tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69037987769672622322024-03-13T14:15:39.907-05:00Cold Anchor FarmAnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-7242359141153651632020-10-24T08:56:00.005-05:002020-10-24T08:56:48.803-05:00What About A Duck Named Bob?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHLOjHFW6D-DIvMF_Xl55EfcNmPaPyf9GQYNSlL3ogXD9Iag1yY2NTyT7Ii1tfzudTOiYS_0fKTNVESr-x-_OvYpf6ftaItKzgJA8wAlKQDARuZw_7Yiwc-Z2Jf2hxQNdoDr5LTT-0eMA/s1732/099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1732" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHLOjHFW6D-DIvMF_Xl55EfcNmPaPyf9GQYNSlL3ogXD9Iag1yY2NTyT7Ii1tfzudTOiYS_0fKTNVESr-x-_OvYpf6ftaItKzgJA8wAlKQDARuZw_7Yiwc-Z2Jf2hxQNdoDr5LTT-0eMA/s320/099.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>"He's doing it again," Mary sighed, rolling her eyes. </p><p>I peered out the window at the duck coop. Sure enough, a male duck was standing in the doorway. There was a traffic jam of ducklings piling up behind him, trying to push their way through. The poor, oblivious duck stretched his neck and tilted his head, looking the doorway up and down, attempting to make sense of the opening before him. What was it? How did it work? Perhaps he should sit down and ponder it for a while. </p><p>He hunkered down across the doorway just large enough for one duck at a time to pass through. Nineteen ducklings, trapped inside the coop, began quacking loudly for him to get out of the way. They wanted the food Joey had placed in their yard. They wanted to bathe in the large water tub, dunking their feathers and flapping their wings. They wanted out. This duck, however, wasn't moving. He seemed convinced there was no way to get to the yard from the coop.</p><p>Disgusted, Mary slipped on her shoes and headed outside. I watched from the window as she shoved the offender from his spot into the duck yard. The other ducks poured through the now unblocked doorway quacking their indignation as they passed by in their rush to get to the food. </p><p>"We have to keep him, Mom," Joey pleaded beside me. "He's just too dumb. We can't eat him." </p><p>We raise ducks and chickens for food. My children know this. They don't have a problem with it. Yet, here was my youngest son asking me to grant clemency to <i>this</i> duck, to change his status from farm animal to pet. </p><p>"Joey, do you know what a pain it would be to keep him over winter? He'll be messier than your chickens. The coop will have to be cleaned out more often - in the freezing cold." </p><p>"I know, Mom. It's just... I've already named him." </p><p>Uh oh.</p><p>"His name is Bob."</p><p>"Why Bob?"</p><p>"You know, like in the movie, <i>What About Bob?</i>" </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="245" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30GUWDapsDhUVHszWQSWxoyi2U0JeaDCD_00FIQ1lSUw-L1oTGJYF5RbYTUljbXBC7HaR39TRqXfFTfMMrlCV1rNdiFDPqpMPSfIP0inotbGd5hPF2edoVUV8kN7nswUCtzzDEPtSDnwA/" width="161" /></div><br /><p></p><p>In the movie, Bob Wiley is so afraid to leave his apartment, he had to talk himself into walking out the door. I had to admit, the name fit.</p><p>A short time later, Bob was moved into the chicken yard and we gathered around to see how the chickens would react. I was certain Bob would be bullied, but instead, Bob began to assert himself. He flapped his wings at the girls when they tried to peck him. He pushed through the feathered throng to join them at the food pan. He even chased a couple of them away from the water when they tried to keep him from it. After much clucking and quacking, chasing and flapping, the duck and the chickens settled down and ignored each other. Huh.</p><p>Bob then did something that surprised us all. He waddled up the ramp and into the coop. He waddled out of the coop and back down the ramp! Without prompting, without being pushed, he had figured out how to use the door! In and out he went without any hesitation. I briefly wondered if we had moved the wrong duck. A quick check showed that, no, this was indeed Bob. Again, huh.</p><p>Bob made himself at home with the chickens. The only time he appeared discontent was when the other ducks grew noisy. He would pace the fence, looking through the wire at the duck coop.</p><p>"I think he needs some girl ducks to keep him company." one of the children suggested. </p><p>That was not going to go over well with their daddy. It had been hard enough to convince Matt to keep Bob. He bemoaned the loss of one duck dinner and I doubted he would agree to the loss of more. </p><p>"<i>One</i> female," Matt conceded, scowling. </p><p>Lucille joined Bob in the chicken yard. She was one I had kept an eye on from the beginning. Being the only Pekin with a tuft of feathers that "poofed" out of the top of her head, she was easy to spot. </p><p>"You know that's a defect, right?" Was the only thing Matt said. </p><p>Yes, I knew. Somehow it seemed fitting. Our family kept the misfits, the oddballs. Remember our <a href="https://coldanchorfarm.blogspot.com/2015/10/most-of-which-never-happened.html">pet asthmatic chicken</a>? It's just how we were. Why change now? </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJsVVaqhDQe4PYl-BroiB3JJJiw5du_xw1Pi_-aazfbenSW3bzdFmB2KmdaVRHUHtb9RGU3TzXRcggOYmaCAVd7vQaSlqRq6ODpM1wxuUZPN_lPKZesiCV34klijvWVKERX2GxlduPKCk/s2048/20201023_091244+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="2048" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJsVVaqhDQe4PYl-BroiB3JJJiw5du_xw1Pi_-aazfbenSW3bzdFmB2KmdaVRHUHtb9RGU3TzXRcggOYmaCAVd7vQaSlqRq6ODpM1wxuUZPN_lPKZesiCV34klijvWVKERX2GxlduPKCk/w400-h235/20201023_091244+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>A few days later, another female duck was added to the chicken yard. Azula (named for an anime villain with a distinctive laugh) was a duck I had been looking forward to getting rid of. It's not that she was a mean duck or anything, but, well, her quack was... evil. I'm not even kidding. Many a time, a horrendously loud, maniacal quack would pierce the noisiness of our daily routine, sounding for all the world like she had listened in to our conversation and determined all was going according to her evil plan. Oh, yes. That duck would have to go.</p><p>It was Alex who requested a stay of execution. He lobbied hard for her, listing the advantages of keeping her and promising to do any extra work required. He then gave me sad eyes for good measure. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGa1TuZkNyEJ7t9T09whMxL7rRlrCETQWO0vSkoXGI1MNSEuX_hE1cXZeP_Zkjpbw0u8z97pAFggP6MQdojCZ7K-rCaBdV7L59qJwpWZ0YmpCZEPIV9ljOfaPrgsDR3-kZs-xcgMESMkNb/s2048/20201023_091316+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1802" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGa1TuZkNyEJ7t9T09whMxL7rRlrCETQWO0vSkoXGI1MNSEuX_hE1cXZeP_Zkjpbw0u8z97pAFggP6MQdojCZ7K-rCaBdV7L59qJwpWZ0YmpCZEPIV9ljOfaPrgsDR3-kZs-xcgMESMkNb/s320/20201023_091316+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">So, we have three ducks now. It's very entertaining.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">And there's the story of how we ended up with a duck named Bob. Never a dull moment here at Cold Anchor Farm...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-16223719164596545962020-10-06T11:59:00.002-05:002020-10-14T14:25:16.208-05:00Chicken Joe<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfrJ5nwkuuKRVvhG3Qlb941GcUMiGVKlEiIRhUuQbutiFbeszm77K9V-GkKIydDNi1PuWb9xZb2lhDP0t9JgpC0vuSLTces659zsCnxFBqR5KGQ2St_-qG5VuKNe6ukTy_ofhHSV8Y9l6/s2048/20200723_163226+%25283%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1449" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfrJ5nwkuuKRVvhG3Qlb941GcUMiGVKlEiIRhUuQbutiFbeszm77K9V-GkKIydDNi1PuWb9xZb2lhDP0t9JgpC0vuSLTces659zsCnxFBqR5KGQ2St_-qG5VuKNe6ukTy_ofhHSV8Y9l6/w283-h400/20200723_163226+%25283%2529.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There's a new coop-keeper in town and he goes by the name of Chicken Joe. Older siblings, otherwise occupied, left the position wide open and Joe stepped in to fill the gap. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It began with the arrival of our new Amish-built mini barn. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXWQLb4Nnp0nn2BSQhLRdIrbG3K961E_-kIMbafXn8_E9si2882dQBxJMCmHDYFPEN4lycYwH9zuFPwcm8Ymjv13OTRjn2ONd0-WmtOASukp440aD0qNbF8bgvcyKpcruuj4U_UlhhXXN/s2048/20200605_185743+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1836" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXWQLb4Nnp0nn2BSQhLRdIrbG3K961E_-kIMbafXn8_E9si2882dQBxJMCmHDYFPEN4lycYwH9zuFPwcm8Ymjv13OTRjn2ONd0-WmtOASukp440aD0qNbF8bgvcyKpcruuj4U_UlhhXXN/w359-h400/20200605_185743+%25282%2529.jpg" width="359" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">How exciting!</p><p style="text-align: left;">In short order, the coop was readied for its new tenants, and Joe moved the chicks from the brooder box to their new home. He spent hours sitting on the coop floor, playing with the fluffy babies. I think he would have slept out there if I had let him. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ezs8lyMCWGAS7WJQ36sJPh16RKLUxJHrwI-qRa9-JbczS9fYmbGzNYjo7UmqUUXv71hy_UUpnyxOlYcB0_HldgczGoUkwjUfY_JybHzCcN0aOYTFbqyIYT3gbxKCEzZNnJVK_3TTlZG0/s2048/20200619_084148+%25282%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1808" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ezs8lyMCWGAS7WJQ36sJPh16RKLUxJHrwI-qRa9-JbczS9fYmbGzNYjo7UmqUUXv71hy_UUpnyxOlYcB0_HldgczGoUkwjUfY_JybHzCcN0aOYTFbqyIYT3gbxKCEzZNnJVK_3TTlZG0/w232-h262/20200619_084148+%25282%2529.jpg" width="232" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfJKiFiJ6sqXztiZKsb7ugBr8vD9s4olcWxPv1kcKf0c9z5QslFgktBc7uFsJ_U5_vSGQjp_KiKzggY0jXK4IUhqd8kiur8JXzZpW5FAhpYKHP9Z3thtO3NRu6yHPTMzHhlUlhUZuRfOO/s2048/20200619_084234+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1941" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfJKiFiJ6sqXztiZKsb7ugBr8vD9s4olcWxPv1kcKf0c9z5QslFgktBc7uFsJ_U5_vSGQjp_KiKzggY0jXK4IUhqd8kiur8JXzZpW5FAhpYKHP9Z3thtO3NRu6yHPTMzHhlUlhUZuRfOO/w249-h263/20200619_084234+%25282%2529.jpg" width="249" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the chicks grew, Joe noticed their individual personalities emerge and the naming process began. Asparagus, a Light Brahma, was the first to be named and Joe claimed her as his very own. She loved to climb from Joe's hand up to his shoulder to hang out, sort of like a pirate's pet parrot. