in Central VA!</div>
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So much to see. Hold tight; here we go.......!!!! </div>
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And I really should stop and chat with these kids!</div>
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C'mon, RJ2, let's run through the maze. AAAAAAaaaaa.....!!!!</div>
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We may not have seen everything, but we sure saw a lot. And even though the lights will be down by the next time we go back. I think we see just a few crocuses! Until next time....</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #783f04;"> * * *</span></b></span></div>
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And CJ provides the postscript, with "Gardenfest of Lights" Mash Up! (Or, I'm ready for Photoshop....)<br />
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<br /></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-46034021915342269002011-10-29T14:01:00.001-04:002011-10-29T14:01:33.917-04:00When Robbie's Story Met My Story<b style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b> didn't know Robert Wood, Jr., until I met him this past Sunday. I don't even remember how I heard the news about him, though I'm guessing it was somebody's Facebook post. What I do remember is "8 years old with autism," lost in Hanover County park. That resonated pretty hard.<br />
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As I looked at the picture of this boy, which was very quickly everywhere in my sights, I couldn't help but identify. North Anna Battlefield Park, where Robbie got lost, was a place we had visited with the girls. A family hike. I remember the picnic tables near the parking lot and the hilly terrain on the trail. There was whining about going too far, and when could we turn around and go home. Lots of trees and not many obvious markers, clearings or obvious rest stops. Years after our walk, we had to drive up to the park to rescue R, who had popped a bicycle tire on a ride in Doswell. He sat by the tree at the head of the park's driveway.<br />
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I thought about this child being in this park on a Sunday afternoon. What fun! So many places to explore. The more I read about his account, the more I thought about just what a great playground this was. A river, train tracks, quarries! When I looked at Robbie's face, I thought of two words--curious and resilient. Understanding just a bit of how a child with autism can function, I could see how he could be in the spot he was (to him, having a great time!) and how he could cope with the conditions he was in (because it probably didn't have much of an impact, in his mind).<br />
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RJ2 shares a bit of commonality with Robbie, which is why his story hit with particular strength. I could see her running off to explore. Even when you explain safe boundaries, every place you go is considered new. What are the rules? Are they the same? Being in the outdoors is about as free as life can be. Maybe there are no rules? When so much of the rest of your life revolves around schedules and sameness, being in a beautiful outdoor environment is extremely enticing. There's just so much to see. So much trouble to get into, if you only knew it was trouble.<br />
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I said to a friend that we have lost RJ2 in the house! I have no doubt that she would have spent hours at the river, and probably would have had too much of it to drink! I was hopeful that Robbie was doing the same thing. RJ2 wouldn't hesitate to pick up something that looked like a food container--used, on the ground, crushed...so what. Maybe Robbie's fascination with containers landed him some nourishment. RJ2 loves to sit in the dirt or sand and just sift it through her hands. The quarry would provide ample material! One place would lead to another, and if she got bored in one, she would probably go to the other. Very much like Robbie, she doesn't understand all of the dangers in her environment. She can be really quiet when she's in her world, which is what happens in a playground, sometimes. Robbie is non-verbal, but he definitely had the means to verbally communicate if he wanted to. He must have been content for awhile.<br />
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It certainly did get to be a long week, though. Wednesday morning, while on my way to two medical appointments, I put on the radio. A woman was talking about how she had to go to work and couldn't help in the search efforts for Robbie, but she still wanted to help. She mentioned that the local fire station near the park was serving as a receiving place for donations of food for the volunteer searchers. It was a no-brainer to help in that way. With time in between my appointments, I ran to the grocery store and filled the cart with trail snacks, water and juice. I had just enough time between my last appointment and school pickup to bring the items to the fire station.<br />
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I pulled into the parking lot with another woman. She got her bags out of the car as I was unloading my trunk. My hands were full, and she closed my trunk for me. We walked in together and volunteers met us and took our bags, thanking us for our donations. We thanked them for what they were doing. As we walked out, this woman and I shared with each other just how much we had wanted to do something and were so very hopeful that the news would be different at the end of the day. Complete strangers, yet, somehow not. Have you been there? As I got in my car and stared at the local TV trucks across the fire station lawn, I cried. Just overwhelmed at all of these folks who were coming together doing whatever they were moved to do, yet still wondering how long before there was something new to say.<br />
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The rest of the week brought more volunteers with every day. The calls for prayer continued to go out. Hanover County officials remained positive and encouraging, even suggesting that Robbie would best be found at night, even with all the help. By Friday, the weather had started the bad shift we knew was coming. What would happen today? Why hadn't they found something, anything of note that would change the news. It was hard not to get humanly practical, talking about how this search-and-rescue mission could turn into a missing persons case file by the weekend.<br />
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I picked up RJ2 from school and was driving back home close to 2:30. I looked up and saw a helicopter heading north, following the path of I-95. I had been hearing helicopters all week and with each one would wonder if Robbie would be discovered. Within the half-hour, the news came out that Robbie had been found, alive and doing well--and a helicopter was air-lifting him downtown for medical treatment!<br />
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I haven't been glued to the TV over anything in a while. As TV folks were waiting for the hospital news conference, my old media relations hat came back on, waiting to hear how the hospital would describe Robbie's condition. I watched the emergency physician talking, being guarded as to how many details he could share. He could not talk about medical tests they could be running--keys that could point to how Robbie survived almost a week in the wilderness. The PR person had written statements from the parents. I knew how important keeping their privacy was and how very difficult in such a high-profile story this will be for them to do.<br />