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The other Light Brahmas were named Buttercup, Louise, and Candice. Louise and Buttercup are sweet birds. Candice is a dork.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Clover, a Black Australorp, was by far the most curious about any humans who entered the coop. Her favorite pastime was (and still is) pecking at Joe's freckles. Joe's frequent and exasperated exclamation, "Clover!" amused me to no end. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The other Black Australorps were named Wednesday, Frankie, and Pearl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A Plymouth Rock (Barred Rock) named Tulip soon became Clover's sidekick. She followed Clover's lead and even now the two are together more often than not. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Plymouth Rocks are quite friendly. Joey gave Rosie the nickname "Sweetie" and Judy is almost as gentle. Gidget, on the other hand, is a feathery pain in the tush who won't leave my rings alone. She behaves well if she's picked up, though.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHbchGUbiyWAJAYK6n-c749FDryMGRPwjKozKzWT_uFrvGoJblcAxlkyq7tJ0irxyJ5prz75WFxitlZxTYvjHljhs-Bcuax3Jj_EibhLI9iBM5T5UXC4mTRVHdzQQIuL3sZ4xxVKWYln_/s2048/20200724_112053_Burst04+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="2048" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHbchGUbiyWAJAYK6n-c749FDryMGRPwjKozKzWT_uFrvGoJblcAxlkyq7tJ0irxyJ5prz75WFxitlZxTYvjHljhs-Bcuax3Jj_EibhLI9iBM5T5UXC4mTRVHdzQQIuL3sZ4xxVKWYln_/w400-h235/20200724_112053_Burst04+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Marshmallow, a Gold-laced Wyandotte, was quickly identified by Joe as our only truly naughty chick. She is cranky. She pecks hard. Chicken Joe will have none of it. He catches her up and carries her around, scolding her all the while. It's the chicken version of "time out."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The other Wyandottes were named Hazel, Pidge, and Debbie. Hazel is my personal favorite. She loves to be petted. As soon as your fingers reach her black and gold feathers, she sits down, and leans into your hand, eyes slowly closing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My oldest daughter and her husband added a couple of Lavender Orpingtons to the mix. Thistle and Blue Moon are just a bit older than the other chicks and tend to stick to themselves. Shy or stuck up? Time will tell. They're certainly beautiful birds, with soft, fluffy, pale gray feathers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Keeping all the chick names straight was a difficult task and Joe suggested we band them. Even the smallest bands were too big for their tiny legs, so we began with nail polish in a stripe on their legs - a different color for each chick. Of course, the polish wore off and Joey was relieved when they had grown enough to wear the bands.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One by one, the girls got their new jewelry. Chicken Joe was so very careful as he placed the colorful plastic bands on each chick. Tulip was one of the first. After banding, she and Joe had a little chat about it. He assured her that yellow was a good color and went nicely with her lovely feathers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hh5w5CPA5UKSwx-igNjDMB9yzXFzbELEDxP0SQvu54znNnkeFn_OeyGbezUwyqHNEeZ_Mbp7KYkdvNpBjlEX_mVFyVRMnQkOKdg3e_ZVd9DPZ6gziQem6BizObP1Tx2BLRwUaAZKzBEx/s2048/20200718_151241+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hh5w5CPA5UKSwx-igNjDMB9yzXFzbELEDxP0SQvu54znNnkeFn_OeyGbezUwyqHNEeZ_Mbp7KYkdvNpBjlEX_mVFyVRMnQkOKdg3e_ZVd9DPZ6gziQem6BizObP1Tx2BLRwUaAZKzBEx/s320/20200718_151241+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisUOoOurs-2G8S5YxoeLs9_DsOKEVKueNxAORIPOM2d63zQpjqHqQwr2v6nbotf-lKdXvP6woDvvu0NZPppWurENVvAVPEliMc7_UwtHi7w2x3sOTxTYIg9HbyKnqFXy3BJ2KIRBh_FEJZ/s2048/20200718_151405+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisUOoOurs-2G8S5YxoeLs9_DsOKEVKueNxAORIPOM2d63zQpjqHqQwr2v6nbotf-lKdXvP6woDvvu0NZPppWurENVvAVPEliMc7_UwtHi7w2x3sOTxTYIg9HbyKnqFXy3BJ2KIRBh_FEJZ/s320/20200718_151405+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He eventually convinced her. Tulip sat on his shoulder and watched as he banded the other girls, softly clucking advice into his ear. Afterward, Joe and I hung a sign in the coop yard that identified the chicks by breed and band color. He thinks the chicks like it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVO0Buc2ObE07-yv3bOLxYqTcUyXfJaU4urhibDJF9Nq19de4JY_GN7b2x4JQ6ssHm6zZosct-gCPpD1h-1QhW73t7rOpw0fh6KIBMs4yDHpbEJh8_hWT8x4nkQ1NKFRwg13PDCVJhBxd/s2048/20201006_100727+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="2048" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVO0Buc2ObE07-yv3bOLxYqTcUyXfJaU4urhibDJF9Nq19de4JY_GN7b2x4JQ6ssHm6zZosct-gCPpD1h-1QhW73t7rOpw0fh6KIBMs4yDHpbEJh8_hWT8x4nkQ1NKFRwg13PDCVJhBxd/w400-h263/20201006_100727+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(I'm not sure if you can make out the duck on the painted sign. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stay tuned. The duck story is coming soon.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chicken Joe has taken on his new role with much enthusiasm and it's a pleasure to watch. I think this is the beginning of something wonderful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwF9ALV5qjhZ7jqdoN5l0OiXOI76hsZdAHnTAexWryTsS10wcsb-h7gL36pcjdBid4ac1_4GlTR-vR7mhKx-PXzAGK2ELvma_ALUed75g4XJ_GQpNkXD_g1pbpXPptJah6fNvQueukO1kq/s2048/20200718_151403+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwF9ALV5qjhZ7jqdoN5l0OiXOI76hsZdAHnTAexWryTsS10wcsb-h7gL36pcjdBid4ac1_4GlTR-vR7mhKx-PXzAGK2ELvma_ALUed75g4XJ_GQpNkXD_g1pbpXPptJah6fNvQueukO1kq/s320/20200718_151403+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Tulip agrees.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-69343914423332785612020-08-12T14:40:00.000-05:002020-08-12T14:40:50.897-05:00Left, Wright, and Ghost"Mom, there are kittens in the corn crib!" one of my brood hollered to me from the field behind the house. By the time I got out to look the mama cat had hidden her babies and it would be several days 'til I had the chance to see them for myself. <div><br /></div><div>Mama Cat is feral and though we have witnessed her out hunting, none of us have been able to get close to her. The babies, on the other hand, are gradually getting used to us. They like to hang out in our garage. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are three of them. I named them. (Of course, I did.) They are Left, Wright, and Ghost. </div><div><br /></div><div>Left and Wright are almost mirror-images of each other. The biggest difference being Wright has a tiny pink nose. Left is the friendlier of the two. I've been able to hold him and pet him and even bring him briefly into the house. I might have tried to keep him there if not for the disapproving look on my husband's face. Perhaps I'll convince him in the end...</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfZNhvJtqupo1uY8Hf4_PjFWdRcOjHfvwVeA6jOct0BbE-nWi7ab3WPwpkQ7q88luAghk9F61lWJJnCylsWYpE35-7hOVsQSHVERfPHGONd2f7UN6S51N0aU3Uq6m1dGril0kDEbUXH42/s2048/20200709_090107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfZNhvJtqupo1uY8Hf4_PjFWdRcOjHfvwVeA6jOct0BbE-nWi7ab3WPwpkQ7q88luAghk9F61lWJJnCylsWYpE35-7hOVsQSHVERfPHGONd2f7UN6S51N0aU3Uq6m1dGril0kDEbUXH42/w512-h384/20200709_090107.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Wright and Left. Aren't they adorable?</div><div><br /></div><div>Ghost has a spectacular lightning bolt on her face and is larger than the other two. So much larger, in fact, I suspect she is from a previous litter and has chosen to stay with her mama longer than her littermates. She will tolerate my petting her while she's eating, but barely. Ghost has the makings of a good hunter and the best way to get her attention is to trail a string or long blade of grass on the ground in front of her. She moves noiselessly about the garage and freezes when you spot her. Don't look away! She disappears in the blink of an eye.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKAVGHHMisOnydFwOO8ujOtUko05vQms4BE69BSMr8K7YDHaVadDlum4NBJrPqFxftWP-bDrZPyUNkfVCw7MNyi-sWyJtz3_-QWLOiZDo2Z6Mrp-WWOQ3pCQyr4qyN9TWKCAxZYp7a4fH/s2048/20200709_085233+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1450" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKAVGHHMisOnydFwOO8ujOtUko05vQms4BE69BSMr8K7YDHaVadDlum4NBJrPqFxftWP-bDrZPyUNkfVCw7MNyi-sWyJtz3_-QWLOiZDo2Z6Mrp-WWOQ3pCQyr4qyN9TWKCAxZYp7a4fH/w362-h512/20200709_085233+%25282%2529.jpg" width="362" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ghost</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our farm is that much livelier with the presence of these tiny wanderers and I've become quite attached to them. I do hope they decide to stay. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmgkHCpXR91vUDweXWPYdKJWHut04fPyhrPfY34_YmY0jYySdXsz1zqjh_E8bhZOPl2oaS6vXRFfojdhf8c1eOXT3lj2EdFc_6lenU224G7XTjkVwbXpMWfoqXCUdhoL_91E3sjL2XHcg/s2048/20200709_085557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmgkHCpXR91vUDweXWPYdKJWHut04fPyhrPfY34_YmY0jYySdXsz1zqjh_E8bhZOPl2oaS6vXRFfojdhf8c1eOXT3lj2EdFc_6lenU224G7XTjkVwbXpMWfoqXCUdhoL_91E3sjL2XHcg/w154-h205/20200709_085557.jpg" width="154" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="1168" data-original-width="1552" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnltbO8oNNicxjiAMJoLShpM_NSSiUrejIqNfaBOukcDjopzlRX851ZTrFdCYwXliQpqQ5GJuiWTPMyV_I-E04mcQLS3NHAQM4_pGmG-iAsoFDkqdXRETDFy7VPq5DecytFPJju2AydpaP/w262-h198/117770074_2409085972722895_2568272610301332602_n.jpg" width="262" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vih7BmWsN9yh8rCNYGLQFkv2oURjtvKWaAGXSBPvQjg41igtdZCvJLn__zaHAaNogxYeC5GYB0ZglJxitK87fbpsYoDICa8NwVCWk8P5YMbLIyWGlU9Fqr0RWkf5Ruf-har3nsRmR3qC/s1152/117312457_1574231872737581_1881844342885535390_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="940" data-original-width="1152" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vih7BmWsN9yh8rCNYGLQFkv2oURjtvKWaAGXSBPvQjg41igtdZCvJLn__zaHAaNogxYeC5GYB0ZglJxitK87fbpsYoDICa8NwVCWk8P5YMbLIyWGlU9Fqr0RWkf5Ruf-har3nsRmR3qC/w512-h418/117312457_1574231872737581_1881844342885535390_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-16846430267461663332020-07-31T08:51:00.000-05:002020-07-31T08:51:39.859-05:00Special Delivery <div class="separator"><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>I look forward to this day each year.<br />
With excitement, I hear the truck rumble up our driveway. After directing him to the spot, I stand back and watch the driver, one claw-grab at a time, unload an impressive cargo. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJpa-iAxMgF9R43KKWul-AVp_MzRk5pmT5-7sH6sLSxU6GrJLJ7TT1zUWxg1iqj1_7lcd0V4j6Nnazi81N5QempKu_rTXF7EXAjVSMgAEcGs5DNUlFc7uSgvsreS72LIYq55_M1VUzyCf/s2048/20200721_073023+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJpa-iAxMgF9R43KKWul-AVp_MzRk5pmT5-7sH6sLSxU6GrJLJ7TT1zUWxg1iqj1_7lcd0V4j6Nnazi81N5QempKu_rTXF7EXAjVSMgAEcGs5DNUlFc7uSgvsreS72LIYq55_M1VUzyCf/w512-h384/20200721_073023+%25282%2529.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At first glance, one might think he is merely unloading logs. The truth is, he's actually unloading </div><div style="text-align: center;">the sound of a chainsaw, </div><div style="text-align: center;">a swinging sledgehammer, </div><div style="text-align: center;">hours of work, </div><div style="text-align: center;">splinters, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and the occasional smashed finger. </div><div style="text-align: center;">He's unloading a competitive spirit. Who can carry the heaviest armload? </div><div style="text-align: center;">He's unloading warm toes and cozy bedrooms, </div><div style="text-align: center;">"discussions" of the ideal thermostat setting, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and the scent of woodsmoke. </div><div style="text-align: center;">He's unloading peace of mind and a sense of security for the upcoming winter.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8utfEt7pW4L4GSDovsbhmhTUeRAaj4yFHawuvQMTr3L6_FxMFpSgWfwIevgg9RLduCk_VlvJ4Fba2mqBYxLXGasqBujltEev0GXzY5FhlNA7qtWXWhN-B4icyv7hHXHp9C7xQJb5r0dp7/s2048/20200724_161532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8utfEt7pW4L4GSDovsbhmhTUeRAaj4yFHawuvQMTr3L6_FxMFpSgWfwIevgg9RLduCk_VlvJ4Fba2mqBYxLXGasqBujltEev0GXzY5FhlNA7qtWXWhN-B4icyv7hHXHp9C7xQJb5r0dp7/w512-h384/20200724_161532.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's easy to forget the chill of winter winds on days like this, but we all know it will be here in the blink of an eye.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="15 Winter Is Coming Memes for Snow Days | SayingImages.com" height="281" src="https://sayingimages.com/wp-content/uploads/brace-yourself-winter-is-coming-meme.jpg" width="307" /></div>AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-48891573344588235522020-07-08T13:16:00.000-05:002020-07-09T23:28:32.545-05:00Even In A Salon<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I unlock the door and begin flipping light switches.
Everything is still, but the quiet won’t last long. The open sign will come on,
the phone will start ringing off the hook, and voices will sound throughout the
building. I welcome all of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">You see, I’ve changed my mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I once thought a place like
this simply wasn’t for me. A dedicated do-it-yourselfer and generally not-fussy
person, I rarely entered a beauty salon. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, I found myself looking for work.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our old farmhouse was in need of serious repair and rather
than getting a loan, my husband and I decided I could work outside the home a
few hours a week to help cover the costs. Of course, we prayed about it first,
but I’m ashamed to admit I had little hope I’d find anyone willing to hire me,
prayers, or no. I’d been out of the workforce since our first child was a baby –
over twenty years! I now realize God had a plan and it no longer surprises me
how everything lined up so perfectly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It happened fast. Within a week’s time, I was answering phones
and setting appointments for a local salon. It was more complicated than I
expected, but my boss, Laurie, and my new coworkers were amazingly patient with
me as I learned the computer system, the routines, and details of over thirty different
services offered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I find it difficult to be away from home. Being a wife and
mother is my primary vocation. I told God that if I was to spend time away from
my family, I didn’t want it to be just about money, rather I hoped He would
give me opportunities to serve Him wherever I happened to be, even in a salon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even in a salon… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">If only I had known. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Working at the salon quickly became more than just a job to
me. I discovered that this place is about so much more than the externals of
cuts and colors, nails, and lashes. For many, it's an island of warmth in an increasingly cold world.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Milestones are marked within these walls. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In the time I have been here, I have watched squirmy little ones get first haircuts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have seen brides prepare for their momentous day. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I’ve been present as the entire shop gathered around someone who'd received bad news, offering concern and </span><span style="font-size: large;">support</span><span style="font-size: large;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've been warmed by the sight of someone getting a haircut before a big job interview, or young ones dressing up for their first dance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have witnessed elderly, whose memory has failed them, relax with the routine that's somehow still</span><span style="font-size: large;"> familiar to them. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There is tremendous, hands-on love and care in this place.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The salon reflects it's owner. The way Laurie treats those entering her shop shows me that, more than business, her priority is caring for people. It’s why she does what she
does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">One example of this is when Laurie found out some of her
clients who were diabetics or on blood thinners were going to various nail
salons for basic foot care (not a safe option!) because the local hospital no
longer offered the service. She worried about the health of those clients, so she
found the RN who used to do it at the hospital and hired her to provide the
service here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">There are many extras I witness her doing quietly
for others, things most people will never even know about, but I notice. Laurie truly cares about the welfare of those around her. The clients who find
themselves in her chair are friends whether it’s the first visit or they’ve been
coming for years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I can say the same for the other stylists. They are all extremely
skilled, hard-working people, who take their profession seriously. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They are creative. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They fix things. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They bring out a person’s beauty. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They make people feel good. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And,
like therapists without the couch, they listen - giving sympathy and</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">comfort,</span><span style="font-size: large;"> or
laughter and congratulations as their clients share the happenings in their lives.
They are kind, and funny, and sometimes a bit sassy. I genuinely like each of
the women I work with.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I only ever see the other receptionists as we change shifts,
but even in those few minutes, we can laugh together about the ridiculous stuff that happens to us while trying to care for so many things at once. They
are pretty awesome. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">For myself, I get to welcome so many people each day I’m here.