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I'm not sure I would say that I was surprised that they found him. I really believed that this wasn't going to end with nothing. But that Robbie was alert and just roughed up.... That was really amazing to me. I was expecting "critical but stable" condition out of the hospital. But, no, he was really going to be very much OK. His resiliency definitely went beyond the scope of what I had thought, and I was so thankful!<br />
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After I posted the TV news blurb about Robbie being found, a friend posted that he was "surrounded by protecting angels." Brings some familiar words to mind:<br />
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"Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come. 'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far, and Grace will lead me home."</blockquote>
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Robbie's story reminded me that there are definitely dangers, toils and snares, and that we have come through a lot of things. We're still on the learning path as far as understanding autism. We still wonder--a lot--about where things are going. But his story also reminds me that Grace kept him safe, and Grace led him home.<br />
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Grace is amazing!Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-43968169776501144472011-08-12T18:12:00.007-04:002011-08-13T12:02:38.735-04:00Bowling with Barbara Manatee<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >W</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">e're wrapping up our week at home in which we had no company, no camps, no summer school, no R--no-thing!</span>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We ran some short errands, to keep RJ2 venturing out into new places and to take care of things that needed to be taken care of--like back-to-school supply shopping and spending CJ's birthday gift cards. Oh, and Sweet Frog (frozen yogurt)! There was one more thing on my list--take the girls bowling.</span>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">RJ2 had such a wonderfully successful moment when she went bowling with the day camp group. CJ and I had a nice morning outing bowling, too. (Except for the Josh Grobin that they were playing that day--a whole album! Really... bowling to Josh Grobin?!) Could we all go bowling together and could this be something we could do as a family? And with cousins on our upcoming "Cousin Tour" road trip?</span>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We are fortunate to have AMF based here in Mechanicsville, and our bowling lanes are top-notch. The company has done a lot of work to make the bowling experience family-friendly and nice. We bowl in a prototype center, really, and a corporate support center adjoins the lanes. Overall, pretty cool!</span>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">On a Friday morning, there's no league play, so things are not too busy. They assign every other lane to customers, so you don't feel like you're playing in a narrow closet. We were fitted for balls and shoes, then off to lane #26!</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: left;">RJ2 was reliving her camp experience and doing a great job until we were actually ready to start bowling. She lost it for about five frames of bowling, but then recovered as if nothing had happened. I think the issue was that she needed to bowl with her new best friend....
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ssfuJc2lWo/TkWzPJivZXI/AAAAAAAAFqk/LQG0m9zohMc/s1600/IMG_6151.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ssfuJc2lWo/TkWzPJivZXI/AAAAAAAAFqk/LQG0m9zohMc/s400/IMG_6151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640111181192455538" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Barbara Manatee!</span>
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">Who is Barbara Manatee? Well, she's a complex character, all right. See if you can follow these threads. (It's like playing the Kevin Bacon game!):
<br />
<br />Barbara Manatee originates with a VeggieTales' "Silly Songs with Larry" called "Endangered Love." Larry the Cucumber, watching a soap opera, sings back to his television to the lead character female in distress--singing a tango--Barbara Manatee.
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rwd7kmQFN-s/TkaT4E0uY4I/AAAAAAAAFrM/_HtNV9GS2nY/s1600/barbara_manatee__0.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rwd7kmQFN-s/TkaT4E0uY4I/AAAAAAAAFrM/_HtNV9GS2nY/s400/barbara_manatee__0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640358174904968066" border="0" /></a>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />For some reason, RJ2 decided to name the turquoise bear Beanie Baby Barbara Manatee. Mind you, this particular Beanie Baby bear is a special edition bear named Ariel. This Ariel was Ariel Glaser, daughter of Paul Michael Glaser [of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Starsky and Hutch</span> TV series, circa 1975] and Elizabeth Glaser, who passed away from HIV, and the bear was named in her honor and with her artwork. CJ first received Ariel bear at her second Christmas, so the bear has been around for awhile. The Barbara Manatee name just happened a few weeks ago and led to lively discussions with RJ2 about the difference between manatees, dolphins and bears (Oh, my!). So, that's the story!
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<br />Once Barbara Manatee started bowling, things were great. AMF has ramps for the kids to use,
<br />the computer keeps the score. We flew through two games!
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WDysnlCgLI/TkWzPN4BNLI/AAAAAAAAFqs/JC3GjI0Kr8g/s1600/IMG_6152.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WDysnlCgLI/TkWzPN4BNLI/AAAAAAAAFqs/JC3GjI0Kr8g/s400/IMG_6152.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640111182355444914" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The three of us are getting ready to bowl. That's actually my hand holding the ball underneath, while the other hand is driving the ramp into position. You can see Barbara Manatee's ear just over the ball.</span>
<br /></div>
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<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ua-AfpwYEk/TkWzPv3Zk6I/AAAAAAAAFq0/Jc4A5eWo7cA/s1600/IMG_6153.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ua-AfpwYEk/TkWzPv3Zk6I/AAAAAAAAFq0/Jc4A5eWo7cA/s400/IMG_6153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640111191479653282" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Set.... GO!</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3UyLfBFe9Y/TkWzP_86MDI/AAAAAAAAFq8/loSOr8zL4yA/s1600/IMG_6157.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 396px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3UyLfBFe9Y/TkWzP_86MDI/AAAAAAAAFq8/loSOr8zL4yA/s400/IMG_6157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640111195797729330" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">CJ is developing a very stylish approach! (Thank you, bumpers!)</span>
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<br />
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KldDEHzYD2o/TkWzQOh3TVI/AAAAAAAAFrE/8H0SAN64KHQ/s1600/IMG_6162.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KldDEHzYD2o/TkWzQOh3TVI/AAAAAAAAFrE/8H0SAN64KHQ/s400/IMG_6162.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640111199710825810" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Looks like an 8--All right!</span>
<br /></div>
<br />Even though the computer kept score, we weren't keeping score. With Barbara Manatee bowling, and Barbara Manatee and RJ2 bowling in my spot, and CJ bowling when RJ2 didn't want to bowl a frame, it made actually scoring kind of pointless. (HA!) And, really, who cares!
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">WE WENT BOWLING!! </span>
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<br />And was it excellent?
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<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw3CvpoUz3RfMJwYB5g4AAHwKpA1FgLbymLK7T0IgrS89DZMEeuoQTHZe-aLfTwgof7xyuexfiHAi34lR42PQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>
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<br />
<br />Everybody did excellent!
<br /></div>
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<br /></div></div></div></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-40676697126063111802011-08-08T08:48:00.005-04:002011-08-08T09:34:36.800-04:00Camping it up with the JGirls<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >I</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">t was a mixed-weather Sunday. We did have sprinkles, even though Weather.com had the timing all wrong. We did have thunder. Lots of thunder. More thunder than rain, perhaps, though it did manage to pour a little bit. Every little bit helps!</span>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What are the JGirls to do to cap off the weekend--with no summer school or any obligations on Monday?....</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-986bYD4-gPw/Tj_bqNVCISI/AAAAAAAAFo8/7fYRQKPvD0E/s1600/IMG_6128.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-986bYD4-gPw/Tj_bqNVCISI/AAAAAAAAFo8/7fYRQKPvD0E/s400/IMG_6128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466776670019874" border="0" /></a>
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<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Camp-out in the Family Room!</span>
<br /></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">No, that's not a television evangelist on the screen. That's Bobby Flay from Food Network. One of CJ's favorite shows is "Food Network Star," and Sunday night's show was the "Final 4" episode, leading up to the finale next weekend. Camping, Food Network AND staying up late to watch the whole show?!</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XQD5Km9GRsU/Tj_brErfRYI/AAAAAAAAFpc/qkmnmlO-lLU/s1600/IMG_6133.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 342px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XQD5Km9GRsU/Tj_brErfRYI/AAAAAAAAFpc/qkmnmlO-lLU/s400/IMG_6133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466791528154498" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">She could hardly wait.</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YtPV1BQNVNs/Tj_bqblZ8DI/AAAAAAAAFpE/5GexwszC6io/s1600/IMG_6129.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YtPV1BQNVNs/Tj_bqblZ8DI/AAAAAAAAFpE/5GexwszC6io/s400/IMG_6129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466780496785458" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Even though she spent her earliest days in front of "Emeril Live," RJ2 is not a big fan of Food Network, nor of most television in general. She prefers to watch kid programs on her computer, "rewinding" as often as necessary to her favorite parts. So, she opted to have "Crazy Hair Day" with her Play-Doh friends...</span>
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<br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z7A30UM_p_0/Tj_bqo0nZeI/AAAAAAAAFpM/aC9UYP5mNyc/s1600/IMG_6130.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z7A30UM_p_0/Tj_bqo0nZeI/AAAAAAAAFpM/aC9UYP5mNyc/s400/IMG_6130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466784050243042" border="0" /></a>
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: right; font-family: trebuchet ms;">...who then have to take the bus to school.
<br /></div>
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<br /><div style="text-align: right; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpIXJZz5w3A/Tj_bq3DL0EI/AAAAAAAAFpU/_sr9crt4OxY/s1600/IMG_6131.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpIXJZz5w3A/Tj_bq3DL0EI/AAAAAAAAFpU/_sr9crt4OxY/s400/IMG_6131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638466787869446210" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9PtL4Skmkg/Tj_gmgrexrI/AAAAAAAAFqM/ipZbEaekfBk/s1600/IMG_6134.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9PtL4Skmkg/Tj_gmgrexrI/AAAAAAAAFqM/ipZbEaekfBk/s400/IMG_6134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638472210703107762" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<br />We started turning off the lights at 8:30, with the last ones out at 10...
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">(--after they let Mary Beth Albright go--Boo hoo! But the food writer just couldn't cook well enough to hang in there for the finale. Oh well. I think Food Network General Manager Bob Tuschman should use her as a companion commentator with Kevin Brauch for "Iron Chef America." Yeah, yeah, it's one more star/idol competition show that I wasn't supposed to be watching....)
<br /></div>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXCceaLXqUU/Tj_cNURBI2I/AAAAAAAAFp0/B5FlH2sFuqY/s1600/IMG_6137.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXCceaLXqUU/Tj_cNURBI2I/AAAAAAAAFp0/B5FlH2sFuqY/s400/IMG_6137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638467379827647330" border="0" /></a>
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<br />
<br />Shortly after 6:20 a.m.
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<br />
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--aoEcvhgBOc/Tj_cNE5Yk4I/AAAAAAAAFps/FwzKV_PmznA/s1600/IMG_6135.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--aoEcvhgBOc/Tj_cNE5Yk4I/AAAAAAAAFps/FwzKV_PmznA/s400/IMG_6135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638467375701988226" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">RJ2 was up first, very quietly whispering to her beanie baby bear, Barbara Manatee. Then came the click of the flashlight and CJ opening the pages of a book. This was followed by my turning on the light and grabbing the....</span>
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H472mneNC2U/Tj_cNyln41I/AAAAAAAAFqE/2lbhmknq0PQ/s1600/IMG_6140.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H472mneNC2U/Tj_cNyln41I/AAAAAAAAFqE/2lbhmknq0PQ/s400/IMG_6140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638467387967136594" border="0" /></a>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">...which lasted for about five minutes, until RJ2 emerged from the tent with a mission to create pillow structures. The first was a pillow stack at my feet. Then, it was "Fort Mom."</span>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IeyuADq5M64/Tj_cNrQBzAI/AAAAAAAAFp8/3w44-spdmPg/s1600/IMG_6139.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IeyuADq5M64/Tj_cNrQBzAI/AAAAAAAAFp8/3w44-spdmPg/s400/IMG_6139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638467385997511682" border="0" /></a>
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<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">After being pressed by pillows, it was time to press some coffee!
<br />
<br />A good night was had by all. (And a dry tent indoors is much more fun to put away than a wet tent outdoors.) Nice job, JGirls!