I get to smile, to look them in the eye and call them by name, to ask how they
are. I get to show people that they matter. I get to help. I have encouraged,
comforted, prayed with, and for, folks I wouldn’t have met otherwise. It’s such a
gift to me and I'm grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s been two years now. The home improvement project that
started it all is going well and the worst of it has already been tackled.
There are still days it’s hard for me to leave home, but I know God has a
purpose for everything, and <i>this</i> time - is time He is using. I am content here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even in a salon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-51202110169182592812020-07-08T13:15:00.003-05:002020-07-08T13:28:42.893-05:00Independence Day 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">God of our fathers, whose almighty hand</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Leads forth in beauty all the stary band</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of shining worlds in splendor through the skies,</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our grateful songs before Thy throne arise.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Thy love divine hath led us in the past,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">In this free land by Thee our lot is cast;</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Be Thou our ruler, guardian, guide and stay,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Thy Word our law, Thy paths our chosen way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">From war's alarms, from deadly pestilence,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Be Thy strong arm our ever sure defense;</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Thy true religion in our hearts increase,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Thy bounteous goodness nourish us in peace.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Refresh Thy people on their toilsome way,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Lead us from night to never-ending day;</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">Fill all our lives with love and grace divine,</span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="text-align: left;">And glory, laud, and praise be ever Thine.</span></span></div>
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-18445313494034878592018-07-22T16:16:00.000-05:002018-07-22T16:21:36.857-05:00It’s Starting to Be a Thing <div class="MsoNormal">
Does your lawn mower have a name? Mine does. The machine is a Cub Cadet so I stuck him with the very original name of Cubby.</div>
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Cubby and I have a unique partnership. I drive him around taming acres of grass on our little homestead, and he challenges me to learn new skills… like lawn mower repair. He’s cool like that.<o:p></o:p><br />
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A few weeks ago, he alerted me it was time for another lesson by making a noise I hadn’t heard before. A weird, whining vibration came from somewhere below my seat and Cubby crawled to a stop, engine still running, but no longer moving forward. Searching for the cause, I found remnants of a shredded belt and under the battery a little plastic fan that had been torn from its mount. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Pushing Cubby back to the garage, I scolded him for the timing of this particular repair lesson. I had a long list of things to do and he really wasn’t helping matters. A little advance warning to clear my schedule would have been nice! He ignored me, as usual. It was lesson time, and that was that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQFHhQdCXZcxD5_ayLCr9BBgTKriLoItZUgm3Fbhvkl18Y55HrC-p47yOKacTDyL7kMRHTnAen6rioObzZrD-u25wET5TZ_Zo2xFXPcuW3rMRH-OFjZb6uit9HxWlaB1DRlfp1vXEm4T3/s1600/91aC4qwjRSL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="990" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQFHhQdCXZcxD5_ayLCr9BBgTKriLoItZUgm3Fbhvkl18Y55HrC-p47yOKacTDyL7kMRHTnAen6rioObzZrD-u25wET5TZ_Zo2xFXPcuW3rMRH-OFjZb6uit9HxWlaB1DRlfp1vXEm4T3/s320/91aC4qwjRSL.jpg" width="197" /></a>Now, each lesson begins with learning the names of parts. Peering through the narrow gaps, I did my best to identify the original placement of the broken bits, then went to the internet to search out a parts diagram. Armed with the names of what was needed, I rang up the local repair shop. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I need a 72” drive belt and new hydrostatic transmission fan for a Cub Cadet LTX 1046M. Do you have them in stock?<br />
I internally patted myself on the back for sounding so nonchalant about the whole thing. I knew this repair was a step up from the last one I’d tackled, and I was slightly concerned I was out of my depth. I would have to call in backup.</div>
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Once I had the parts, I grabbed my favorite muscle man, and we headed out to see Cubby. I was glad my hubby had agreed to help me with this repair. The guys in the how-to videos I watched used an impact wrench to remove the tightened nuts and I was fairly certain, even with an extender bar, I would need Matt’s strength to get them to move. Plus, he’s really cute. So, there’s that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It took a bit of doing to get Cubby on the lift, but once he was up, I crawled underneath and began taking things apart to get them out of the way. The clutch was easy-peasy, but the fan mount gave me a couple new bruises. Between my straining one way, and Matt tugging the other we had the old parts removed and the new ones attached in very short order. I knew we could do it. Long ago, I learned my man and I make a great work team, and there is something wonderfully satisfying about laboring alongside someone whose moves you anticipate. You know, I think I’ll keep him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thankfully, Cubby decided to take it easy on us (Not a single tool was chucked across the garage, and swear words kept to a minimum. Good job, Matt!) and within a couple hours, my mower and I were once again attacking the weedy, green expanse. Triumph. I was so proud and grateful. I didn’t even change, wearing my oil stained t-shirt like a badge of honor as we circled the property.<br />
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I’m sure the cows were impressed. <o:p></o:p><br />
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-46739367346375848312018-07-17T09:43:00.000-05:002018-07-19T17:05:34.161-05:00The Misadventures of Tico and ClippermanFor the record, I'm NOT making fun of my husband. My daughter explained that, since he and I are two halves of a whole, it's really self-deprecating humor. So, I'm gonna go with that.<br />
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You remember Tico, my little, black dog? There he is! Isn't he cute?<br />
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I hadn't gotten around to giving Tico his summer haircut, and Matt decided to help me out and do it himself. It mattered not that he had never given our extremely squirmy, petrified of the clippers, long-haired doggy a buzz cut. He's a small dog. Really, how hard could it be?<br />
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I'm hardly an expert, but I have given Tico enough haircuts to be really, really just okay at it. At least when I do it you can still tell Tico is a dog, a plus in my book. So, I was not prepared for the sight that greeted my eyes when a chewed up, slightly lop-sided, black dust mop ran up to me and wagged its tail. Oh. My.<br />
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My poor dog looks like he'd been mauled by a rabid squirrel, or maybe had an unfortunate encounter with a weed-whacker. The hair on his back is unevenly chopped and there are large chunks of his mustache missing. Most of the hair on his legs is untouched giving the impression he is wearing wooly chaps. The hair around one ear is shorter than the other so it appears his head is permanently cocked to the side, and his tail is shaved part way down, ending in a long tuft like a lion.<br />
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“But, look,” my husband urged, “he’s much cooler now.”</div>
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No. I could not look. Every time I did I burst into laughter. I tried to control it to no avail. While petting Tico, I had to keep one hand up so I couldn’t see his face, all the while apologizing to my husband for laughing. It’s been a week and my reaction hasn’t gotten any better. I worry might give my dog a complex. <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Of course, my children think it's funny. More than one of them has commented that he now reminds them of a black version of Falcor, the luckdragon in The Neverending Story.</div>
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You may wonder why I haven't fixed it yet. I totally have it on my to-do list. Honest. It's just that there are a LOT of things on my to-do list. This is number 36. I'm getting there. In the meantime... he <i>is </i>cooler, so...<br />
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Tico's rather "meh" on the whole subject. He has informed me his vanity has taken a backseat to the fact he now gets sympathy treats from the dinner table. He considers this a fair tradeoff. I hope he still thinks so a couple of weeks from now. It will take at least that long for me to scratch his haircut off my list. Perhaps I'll ask my husband to give it another try. I am a firm believer in learning by doing.</div>
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On second thought...</div>
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-79332231337735500392018-05-30T12:05:00.000-05:002018-05-30T16:57:31.596-05:00Once Upon a Grandma<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Once upon a time, I had a baby."</b></div>
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<i>"You've had more than that."</i></div>
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<b>"Well, this is about the first one. I had to start somewhere. </b></div>
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<b>Now, hush! I'm telling a story. </b></div>
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<b>Where was I? Oh, yes. </b></div>
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<b>Once upon a time, I had a baby. We named her Annie, and she grew up."</b></div>
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<i>"That was fast."</i></div>
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<b>"You're tellin' me.</b></div>
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<b>She grew up and she got married to a very good man."</b></div>