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<br /></div></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-82104208598815710232011-08-01T20:21:00.004-04:002011-08-01T21:30:49.633-04:00Girls Just Wanna Have Fun<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qvU8DOI3Dkc/TjdFWoR8WKI/AAAAAAAAFnk/1YfxyYjO1AQ/s1600/IMG_6055.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 346px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qvU8DOI3Dkc/TjdFWoR8WKI/AAAAAAAAFnk/1YfxyYjO1AQ/s400/IMG_6055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636049713749579938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >S</span>o, when I left my last post--after the Water Country USA experience--I thought for sure the girls were on their way to bed. "Ha-ha-no-no-no," I thought, in my best Tim Taylor head voice.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No. About the time I was wrapping up my last words, </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">CJ decided it would be a great time to launch her own hair salon.<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjivcx6B26w/TjdFxc3zevI/AAAAAAAAFoM/TP3fk2zyhhA/s1600/IMG_6064.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 347px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjivcx6B26w/TjdFxc3zevI/AAAAAAAAFoM/TP3fk2zyhhA/s400/IMG_6064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636050174543624946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She's tough to say "no" to when she comes with all her products.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">But, it was all about RJ2 agreeing to have her hair played with, and that's not something that comes easily all the time. Most days, you have 15 seconds to get through tangles! Her sister has the right touch, apparently, and RJ2 received a full treatment.<br /><br /></div></div> <div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-akZ1TwUQGAM/TjdFXYwiDFI/AAAAAAAAFn8/PD3On8L5hwM/s1600/IMG_6060.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 358px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-akZ1TwUQGAM/TjdFXYwiDFI/AAAAAAAAFn8/PD3On8L5hwM/s400/IMG_6060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636049726762781778" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jQbiyBuaKVY/TjdFW-_scxI/AAAAAAAAFns/yJqtlwrOw90/s1600/IMG_6057.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 141px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jQbiyBuaKVY/TjdFW-_scxI/AAAAAAAAFns/yJqtlwrOw90/s400/IMG_6057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636049719847056146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hair clip bonanza AND glitter nails?! Too bad this was all right before bedtime. No sooner had I snapped these shots than we were taking the clips out of her hair and brushing teeth.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The creative play rolled right into the next day--when Mom and Dad were definitely not up for doing anything.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn7LaRhCcko/TjdFxhCyoNI/AAAAAAAAFoU/nji7_khExus/s1600/IMG_6067.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 341px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn7LaRhCcko/TjdFxhCyoNI/AAAAAAAAFoU/nji7_khExus/s400/IMG_6067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636050175663448274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">CJ has had a thing for blanket tents for a very long time. One year for Christmas, I decided to assemble a "kit" for making blanket tents. I had seen one in a catalog and thought I could put one together for a bit less with no shipping costs. She got two shower curtains with extension hooks (which I sewed out of leftover bias tape), nylon rope and clothespins.<br /><br />Most of the designs she tries out in her bedroom. The last one involved her sleeping in her closet with curtains overhead, fastened to her dresser. She hasn't had an elaborate one downstairs until this weekend.<br /></div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mXz-SM1G1Y/TjdFXq6VB_I/AAAAAAAAFoE/4kV5zp_9do0/s1600/IMG_6066.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mXz-SM1G1Y/TjdFXq6VB_I/AAAAAAAAFoE/4kV5zp_9do0/s400/IMG_6066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636049731635709938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />"Yes, peek-a-boo back at you. And, no, you can't sleep here tonight!"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We have been moving bedroom pillows, stuffed animals and blankets up and down the stairs for three days, now. But, "girls don't seem to care...." to quote a Steely Dan song, and we find them here regularly--talking, reading, singing, arguing, playing with toys, watching videos off the computer....<br /><br /><br /></div> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cOuov9ywCFw/TjdFx8djA2I/AAAAAAAAFoc/Vl_6hcEA3Ug/s1600/IMG_6070.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cOuov9ywCFw/TjdFx8djA2I/AAAAAAAAFoc/Vl_6hcEA3Ug/s400/IMG_6070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636050183023428450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />"Please, Mom...don't make us take it down...."<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Sigh....So cute!</span>)<br /><br /></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-89894221756180667962011-07-29T18:47:00.002-04:002011-07-29T19:43:22.629-04:00Livin' in the Country<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >W</span>ater Country USA, that is....<br /><br />Back in June, CJ celebrated her birthday and received a very special gift--passes to Water Country USA, a dedicated water park (owned by SeaWorld) in Williamsburg. CJ and R went last year and discovered a sweet deal for residents of Virginia who return to the park after a visit: Free entry! (minus parking and any extras). So, they had a second visit, and CJ has talked semi-nonstop about the place ever since.<br /><br />Especially, just before her birthday this year. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Hint! Hint!</span>)<br /><br />She counted down the days 'til the opening of the 2011 season, even writing the numbers on our kitchen blackboard and "Opening Day!" when that rolled around. Needless to say, receiving a pass to her favorite summer attraction made her birthday. But it wasn't just a pass for her. It was a pass for all four of us! Wow.... We were all going to the water park this summer. Yeah! Uh-huh. Oh....gee....<br /><br />Water Country has spectacular features. If you like going down steep hills on rafts, inner tubes, foam mats or just your bathing suit, you will love the assortment of attractions. For someone brand new to the water park experience, not a swimmer and not a fan of going into new places, Water Country loomed as one more "dark, spooky closet" to check out for RJ2. Still, water rat that she is, we figured she love it.<br /><br />R and I picked a date with time in advance to prepare. We told RJ2 we were going the week of. CJ took the visual schedule one step further and prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the park. [Would I ever kid you? I would post if Blogger had that option.] So, RJ2 had ample preparation for the big day. We laid out her swimsuit the night before. It's not every day you wake up and put on your swimsuit right after breakfast!<br /><br />Of course, because this is how things happen in life, the afternoon before had brought one of our worst neighborhood pool outings this season. Too complicated a series of events in dynamics to explain, let's just say, we left early and no one was happy--no one! Was seriously hoping that today was a new day--in <span style="font-style: italic;">every </span>respect!<br /><br />We left the house in great shape--picnic lunches packed, suits on, sunscreen waiting to be applied. Got to the park in great time and spirits. Made it to the front gate. Then, a stumble! Even though we had told RJ2 there would be no "going inside" and it was only a gate, we were stuck. She could not get passed the blaring soundtrack coming through the loudspeakers. Steps away from fun--even access to the quick lanes, with our passes--but we couldn't budge.<br /><br />We regrouped, moving to a less loud position and offering to cover her ears. She wanted so badly to just get beyond it. Then, as she has proven so many times this summer, she just said OK. And, screaming most of the way, we went through the gate. [<span style="font-style: italic;">Breathe....Breathe!</span>] It was smooth sailing from there.<br /><br />Today was supposed to be 101 in central VA. Crazy day to have picked to be at the water park! Lots of other folks had the same idea. But, it worked so well. We arrived at the opening, so we had our pick of the pools to play in, and everyone had a good time. R and CJ went off to ride on the larger flumes. RJ2 loved exploring the different pools, their mini-slides, little boats. Fountains, not so much! The freedom to explore shallow water was just the best.<br /><br />After a trip down the park's Lazy River--two-person blow-up boats that move very slowly around a segment of the park--we broke for lunch. Then, we closed out the afternoon with the Hubba Hubba Highway and the wave pool. The wave pool has calm water for 8 or 9 minutes and constant waves for another 8 or 9 minutes. Cool! Then, we returned to the car, five hours from when we had started, and left for an uneventful drive back home. We figure the girls will soon fall asleep [yeah, right!], being so tired from a long, exciting day, while we're wondering <span style="font-style: italic;">how</span> we are still awake--because we <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>tired--and why our legs and knees ache!<br /><br />Looking back, by far, we had the biggest smiles on the Hubba Hubba Highway. Unlike the Lazy River, we donned life vests before entering this river ride, as the current moves at a strappin' pace! Jets shoot water from the sides--to keep the folks moving around the very long track--as well as from the bottom, occasionally and surprisingly! [<span style="font-style: italic;">Insert slightly embarrassed giggle here</span>. Think Fraulein Maria sitting on the pine cone in the Von Trapp dining room.]<br /><br />Various types of squirting devices and misters spray water on the participants as they quickly pass by. Signs, a la Burma Shave days, cover the sides of the track. We had the best time, zipping along, grabbing hands when we could, trying to steer against the current. Even RJ2, by the third time around, didn't mind getting rained on! She loved the feeling of freedom, even as she was moving much faster than she could control things.<br /><br />I was really hoping that our adventure would turn out to be special family time. We don't get to go to "big" places together very often. But our time on the Hubba Hubba Highway--and spending a super-hot day in a wonderfully cool, wet water park--together, will be remembered and talked about for weeks to come.<br /><br />Although there were so many "picture perfect" memories, we didn't want to bring a camera into the park. Just too much to think about with doing that. So, there are no actual pictures of our visit. But, since it's hard for me to blog without a photo....<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XIWfxCQURC8/TjM4i7z9hSI/AAAAAAAAFnc/3SOMqGa16rA/s1600/hubba%2Bhubba%2Bhighway.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XIWfxCQURC8/TjM4i7z9hSI/AAAAAAAAFnc/3SOMqGa16rA/s400/hubba%2Bhubba%2Bhighway.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634909731592963362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I made one.<br /><br /><br />Greetings from Water Country USA! 'Til next time....<br /></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-41478892522469263572011-07-18T18:51:00.005-04:002011-07-18T19:34:57.527-04:00Crumblin' Down<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--xBf3GWDIOs/TiS5kkeXxoI/AAAAAAAAFmM/qQftVcLUPOw/s1600/IMG_6041.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--xBf3GWDIOs/TiS5kkeXxoI/AAAAAAAAFmM/qQftVcLUPOw/s400/IMG_6041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630829472037455490" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Artwork by CJ</span><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >L</span>ast week was so incredibly busy! The whole family was split up!! Even though R traveled more miles by flying, I felt like my east side-west side-all around the town pick-ups and drop-offs surely must have come close. Wow.... Things didn't really come to a pace of relaxation until after Sunday's bell-playing concluded. Enjoyed a very "regular" day today. Whew!....<br /><br /></span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2XkDpk3L8lQ/TiS5jpk9R-I/AAAAAAAAFls/--998cs9EZs/s1600/IMG_6030.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 234px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2XkDpk3L8lQ/TiS5jpk9R-I/AAAAAAAAFls/--998cs9EZs/s400/IMG_6030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630829456227387362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Amidst the bustle of our busiest week this summer, there was a lot of cooking done last week. The gluten-free pantry was a bit bare. Even though I complained about having so much bread in the fridge, I copped the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude and made some gluten-free bread! Helped to finish off some cold cuts and condiments. (HA!) The best part about this was deciding to try the King Arthur Flour Gluten-Free Bread mix--the best gluten-free bread I have had so far. Loved every single slice--especially toasted, but, not necessarily. That's how good it was! (Now, today, I made a mistake and bought K.A. G-F </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;">FLOUR</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> mix. OOPS! Fortunately, K.A. has directions for making bread with the flour mix on their website. Of course, it's not as good as the bread mix. Doh!!)</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hDRvmKDAzvs/TiS6RdBqSbI/AAAAAAAAFms/g6fjoNkA9P4/s1600/IMG_6047.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hDRvmKDAzvs/TiS6RdBqSbI/AAAAAAAAFms/g6fjoNkA9P4/s400/IMG_6047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830243132098994" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">R left us three of his bananas when he left town. RJ2 helped me make some very tasty G-F banana muffins--half with chocolate chips. She eats one of those every day!</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pv5PPT-_w9I/TiS6QH_M7NI/AAAAAAAAFmU/Fi3fpfrSvw4/s1600/IMG_6044.