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<i>"Aww..."</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmFUmb0tgc0-qFFOXxtK-fZyFMHQ9virnyKtF8XXLzgkJP8PryzrrHIAxnZ6PK-uU3xW3P1x0XzKfxB_O6Yu4WZHGZHgT89a1xG8wKbnIyttF6DDpF9d3muIPrSmG-NoSY21TM1EBgkcn/s1600/19366588_1625947537440190_2332222303399393248_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="929" data-original-width="960" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmFUmb0tgc0-qFFOXxtK-fZyFMHQ9virnyKtF8XXLzgkJP8PryzrrHIAxnZ6PK-uU3xW3P1x0XzKfxB_O6Yu4WZHGZHgT89a1xG8wKbnIyttF6DDpF9d3muIPrSmG-NoSY21TM1EBgkcn/s320/19366588_1625947537440190_2332222303399393248_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Yes, it was very sweet. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Annie got married and soon she was growing a baby of her own and I became a Grandma."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> </b><i>"Just like that?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"That's how it works.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>All the while that new baby was growing, I was waiting."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Patiently?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Of course. I am always patient, pretty much... some of the time... </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>if it's warranted.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Look, I think we're getting off track, here.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br />Annie found out her baby was a girl."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"So that made her the first daughter, of a first-born daughter, of a first-born daughter, of a first-born daughter, of a first-born daughter..."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Yes. It's very cool. Stop interrupting.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Annie grew that baby until the baby decided she needed a change of scenery. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I went with Annie and her good husband, Isaiah, to the hospital."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"A stowaway?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"No, they invited me. Why would you...?"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Well, I wouldn't put it past you."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"</b><b>Hmm... Shall I continue?"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Be my guest."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Thank you.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>We all greeted Eloise as she made her entrance into the world."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Eloise is a nice name."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Isn't it? </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Eloise was beautiful and tiny, and perfect, and cute..."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_EDo7zYi6OPx4stXlNkewcrUD30i1e9CI2AyZH0ZC11tElNWd3h3YjKENdooDb03ntQNobJ9ugWB51-Ff_SP6DV6dPoepEG5GO-v0cWM7eGsJaG-_lTSUmEQFQh9d1oW0Usynbby0yKw/s1600/30709501_1004383399712086_2242034419558776832_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_EDo7zYi6OPx4stXlNkewcrUD30i1e9CI2AyZH0ZC11tElNWd3h3YjKENdooDb03ntQNobJ9ugWB51-Ff_SP6DV6dPoepEG5GO-v0cWM7eGsJaG-_lTSUmEQFQh9d1oW0Usynbby0yKw/s320/30709501_1004383399712086_2242034419558776832_n.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"She couldn't help but be all of those things, just look at her Grandma."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECmJjCuhPOiRezfV4cro5F3hyYcS0dW5MVI0kE65h_zpzx_5dcJNQ-NpA1vbbOANkhRSC6q0ryeFp110zknmJDXZSi4FurmtrXrYLy9iDykZgrRZM0zXKlBDWwwafeovx582TeKFTS6py/s1600/29511524_1934872949880979_4037322738060464703_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="911" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECmJjCuhPOiRezfV4cro5F3hyYcS0dW5MVI0kE65h_zpzx_5dcJNQ-NpA1vbbOANkhRSC6q0ryeFp110zknmJDXZSi4FurmtrXrYLy9iDykZgrRZM0zXKlBDWwwafeovx582TeKFTS6py/s320/29511524_1934872949880979_4037322738060464703_n.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"... and her parents?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpPQL3TFzAlW3miPJnmRwcVFyWhRogiJqxYFpkkRM2kmX2Ec_SvtFxlhvtLQbqdFoZ5rmON5VibS9R_SuGY5uckAwXLwkvKdXIzVJ36k0zxQqCSb8YSAuCeTJgZfak3RIJv479IwoNHxm/s1600/31234990_1008723819278044_536499122450989056_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpPQL3TFzAlW3miPJnmRwcVFyWhRogiJqxYFpkkRM2kmX2Ec_SvtFxlhvtLQbqdFoZ5rmON5VibS9R_SuGY5uckAwXLwkvKdXIzVJ36k0zxQqCSb8YSAuCeTJgZfak3RIJv479IwoNHxm/s320/31234990_1008723819278044_536499122450989056_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Oh, yes, them, too.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I admit, both Annie and Isaiah are doing an amazing job. I'm very proud of them.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You know, I heard that grandchildren are a reward for letting your own children live... or something like that. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>And I <i>love</i> being a Grandma. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I love grandma-ing. Yes, I just made that up. Feel free to use it.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Uh..."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"She was baptized."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Eloise?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Yes. That was a blessed day. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>We celebrated with Isaiah's family (who had traveled a very long way) </b><b>and all of our church family. That little girl was welcomed into the Church as a newly born child of God. I tear up even now just thinking about it.</b><b>"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5VOskWlp9VcRlutQ75YTDP4InSxY2zOBONxlEjeasNmtBMSxhMurHcwec4L25TE686ifHi5hFgnRPd6zF7SXkZ9Ekph-ldq48Z5mY6VOWwSy5DFanesOlQF0RbQL7FD-2K6ViJh7evWQ/s1600/31444877_1011808688969557_5746411795300483072_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="870" data-original-width="629" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5VOskWlp9VcRlutQ75YTDP4InSxY2zOBONxlEjeasNmtBMSxhMurHcwec4L25TE686ifHi5hFgnRPd6zF7SXkZ9Ekph-ldq48Z5mY6VOWwSy5DFanesOlQF0RbQL7FD-2K6ViJh7evWQ/s200/31444877_1011808688969557_5746411795300483072_n.jpg" width="144" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeVcp9sVFfLsdzaWShyphenhyphenOHfxKVDf5ognP2sHfupi8FDqIpPMWsDIPMuTBTVIi5EF7TtrcrzJgyWLhq2HoeLeOYrz79V2w24ixo1dgg8qigMf-mfoSztO35gQ9x9WgrecoqlySFp93EyZCK/s1600/31655685_1011811802302579_1230893092517707776_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1516" data-original-width="1531" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeVcp9sVFfLsdzaWShyphenhyphenOHfxKVDf5ognP2sHfupi8FDqIpPMWsDIPMuTBTVIi5EF7TtrcrzJgyWLhq2HoeLeOYrz79V2w24ixo1dgg8qigMf-mfoSztO35gQ9x9WgrecoqlySFp93EyZCK/s200/31655685_1011811802302579_1230893092517707776_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGD1t6vNi92N3p3btgGLOZzx4zvD_Ia8P2FO5Y_kX1fGNxhVqtldvS40zg0Dr775w2_sWKP19CZ240edoIa0x8ylxYeUsdgQIXsWp0nL4S2FYfSwBXuz3jTLCfPOO2RcKUaw2Y9kwGLNru/s1600/31453821_1011812212302538_1571391966531289088_n+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1029" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGD1t6vNi92N3p3btgGLOZzx4zvD_Ia8P2FO5Y_kX1fGNxhVqtldvS40zg0Dr775w2_sWKP19CZ240edoIa0x8ylxYeUsdgQIXsWp0nL4S2FYfSwBXuz3jTLCfPOO2RcKUaw2Y9kwGLNru/s200/31453821_1011812212302538_1571391966531289088_n+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMPq7rQaHDHKH6-Lz0FZBCv41YG3QrsWIxO4BiGa-iyr0U7PjLhB39L4yb148tTPIsvycltpSwaWbSXyqWHcSsxWB3QuSnv8pXrX2NRicAFC4d558BpmhpFyFcM_mEcij8YWDvANWpK6L/s1600/31479411_1011809862302773_4707304557510656000_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1360" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMPq7rQaHDHKH6-Lz0FZBCv41YG3QrsWIxO4BiGa-iyr0U7PjLhB39L4yb148tTPIsvycltpSwaWbSXyqWHcSsxWB3QuSnv8pXrX2NRicAFC4d558BpmhpFyFcM_mEcij8YWDvANWpK6L/s200/31479411_1011809862302773_4707304557510656000_n.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Tissue?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"No, thanks. I'm good, now.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You know something wonderful about being Eloise's Grandma? I get to hold her."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Okay."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"No, you don't understand. I love babies. I love to hold them, and rock them, and talk to them, but you can't just go around grabbing other people's babies to hold. They tend to look at you funny."</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Um..."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"So, now that there's another baby in the family, I can hold her and rock her, and talk to her to my heart's content. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Grandmas are allowed to do that. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>And since Annie and Isaiah hold her all day long and enjoy a little break from time to time, they don't complain at all. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Their arms get a break and my arms get a baby." </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu4yoY07522AnNKn0_gBE2tw6_lYqFJK3sRehxY4iyfe7WETqaZxW5uJSIw6iiBY36HwJcw2dpwNUayHOzMbmOfRqLG7GVNkAvarh4u4qyjiM-yXIt7-7DAjv-duUcAogBtd2EBC55ki3/s1600/31500634_1011812688969157_4854490350850408448_n+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1492" data-original-width="1055" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu4yoY07522AnNKn0_gBE2tw6_lYqFJK3sRehxY4iyfe7WETqaZxW5uJSIw6iiBY36HwJcw2dpwNUayHOzMbmOfRqLG7GVNkAvarh4u4qyjiM-yXIt7-7DAjv-duUcAogBtd2EBC55ki3/s320/31500634_1011812688969157_4854490350850408448_n+%25282%2529.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"That's what's known as a win-win.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>And the Grandma lived happily ever after.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The End."</b></div>