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pv5PPT-_w9I/TiS6QH_M7NI/AAAAAAAAFmU/Fi3fpfrSvw4/s400/IMG_6044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830220304772306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And with the cool breeze blowing--yes, this was last week, when the cool breeze was blowing, and I was cooking like it was Fall outside!--I peeled up the last apples from the beach trip and whipped up a crumble. Because, any day can be a crumble day! (And I think some of last week's truly were. "Crumblin', crumblin' -- dowwwwwnnnnnn.....")</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uA1eD7tc7YI/TiS6QX1kFRI/AAAAAAAAFmc/YrNJuDPGuWw/s1600/IMG_6045.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 167px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uA1eD7tc7YI/TiS6QX1kFRI/AAAAAAAAFmc/YrNJuDPGuWw/s400/IMG_6045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830224559314194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Grabbed the last of the strawberries and tossed them in. (I love this gadget! I asked for a strawberry huller for my birthday, and this crazy syringe-looking thing is the coolest huller ever. Works great on tomatoes as well. And, since strawbs season is wrapping up, it's getting much more use with tomatoes now.)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VXFPFDZqkW8/TiS6Qmgot3I/AAAAAAAAFmk/mPOKEB_ifVs/s1600/IMG_6046.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VXFPFDZqkW8/TiS6Qmgot3I/AAAAAAAAFmk/mPOKEB_ifVs/s400/IMG_6046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830228498069362" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last of a bag of frozen raspberries? Sure, why not. Dried cherries. Oh, yeah!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlFQhLmcj7s/TiS6RrgI7MI/AAAAAAAAFm0/zBeKForbn34/s1600/IMG_6048.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlFQhLmcj7s/TiS6RrgI7MI/AAAAAAAAFm0/zBeKForbn34/s400/IMG_6048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830247018032322" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And the crumble part--G-F oats, brown sugar, butter....</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VFRXpOr9mTg/TiS6ZQN27FI/AAAAAAAAFm8/cfMUjADH8FU/s1600/IMG_6051.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VFRXpOr9mTg/TiS6ZQN27FI/AAAAAAAAFm8/cfMUjADH8FU/s400/IMG_6051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630830377132551250" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">You know when it's done when the juices overrun the sides. No, not really, but.... YUM! Have been enjoying it with a dollop of sour cream or plain yogurt--trying to use up both, actually. What really makes it is being able to heat it up, to re-live the just-out-of-the-oven experience. Unfortunately, the microwave is shot, and I just don't feel like heating up one more thing on the stove at the end of the day. But, it's fine cold, too. (Gosh, we really did used to heat up things without microwaves once. So spoiled!)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">* * *</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >O</span>ne more apple story....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Our neighbors planted an apple tree in their front yard a couple of years ago. It is a really nice tree now but, they have struggled with keeping their fruit. No, not a bug problem. Not a mold/fungus problem. Not even a kid problem! No, the squirrels have pretty much claimed the tree theirs. Most nights, while we're eating dinner, I spot a squirrel with a huge chunk of bright green in his mouth. You would think he would dine at the source. But, no, it's take-out, every night--on top of </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;">our </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">swing set!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We have since found parts of apples stashed all over the yard. I found a large uneaten one buried under a pile of leaves! But, the funniest find so far has been the one that was left on the swing set the other night.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9_9DT7SOkg/TiS5j0khvxI/AAAAAAAAFl0/irdpFACPQA4/s1600/IMG_6034.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9_9DT7SOkg/TiS5j0khvxI/AAAAAAAAFl0/irdpFACPQA4/s400/IMG_6034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630829459178372882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Mrs. Cardinal, enjoying herself some apple crumble....<br /></div></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-37547367172221281942011-07-15T09:43:00.005-04:002011-07-15T10:13:38.147-04:00Rainout at the Diamond<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >O</span>ne of the small nuggets of excitement in this town in the past few years has been the return of minor league baseball to Richmond. The Richmond Flying Squirrels have provided great evenings of fun since making their...um...nest here in central VA. Recall last summer's awesome Fourth of July fireworks night in which we received Chick-fil-A coupons for sandwiches when a Squirrel hit a ball into the "fowl" pole. Sweet!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last Friday night, R and CJ had tickets for the game. They were hopeful to see Bryce Harper, a young phenom who has been playing for the Harrisburg Senators--a farm club of the Washington Nationals, our root-root-root for the home team. The Senators were to play the Squirrels, and Friday night was the start of the home stand. Except for this.... </span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwz_TMz6iL2E51Rl6S7yFw_DR2Quum4u9nbfKwUF082AnSmSj6YJ3LjDlcvqUOe0aCxyvhEMAWzes_J70p99g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Even though the P.A. announcers were optimistic that baseball would be played, the radar map suggested something quite different. No, there would be no baseball. In fact, many hours later, R would discover that Bryce Harper was not even at the Squirrels' ballpark on Friday. He had been whisked away by management to another event on the west coast! Even if a pitch had commenced, Bryce Harper would not have been there to take a whack at one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The Friday night outing was not a total loss, however, as ice cream was enjoyed in the stands, under that umbrella. And, CJ was inspired to write something really special....</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aXZCo_sA7rw/TiBEUXrCg-I/AAAAAAAAFlk/sTevMiI-uPk/s1600/IMG_6037.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 330px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aXZCo_sA7rw/TiBEUXrCg-I/AAAAAAAAFlk/sTevMiI-uPk/s400/IMG_6037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629574650955727842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />Flashing lightning is the spotlight<br />for raindrops that dance in tap shoes.<br /><br />tip-tap-click-tip-tap-click<br /><br />they perform on a silver Acura<br />frozen at an intersection with a taco bell and a drug store<br />a sign flashes with a discount for shampoo<br /><br />tip-tap-click-tip-tap-click<br /><br />she sighs inside the car,<br />wrings out a pair of socks<br />and remembers:<br />waiting in a pair of green seats<br />for a game to begin that never will.<br />Under the shelter of a white and green umbrella<br />as more performers stream down from the heavens<br />their entrance proclaimed by drum rolls of thunder<br />climbing up dirty waterfalls on the stairs<br />"MAKEUP GAME JULY 23rd"<br />wading through pools of puddles by the golden light of cars....<br />the light turns green<br />the stage moves elsewhere.<br /></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-83120611103793453702011-07-14T09:19:00.003-04:002011-07-14T09:49:14.382-04:00Know When to Fold 'em<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EuXYpsVVx_U/Th7ylr20o9I/AAAAAAAAFlU/mqXFp52UO_E/s1600/Hand-of-Cards-Line.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EuXYpsVVx_U/Th7ylr20o9I/AAAAAAAAFlU/mqXFp52UO_E/s400/Hand-of-Cards-Line.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629203313501447122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >I</span>t was the best of days. It was the worst of days.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dickens knew something of the range of human emotion. But, what did he know about playing cards?</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At the beach, I was "forced" into a hand of Texas Hold 'em--a kind of straight poker, but the dealer deals the cards to all to consider, not just to you. "Forced" in that someone in the family who was playing had to attend to another matter, and I was a body who walked into the wrong place at the right time. I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>a good card player. And, those games that I have tried to learn recently have rules that completely conflict with straight poker, which I haven't played since, probably high school. Anyhoo....</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />In poker, there are very few rounds in which to make decisions. You are dealt a certain hand and have to decide how many rounds you will stay in to make the best hand possible when it's time for the big reveal. As Kenny Rogers sang, "You've got to know when to hold 'em. Know when to fold 'em." Sometimes, you have to end your game early. "There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done."</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If you're following me on Facebook, you know this has been a bit of a tough week. The girls are both in summer programs, which were meant to be fun. CJ absolutely loves her creative arts classes at the Visual Arts Center of Richmond. She finishes up her studio time on Friday afternoon, and it will be a sad "so long" until we can find another something to send her to downtown. She is so full creatively, and I'm thinking this burst of energy will carry her straight into the start of school, so long as she continues to use what she has learned. She has lots of materials and ideas. Writer's block? Maybe never again! Good stuff!!</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After summer school, RJ2 has been attending the county's day camp program. Things have not worked out as well, unfortunately. High highs--like walking into the bowling alley and bowling for the very first time! But, low lows, too. Things are new. People are new. Same environment, but different schedule. Just not able to work things out in this short time span. Last night in my FB post, it boiled down to those lyrics.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The dealer had given out the cards, and I know what makes for a winning hand. But, RJ2 is chance. The first cards had not even a pair. The dealer laid down the next card. An ace of hearts, for sure, in a hand that showed promise for raising. But, again, RJ2 is chance, and the next card left an empty hand once again.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No one else was raising, but did it make better sense to fold, leaving with what chips we had earned this week or to stay in and look at the next card?</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Decided to fold and walk away. Not run.... Lots of people had made an investment into this week, and running wouldn't be right. We're going to finish out the camp week--with ice cream today. But, the uphill learning curve, the anxiety, the lack of happiness on everyone's faces.... It was time to fold and walk away.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Hard for me, being the one just playing the hand. I can't see over the dealer's shoulder much less direct chance by seeing the cards in the stack. But, I still have to hold the cards and play the hand. Sometimes, the best move for all really is to fold and walk. I still struggle with that, because it seems like I really have left the game early. But, there's a cost to consider, and I decided it just wasn't worth it, this time....</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There will be another chance to ante up sometime. There are lots of tables at which to play. Not looking for one with better odds, necessarily, but one at which we can all play and leave with a few more chips than at the table we played before.<br /><br /></span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-271048465510006582011-07-08T08:09:00.005-04:002011-07-08T08:47:03.640-04:00Mayo-nnaise<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >A</span>s much as I try to prepare for going away--lists and multiple errands and such, there are always things I have in mind to do that don't get done. Like, washing the windows or cutting the girls' hair.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VijSjyBf8r4/ThbzyV_kAOI/AAAAAAAAFkk/ixNfJ8Zfr4o/s1600/IMG_6026.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VijSjyBf8r4/ThbzyV_kAOI/AAAAAAAAFkk/ixNfJ8Zfr4o/s400/IMG_6026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626952830668767458" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />Really, the haircuts should have been moved up closer to the top of the list, given how much hair you see on the floor! (And that's only RJ2's hair!) By the end of our time at the beach, her hair was almost completely covering her eyes.<br /><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h2M4x2VIWWE/Thb0ghB8_mI/AAAAAAAAFk8/ymO3_VEpBzo/s1600/P1050970.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 377px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h2M4x2VIWWE/Thb0ghB8_mI/AAAAAAAAFk8/ymO3_VEpBzo/s400/P1050970.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626953623905566306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yeah, you mean there are eyes under there?</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Not a fan of the haircut, RJ2 did get to pick which room in the house she wanted her hair cut, and picked the empty dining room. (CJ, on the other hand, always picks a room in which she has access to the TV. "Chopped" during her, um, chop, I guess.) RJ2 definitely does not have my hair, in that hers is super thick. It takes a long time to do it well (that being a subjective term).<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27hAuE22J6I/ThbzytiiprI/AAAAAAAAFks/S9RSE4kmkCw/s1600/IMG_6027.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27hAuE22J6I/ThbzytiiprI/AAAAAAAAFks/S9RSE4kmkCw/s400/IMG_6027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626952836989494962" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br />After I brushed her off, she quickly ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Then, in her way of styling, put water on the front pieces to part and flatten as she likes it. Hmm..... So glad it's trimmed for the summer, finally!