<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-23301082740290044272018-05-08T12:10:00.001-05:002019-04-17T07:41:08.519-05:00Snowmageddon 2018<span style="font-size: medium;">A post about snow? At this time of year? My plan was to write this back in April, but... life happened. This is me catching up. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">...~*****~...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The air was warm. The grass was greening. Hats and mittens were tucked away until next winter, then...</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Whamo!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQH3N4AAwxsvOrBSVjIhb4JOdNOGegOW6i7X3GaV3XEjq3TaRVQrX50i6Ukopjh4t_qiNfZ8YTLIgd0wJ4ZA-3gOoDwetbEuhh-BJ8aS23jEEVrBK_s7irSFLutPipoTPlPXAQahxrukn/s1600/30995657_1974886149212992_1610808130_n+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQH3N4AAwxsvOrBSVjIhb4JOdNOGegOW6i7X3GaV3XEjq3TaRVQrX50i6Ukopjh4t_qiNfZ8YTLIgd0wJ4ZA-3gOoDwetbEuhh-BJ8aS23jEEVrBK_s7irSFLutPipoTPlPXAQahxrukn/s400/30995657_1974886149212992_1610808130_n+-+Copy.jpg" width="388" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A blizzard. An honest-to-goodness blizzard in the middle of April. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They gave her a name, even. Evelyn.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One day we were running around in short sleeves and the next...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5GDs6A4jpQAiGCFzzpBbqXCuplmaEWBXT0rIc9iBoOxwSUYYS5DhoTwL0S6lmjOzrJn__iTEVvoO8DQGGhr0johTLNuacCBnPn64VnZVogktXM-YoleMzorXzOMYSmHaJm4OYEMH0zfy/s1600/30784928_1974794942555446_690357383_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5GDs6A4jpQAiGCFzzpBbqXCuplmaEWBXT0rIc9iBoOxwSUYYS5DhoTwL0S6lmjOzrJn__iTEVvoO8DQGGhr0johTLNuacCBnPn64VnZVogktXM-YoleMzorXzOMYSmHaJm4OYEMH0zfy/s400/30784928_1974794942555446_690357383_n.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">... David was eaten by a snowdrift.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzevYOrmGObS6VPPARhDHvyefVyImyCtkCcnOlNVPSoGvKywpPQJvV9Mn7pMseKCrMNGaBcNTmrj0kcY9sg0-bgp6unYljpqAgJ9Otq4rFmsyMdk_ib0oMNfu9hCIzWTlCMwqwOtBVD-SC/s1600/well-that-escalated-quickly-quick-meme-com-19310781.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="500" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzevYOrmGObS6VPPARhDHvyefVyImyCtkCcnOlNVPSoGvKywpPQJvV9Mn7pMseKCrMNGaBcNTmrj0kcY9sg0-bgp6unYljpqAgJ9Otq4rFmsyMdk_ib0oMNfu9hCIzWTlCMwqwOtBVD-SC/s320/well-that-escalated-quickly-quick-meme-com-19310781.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My thoughts exactly.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had over 33 inches of snow that weekend. High winds pushed it into great mounds of white, covering everything. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Look at my poor plum tree. Buried half-way up!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Snow filled our front porch and piled up against our windows, darkening the house. Matt attempted to clear our driveway, but by the time he got to the end of it, he had to start over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The roads were impassable. Snowplows were getting stuck in ditches. Highways were closed. Unable to fetch Brendan from his job the next town over, we reserved him a room at a hotel within walking distance. We managed to get him home the next day during a lull in the storm, thanks to our truck's four-wheel drive. Then we hunkered down while the next wave of snow arrived. It would take a while 'til the weather cleared.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Mom, don't you love it out here?"</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, Joey didn't mind. A spring blizzard was an adventure of the highest order! During another break in the storm, he scrambled to find his snow bib and boots. There were drifts to climb, snowmen to make, brothers to bury! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I grabbed my coat and camera and headed out, too. There was a sheet of ice beneath all that snow and as I walked I was followed by the sound of it cracking. It would have freaked me out if I didn't know for certain there was solid ground under that frozen layer and not a river for me to fall into. The noise was eerie. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was something else bothering me, however. My children had burrowed like groundhogs into the</span><span style="font-size: large;"> wet snow.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">They were delighted with their tunnels. All I could see were tunnels waiting to collapse on top of them, trapping them under</span><span style="font-size: large;"> cold, heavy heaps.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I know this is hard to believe, but on rare occasions, I will worry more than strictly necessary. (I'm sorry if this admission has shocked you and caused you to re-evaluate your perception of me.) As I observed my children disappearing into the snowdrifts, </span><span style="font-size: large;">I did my best to calmly remind them to use caution and the good sense our Lord gave them, and "just don't dig <i>too</i> deeply." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I'm pretty sure that's how I meant it to sound. Oddly, instead, it came out as, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Avalanche danger!"</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>What did I just yell?</i> Even <i>I </i>know two feet of snow falling on top of you does not an avalanche make. To their credit, not one of them rolled their eyes at me (at least that I could see.) We all had a good laugh about it later.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfFqeesn4IKBGZ8uFirfEMZsYhES1_GSTEoFiKjmoFMjbYyrxyfDlXl_IkcyhFKJJbFxaHMUTOkYeELNvfbc-Aj4DzClPLTCMuk-jDmUolPrQTYiljcqUtSBTRMDZIhf8adQh2a9Eosl2/s1600/30846311_1974797469221860_2146485286_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfFqeesn4IKBGZ8uFirfEMZsYhES1_GSTEoFiKjmoFMjbYyrxyfDlXl_IkcyhFKJJbFxaHMUTOkYeELNvfbc-Aj4DzClPLTCMuk-jDmUolPrQTYiljcqUtSBTRMDZIhf8adQh2a9Eosl2/s400/30846311_1974797469221860_2146485286_n.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This snowdrift was as tall as I am.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alex buries Brendan. Ah, brotherly love!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm happy the children made the most of the snow while it lasted. In a matter of days, the warm weather returned and the snow melted surprisingly quickly. In fact, a couple weeks after I took these pictures, I drove past an old woman (in shorts) shoveling the tiny remnant of snow off her now green lawn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the snowstorms we've experienced, Evelyn will certainly be remembered for years to come. </span><br />
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-89171439683734856262018-02-21T12:13:00.002-06:002019-12-24T17:33:39.793-06:00Morning Musings: Coffee Mugs, Batman, and Mark TwainWhat do these things have in common? The gradual return of my health, apparently. It seems I like to string random topics into a cohesive whole to amuse myself, and laying in bed, recuperating, has inspired more randomness than usual.<br />
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I've been told I have a quirky brain. My response? </div>
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"Thank you."</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite coffee mug</td></tr>
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This past Christmas, we each received a mug bearing a fun quote - something from a movie or TV show, or simply a snarky saying. I have no idea where the wording on my mug comes from, but it makes me smile... every single morning... especially since contracting my most recent illness.<br />
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Did you know my mug has a Cockney accent? It has! Something like Michael Caine playing Alfred, Batman's butler. Granted, they don't use a silver tray, but when someone brings me coffee while I'm resting in bed, I can almost picture this:</div>
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Of course, my mug doesn't quote the Batman movie. It says, "Good morning. I see the assassins have failed." To which I silently add, "again." *internal smirk* </div>
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Yes, I'm still here. Recovering, even. Amazing, right? </div>
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<b>"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." - Mark Twain</b></div>
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This is good. It's almost staggering the number of things piled up (literally), waiting for me to get back on my feet. It's true, everyone has pitched in and helped keep the household fed and clothed, but it's equally true some things remain invisible to eyes that are not my own. See that thing on the floor there? That thing that everyone has stepped over at least a hundred times? You and I are the only ones who have noticed it. Weird. </div>
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Wait a minute. Maybe the others did notice it. Maybe they left it there as a signal to me that they needed me. Maybe, just maybe, that thing on the floor, begging to be picked up, is the Mom equivalent of the Bat-Signal. </div>
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I shouldn't be surprised. I was the same way as a child. My mother didn't mind at all, however. I know she would have been bored if I had been a neat child. I made her feel needed. Yeah. That's what I was doing. *ahem* What a good child I was.</div>
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As Mark Twain once said,<b> "My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."</b></div>
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Anywhoo, my mug is now empty and I'm feeling well enough to go pick that thing up off of the floor. Take that, illness! You have failed. </div>
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Again. </div>
AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-56982017949229083252018-02-03T13:21:00.004-06:002019-09-13T01:02:07.648-05:00At Least It's Not ConsumptionSteven Hawking reportedly said, "Life would be tragic if it weren't so funny."<br />
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I couldn't agree more.<br />
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After they ruled out heart attack, the emergency room doc informed me I have pleurisy. I started to crack up, telling the doctor it sounded like some old-fashioned disease name, like dropsy or the grip. The nurse and I giggled while putting on our best Southern belle accents, exclaiming, </div>
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<i>"I haz the pleurisy!"</i> </div>
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Well, <i>I</i> may have sounded a bit more like, "...cough, cough... <i>I haz the</i>... cough... p<i>leurisy!</i> cough..." But, you get the idea. </div>
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(This is not the first time I've had that reaction. I must find medical names inherently funny. When my eye doctor told me I had uveitis, I had to wait until I stopped laughing before I could accuse him of making it up.)</div>
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Now, days later, my doctor sent me back to the ER. Something about not liking that I almost keeled over in her clinic...</div>
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I'll admit, I was having a rough day.</div>
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My ER visit went something like this:</div>
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Me: <i>I'm too weak to stand and my head's going to explode.</i></div>
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Doctor: <i>We can't find anything wrong with you. Come back if you die.</i></div>
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Me: <i>OK, sounds like a plan.</i></div>
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Truthfully, they tried, but a gazillion tests later, I had to forgive my husband for quietly stating, </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"I knew it,"</i> </span></div>
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when they said the CT scan of my head found nothing. Thank you, Honey.<br />
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I was sent home to "plant your tush in one spot and don't move 'till you feel better." </div>
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I'm following doctors orders. </div>
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My plans for the day are: </div>