<br /><br />CJ's is trimmed, too. Long, long, long--as in, almost time to consider a send-off for donation. Having hair more like mine makes it a little quicker to cut. But, it's harder to make it a smooth look all the way around when you don't have as much hair to play with. She would rather I just leave it all be until donation time. A little trim every now and again will help it meet that 8-inch requirement sooner. I'm thinking she might make 10 inches this next time. Woo!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C6gZcB_D-bQ/Thbzy_djWBI/AAAAAAAAFk0/XC8LChyKbnE/s1600/IMG_6028.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C6gZcB_D-bQ/Thbzy_djWBI/AAAAAAAAFk0/XC8LChyKbnE/s400/IMG_6028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626952841800407058" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br />Besides still trying to get the house back together, I've been trying to find ways to clean out the fridge. When we return from the beach house, our house is the place that receives the leftovers from the beach fridge. The leftover meal items tend to go quickly, as do pantry snacks and any desserty items that weren't consumed at breakfast on check-out day. The problem is with the accumulated condiments. If I tagged my posts, I could find the one that talks about condiments. They are a challenge.<br /><br />As much as I don't want to make too much new food, sometimes it's a necessity, just to finish off the condiments--which, I have been told by my sisters, do not last forever. ("Don't put those in a box and bring them to the beach next year!" I sense some kind of George Carlin bit developing here....)<br /><br />So, I made potato salad for dinner, with leftover mayonnaise and mustard, and fresh rosemary from our little herb collection. Nothing spectacular, but it used up a half-finished jar of mayo--yes!! I also made RJ2 homemade cinnamon French toast sticks out of the plethora of bready items that have accumulated. This is when being gluten-free is really tough. So much bread. So many leftovers I can't finish.<br /><br />"Throw it out!"<br />"No!"<br />"But you can't eat it."<br />"So. I can make it into...something someone else can eat."<br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">The look</span>)<br />"I can make bread...cookies! Yeah...."<br /><br />Watch me! (<span style="font-style: italic;">gulp</span>!)<br /><br /><br /></div></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-82649400254503232962011-07-06T14:08:00.003-04:002011-07-06T14:36:47.522-04:00Crafty Fun<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EfkS9aKXIY/ThSlU3HdSJI/AAAAAAAAFkc/ln2w2X-dmnk/s1600/IMG_6018.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EfkS9aKXIY/ThSlU3HdSJI/AAAAAAAAFkc/ln2w2X-dmnk/s400/IMG_6018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626303612303788178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >S</span>ettling back into routine after another amazing family vacation week at the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Ah.... Mounds of dirty laundry folded and put away now affords me a few minutes to sit down and recall yesterday.<br /><br />RJ2 has started summer school, which, after two days--and two alarm clocks that have gone unanswered in the morning--is going as well as can be expected. She starts Parks and Recreation camp next week in addition to school, so she's got lots of fun and busy days in store.<br /><br />CJ and I went to church yesterday to help with the "Mix as Usual" program. "Mix" is a neat thing. Older women in the church mentor younger women in crafty endeavors, like sewing, knitting and card-making. They also enjoy food and fellowship time. During this past year, I was one of their childcare helpers, freeing up the moms to fully participate unencumbered by leg-huggers.<br /><br />The summer "Mix" offering is open to moms and their kids. CJ and I each facilitated a craft table, two of five presented to the group. CJ operated "Crayon Cupcakes," her well-known project of turning broken crayons into recycled cupcake-shaped crayons for giving to the Free Market--an outreach program benefiting an impoverished segment of Richmond needing a hands-up with basic needs. CJ wants those children to be able to be creative, and she hopes these crayons are a tool to help them.<br /><br />I manned an origami table, using all of CJ's resources! Actually, when CJ's table wasn't busy--and, even when it was--I asked <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span> to come over to demonstrate some origami projects I hadn't prepared but the kids requested doing. She was WONDERFUL in handling all of these kids' requests. Such a fun demeanor she has with these little ones--even making paper airplanes. (Hard to believe that's actually in the origami book!)<br /><br />A great time was had by all who came out. Moms were peeling crayons and pretty much exhausted CJ's supply. You can see the results above, to be added to a collection CJ has already started. I helped two girls make several different projects, and then sent links of helpful origami sites home to the moms for more fun.<br /><br />The best moment was when a young boy asked to make a rocket. Had no instructions for an origami rocket. But, the instructions for the frog had a picture halfway through that resembled a rocket. What a wonderful display of creative thinking in this one. He took the instructions that far and had a great rocket! A made-my-day moment!!<br /><br />OK. Thunder is picking up. Still some laundry to fold. Off for now....<br /><br /><br /></div></div>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338899928035325459.post-80503775298883990802011-07-01T23:02:00.003-04:002011-07-01T23:37:50.266-04:00Friday's mail is here!<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AO8nNRJp4Rg/Tg6QVGllh7I/AAAAAAAAFjM/3WXNDIVVTrA/s1600/IMG_5990.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AO8nNRJp4Rg/Tg6QVGllh7I/AAAAAAAAFjM/3WXNDIVVTrA/s400/IMG_5990.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624591676852242354" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >Q</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">uick update, since there's not much time left in today....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fridays are always great. The schedule gets lax, though, as we spend an extra long time with everything--beach time, pool time, meals, family pictures, and the dreaded packing up to go home. So, I have to keep it short and get ready to pack up some food and stuff!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">RJ2 enjoyed another splendid day at the beach--sitting in a bed of shells (which she really, really likes!) and throwing wet sand into the ocean. CJ was on the board and really didn't want to get off it! That's her with my Dad in the video. (As for me, I have video of my boogie board run on my Facebook page, thanks to a link from my sister.)</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxs7lE-hY9-yyi-Ajcs_mKgXFDZFy2rfz2MQogYNIYb9EioY94vv7jHvuEJyPiIwHGBdKkQG_iFCsMwZv9ilQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Like I said, keepin' it simple. I'm beat!! Slow trip home tomorrow.....</span>Sue J.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08668691234427771146noreply@blogger.com0