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Lay on my left side, drink some green tea, lay on my right side, fluff my pillow, lay flat on my back and decide I don't like that position, roll back to my left side, flip through all the TV channels bemoaning the fact there is nothing good on, eat soup, chat with Joey, nap, repeat... As you can see my schedule is full.</div>
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I just wish I could've brought one of those rockin' nurses home with me. They kept me laughing (even though it made my headache worse) and too distracted to worry. One even complimented me on my "honking big veins."<br />
How is that for a compliment? Seriously. Now, I'm going to get a big head. If anyone says something mean to me, I'll just go,<br />
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<i>"Yeah, but I have honking big veins, so... what you said doesn't really bother me."</i></div>
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I'm really hoping rest is going to make a difference and I'll be back on my feet soon. If not, maybe they'll name a disease after me. It can't sound worse than pleurisy.</div>
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-51321835905223470802017-03-30T17:41:00.000-05:002017-03-30T17:41:12.754-05:00Parting ShotAnnie - "Mom! I can't believe that just came out of your mouth!"<br />
Me, amused, as I walked away - "Imagine the things I leave <i>unsaid</i>."<br />
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It wasn't bad, I promise. Just ... unexpected. I'm still smiling.<br />
<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-70392126921783430542017-03-06T10:46:00.000-06:002017-03-06T10:49:54.989-06:00Duck and SlideThis is what passes for entertainment around here.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Cv3RpYcIAgo/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Cv3RpYcIAgo?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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We had just had an ice storm and I sent the boys out to feed the ducks, urging them to be extra careful... I may have to be more specific in the future.<br />
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(No animals or children were harmed in the filming of this video, just so you know.)AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-15470628113294165342017-02-28T14:36:00.000-06:002017-02-28T14:36:05.847-06:00When Someone Else Says It BetterI could have written something for Lent, but then I found this, and... really... what's the point? All the bases are covered.<br />
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Plus, the Emperor's New Groove gifs are the icing on my Lenten cake.<br />
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Unless I give up cake.<br />
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I should totally give up cake, 'cause cake is for special occasions.That makes it special. Giving up something special instead of something so ordinary you have it every single morning... let's say... something like that boring ol' cuppa joe (Oh, look! I'm holding one now.) with juuuust the right amount of stevia and one little glug of... no, two little glugs of milk, and served at juuust the right temperature - not too hot to drink, but definitely not even close to luke-warm - you know, nothing special at all, just my everyday coffee... giving up something that's actually special will send me further along the path to greater holiness this Lent.<br />
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Yes. I'm giving up cake. I've made my decision. I'm now ready for Lent.<br />
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You will be too after you read this:<br />
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So click it.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://theunrepeatables.wordpress.com/2017/02/15/the-five-stages-of-lent/" target="_blank">The Five Stages of Lent by Caitlin Marchand</a> </span></div>
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See? Don't you feel inspired? You're welcome.</div>
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Now I'm off to make our Shrove Tuesday dessert. I'm thinking cake.</div>
AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-37019436127007569912016-10-06T13:32:00.001-05:002016-10-06T13:53:46.316-05:00When Bethany VisitsThis is my sister, Bethany. She and I are 12 years apart. She is an amazing wife, mother, sister, and friend. She is creative, energetic and talented.<br />
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And this is Blaise. He's the youngest of her three, and the first one I have met. He charmed me completely.<br />
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Bethany and Blaise came to visit in September and it was wonderful! I can't express the joy it brought me to look out my window and see this - my children playing in the yard with their aunt and cousin. </div>
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It had been seven years or so since I had seen my sister. Waaay too long! It was so good to catch up. We joked and looked through old photo albums. We laughed as baby Blaise chased Joey through the house.</div>
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We did stuff. Ordinary stuff. We talked. We had dinner toether. We picked apples, fed the ducks and chickens, and hung laundry on the line. Tico played with the baby. We ran errands. And we took pictures... lots of pictures. Most of the pictures were taken by my sister. She has a knack for making the ordinary appear special.</div>
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Some of my favorite pictures were taken on the evening of my birthday. I knew the photo shoot was designed to keep me distracted while party preparations were made, but I didn't mind. Bethany took photos of me with some of my favorite people and it warms my heart to see them.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie came out long enough to tell me I wasn't allowed in the house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary is my little sunshine girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex is far too amused that he's now taller than I am.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David is a dork. That's why I like him.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey hugs are the best.</td></tr>
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All too quickly our visit was over. Bethany and Blaise are back home in Virginia, And we are here, not in Virginia... I miss them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters<br />
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I think I'll just have to win the lottery and move all of my family out here. Yeah. That will work.<br />
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-7417160549063438892016-09-30T22:22:00.001-05:002016-10-01T07:42:43.298-05:00Celebrating Sasquatch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our family loves to celebrate - often. We make a big deal over holidays, Church Feast days, anniversaries, Sundays, and sometimes a random day of the week (just because.) There are movie nights, complete with blankets, pillows, popcorn, and the whole family squished together on the couches. I love to pull out a colorful tablecloth and the "special" dishes to make an otherwise ordinary meal meaningful. It's not unusual to see white Christmas lights strung across the room regardless the time of year. Memories are made. Traditions formed. Seasons marked. It's what we do.<br />
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Birthdays are particularly festive around here. Parties usually involve a theme, homemade decorations, background music (or sound effects) and occasionally costumes. Everyone pitches in to prepare the surprise, and The Reveal (when we finally allow the birthday person into the room to see what we have done), is a delight to us all.<br />
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My sister and baby nephew were here for a visit in September, just in time to celebrate my 44th birthday. They joined my kiddos in preparing a party I would remember for years to come.<br />
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They threw me a <b>Sasquatch Party</b>. Awesomeness...</div>
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It was actually a Bigfoot-themed cafe called the Sassy Squatch (referencing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlYfbWmhnZQ&list=PLri_18nKxa0Q0Vo9vYgKpi3YQY4kFd7LP&index=3" target="_blank">a fun episode of Psych</a>) ...<i>with</i> an open mic night, thank you very much. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8mHB9CYSmvkOZCGst6bLfsWwpWeylM2ebsCBPOG005Cup1_DW3gZzgknjvl69y-M2fdomuB66upxQTjQtixzF0COT3KoDwB9ZFtzEAl7KO0EaEBoLeDq13j3I-djtGN439A3_a5vER1I/s1600/Copy+of+2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8mHB9CYSmvkOZCGst6bLfsWwpWeylM2ebsCBPOG005Cup1_DW3gZzgknjvl69y-M2fdomuB66upxQTjQtixzF0COT3KoDwB9ZFtzEAl7KO0EaEBoLeDq13j3I-djtGN439A3_a5vER1I/s400/Copy+of+2405.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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They know me so well. You see, I have cultivated an appreciation for the ridiculous <i>and</i> I love those "Searching for Bigfoot" shows. I don't care if he's real or not. (I'm totally lying.) If it's on TV, I'm so there. Weird, right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zPrJBHXdGHmwkEWmLZDsw34AjY_xAxYojsUzteraLl552WBGCD8fwkXcIMhIJQKlLuzU2D2hxu39eNbMa1WioBwauG34xANVJa8A28UZ20awwF-b5lGHtVcYwrlyWWo4pfYBLuVVyPZG/s1600/Copy+of+2415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zPrJBHXdGHmwkEWmLZDsw34AjY_xAxYojsUzteraLl552WBGCD8fwkXcIMhIJQKlLuzU2D2hxu39eNbMa1WioBwauG34xANVJa8A28UZ20awwF-b5lGHtVcYwrlyWWo4pfYBLuVVyPZG/s400/Copy+of+2415.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for a Bigfoot hunt?</td></tr>
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They had me laughing from the get-go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlE7_xBGWLmW-e2rC2b8bERIIXgsd5nOOEy2sCFRdRMy0wfrXQP0A3YXc_BkLK6Ms_lDd9uDs-gSe7k5cguvt4GrzJ4ltv7Qe12mPrIDmQ-qPJqM8LMzALmyQESGGroRCoft1-hkO7a0xY/s1600/Copy+of+2419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlE7_xBGWLmW-e2rC2b8bERIIXgsd5nOOEy2sCFRdRMy0wfrXQP0A3YXc_BkLK6Ms_lDd9uDs-gSe7k5cguvt4GrzJ4ltv7Qe12mPrIDmQ-qPJqM8LMzALmyQESGGroRCoft1-hkO7a0xY/s320/Copy+of+2419.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey the baby Yeti</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQthR8XqIcgT-7Xm0_Bl-aMbWYejMM4oY8wQtz89KoKYYaFh0Hr5xVlcnnqWEeoz0rO8umr93RE-pMB1_1YqVoCKcTNy_ylTezWr5LUHJvxfETNVAqwoE0et-JnnuyASfUMaMZrNtwA__F/s1600/Copy+of+2440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQthR8XqIcgT-7Xm0_Bl-aMbWYejMM4oY8wQtz89KoKYYaFh0Hr5xVlcnnqWEeoz0rO8umr93RE-pMB1_1YqVoCKcTNy_ylTezWr5LUHJvxfETNVAqwoE0et-JnnuyASfUMaMZrNtwA__F/s400/Copy+of+2440.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex and David, maybe?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs cake when we have ice cream sundaes?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister, Bethany and her youngest, Blaise</td></tr>
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After dinner I changed into jammies, and we gathered on the couches to enjoy the show. First Mary played harmonica, then Joey played the balloon. Okay, mostly he spat and giggled, but it was entertaining.<br />
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Then the gang put on a skit about a French tourist searching the Himalayas for theYeti.<br />
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Staring:<br />
Annie as the French Tourist<br />
Mary as the Hick Guitar Player<br />
Brendan as Bigfoot Head<br />
Alex as Bigfoot's Right Arm<br />
David as Bigfoot's Left Arm<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bravo!</td></tr>
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Bethany sang a song she wrote just for the occasion. Best. Birthday. Song. Ever.<br />
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We played a game called "Real or Not Real" and Bigfoot tried to steal my presents. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bigfoot pose or Thriller dance? You decide.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The obligatory "feet" picture.</td></tr>
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All in all, this birthday ranks up there as one of my very favorites. Thank you, my wonderful, crazy family!</div>
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-70116079433542467442016-07-17T19:31:00.000-05:002016-07-17T19:31:10.857-05:00A Grease Monkey Is Born<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq7cfo4jpzEMXYE9Oq_ZAGjTUmZZUufpg-xmQcGS5F3cKAV5z2nwMuF55T4neJXa1Hsyxy5gyElV_TL26GWteb7MY9L0TS2dIfOFb9vlGZ2C6FsCgsC1f1gA7RPiUPMohTNYAjAE5EZj_3/s1600/Copy+of+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq7cfo4jpzEMXYE9Oq_ZAGjTUmZZUufpg-xmQcGS5F3cKAV5z2nwMuF55T4neJXa1Hsyxy5gyElV_TL26GWteb7MY9L0TS2dIfOFb9vlGZ2C6FsCgsC1f1gA7RPiUPMohTNYAjAE5EZj_3/s320/Copy+of+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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For crying out loud, that hurt! My wrist was beginning to swell, and I watched the outline of a lovely bruise make it's appearance under my skin. There was grease under my fingernails, covering my hands, and smudged on my arms up to my elbows.<br />
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I frowned down at the exposed engine of my riding mower. A few days ago it started leaking oil from the valve cover, dripping oil onto the hot exhaust pipe and smoking like...<br />
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...like the crumbs left on the bottom of my oven that I forget are there until five minutes after I turn on the heat, and everyone starts coughing, and I feel bad because I was supposed to remember to clean it after it cooled down the last time I used it. You know, now that I think of it, I should probably put "clean oven" on my to-do list, or better yet, ask one of the kids to clean it for me, but I digress...<br />
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Where was I? Oh, yes. The mower. In the past I would have waited for someone to fix it for me. Perhaps I would have left it in Matt's able hands, or taken it in to be serviced, but Matt was working longer hours and being low on funds and with no trailer to get it to a repair shop, my options were few. I'd have to do it myself. I could do this. Okay, so the only thing I knew about my mower was which end to put the gas in. Still. I'd look it up online. How hard could it be?<br />
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Several YouTube videos later I managed to remove the mower hood and had crouched down beside the engine, removing screws. The valve cover was supposed to be a cinch to pull off. Only it wasn't. At. All. The guy in the video didn't have any trouble. What was I doing wrong? I put in a call to my neighbor who knows how to fix stuff. He wasn't home, but his wife, Karen, a super sweet lady, reassured me. "Honey, I've learned a thing or two about fixing things and I can tell you - you're not going to break it. Use some more muscle. It will come off. You might try heating it up with a hairdryer..."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Removing the screws. <br />
Hey Karen, see the hairdryer on the chair behind me? </td></tr>
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Fine. If Karen said I could do it...<br />
I scored along the edge of the cover with a knife and wedged the tip of the screwdriver under it's edge. It was not going to get the best of me. But it did. The screwdriver slipped and I fell back onto my hind end, hitting my wrist on something as I did so. "Ow, ow, ow," I whimpered quietly. Darn it. I was going to get that cover off no matter what! I shook my wrist, grabbed the screwdriver and gave it another try.<br />
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I gave it all I had. Something had to give - and it did! For a moment I stared at the cover, now off of the engine and in my hand. My arms extended in victory. "Whoo hoo!" I shouted. I just couldn't help myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvW7ZkiDdzFz_Tn0pwR5M9eHi5kiFRpGG8lv-xh4kiT3TpKaK4APgiFCg6QZlnw1fSGHtphIBO1BUlU6MXegPnS9K903Y7Izpd_YUPHgpb7eL2P0wzVtzMgb6fHzVUxjEB_eUs-FJASFi/s1600/Copy+of+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvW7ZkiDdzFz_Tn0pwR5M9eHi5kiFRpGG8lv-xh4kiT3TpKaK4APgiFCg6QZlnw1fSGHtphIBO1BUlU6MXegPnS9K903Y7Izpd_YUPHgpb7eL2P0wzVtzMgb6fHzVUxjEB_eUs-FJASFi/s320/Copy+of+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside, I was doing the happy dance.</td></tr>
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I was almost finished. I only had to clean it up with brake cleaner and re-seal it. At least that's what would have happened if I hadn't noticed a crack in the metal. Uh oh. Maybe I could plug it up with sealant? No, I wanted to fix it right.<br />
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It took me a few days to hunt down a replacement part. None of the local shops had one in stock. I had fun asking though. I was amused by the shop guys' facial expressions. I could tell they were thinking, "Where is your husband?" I was even more amused to watch those expressions disappear when I asked for the part by name and number from memory. I had done my home work. I spoke the language. I really had no idea what I was saying, but they didn't know that. Alas, with each the result was the same. No part. One could be ordered and I'd have it in 10-14 days. In 10-14 days my yard would become a jungle. It was time to try something else.<br />
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I figured I'd call the mower manufacturer. What did I have to lose? It worked and in only two days my mower was back together. Yay! I was ridiculously proud of myself. It was a very simple repair, but I taught myself to do it. I felt so <i><span style="font-size: large;">capable</span></i>. The whole thing felt, as my kids would say, "epic."<br />
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It was too bad the grease washed off my hands so thoroughly. I kinda wanted to show it off. "What, that? Oh that's just some grease from the engine I just repaired." *cough, cough*<br />
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<br /><br />My lawn is nicely trimmed and all is as it should be. Except for that noise the car started making. Hmm... I wonder if there's a video for that.</div>
AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-74309556375898135972016-06-15T13:09:00.000-05:002016-06-15T13:16:21.056-05:00Party Twister<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some party games are more entertaining than others and each person has a favorite. I'm partial to word games and of course the boys enjoy games that require popping balloons or smearing each other with shaving cream. Mary loves treasure hunts, and Joey likes anything that involves running around and making lots of noise.<br />
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The head of our rowdy crew, Matt, prefers to avoid games altogether and being<i> his</i> birthday I decided to forgo Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and focus instead on food and atmosphere. Any games that popped up would be of the unplanned variety.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Xk-iWFvolp4bfjNWrSaXVUJxTYSGJQQ-Y6PDemsQB5JCh50Xf1LdBYl_qX3jKWrunYEM2IpNdY0sqmlD9sj70fMhEcDAxBDNQBdVkGDkJaXKAvAsKix-ixPkVNQTL1zvLCX-yWk9fYkn/s1600/Copy+of+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Xk-iWFvolp4bfjNWrSaXVUJxTYSGJQQ-Y6PDemsQB5JCh50Xf1LdBYl_qX3jKWrunYEM2IpNdY0sqmlD9sj70fMhEcDAxBDNQBdVkGDkJaXKAvAsKix-ixPkVNQTL1zvLCX-yWk9fYkn/s400/Copy+of+011.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did some one say party games?</td></tr>
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In honor of my Hawaiian shirt loving hubby the party had a luau theme.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRGi4QDJm6glFJNcsryEGYt3Gg6BrkH9EkQsSCJI64BiEP8hvgFtQghnebDrPYCth4XFM_b1DmmRhfpbrtNjPQrJGyUPt2MeR1RAKvXk3IHbvaIdAtjLQGPxwZiVoMpvHPnOQp-PMKxl2/s1600/Copy+of+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRGi4QDJm6glFJNcsryEGYt3Gg6BrkH9EkQsSCJI64BiEP8hvgFtQghnebDrPYCth4XFM_b1DmmRhfpbrtNjPQrJGyUPt2MeR1RAKvXk3IHbvaIdAtjLQGPxwZiVoMpvHPnOQp-PMKxl2/s400/Copy+of+012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary helped me decorate. Palm trees and pink flamingos...<br />
Are there flamingos in Hawaii?</td></tr>
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One of the nice things about having a husband who loves to cook, is... having a husband who loves to cook. It's awesome! I plan the menu and he makes it happen, even on his birthday.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Norma, Matt's mom traveled all the way from California <br />to be here in time for her son's birthday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Just look at those clouds behind them. It had been sunny only moments before.</span></td></tr>
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The party was a success. Everyone was having a lovely time and all was going well. Other than the fact that the weather radio kept going off with severe weather warnings, it was a perfect day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1tZd0y7j1xMqIS4oQwBfqwxAIdsyn9RWaxADEHOZmIj4rd8NiLBPCyl_3uhrpQduZhZQz-xqxLs5aqn5xjqqxPY8plsWZsCMU4SGz98xX8McpUcfDM4s-nRoZSdKAqSeDvm_VD5GtNcX/s1600/Copy+of+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1tZd0y7j1xMqIS4oQwBfqwxAIdsyn9RWaxADEHOZmIj4rd8NiLBPCyl_3uhrpQduZhZQz-xqxLs5aqn5xjqqxPY8plsWZsCMU4SGz98xX8McpUcfDM4s-nRoZSdKAqSeDvm_VD5GtNcX/s400/Copy+of+020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The storm would be arriving in fifteen minutes,<br />
and the chicken only needed another ten minutes on the grill, so... perfect timing, right?</td></tr>
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<div>
The wind began to pick up and the radio gave a new alert every minute or so. It was looking like we were in for a direct hit.<br />
<i>"...large hail... wind gusts to 70mph... expect significant damage to cars, trees, and roofs..."</i></div>
<div>
Bummer. </div>
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<div>
Matt sent the boys out to close up the chicken coop and duck house while he moved the van into the garage. Annie was closing windows. I watched images of the oncoming storm from the little TV in our bedroom. Tornadoes will occasionally form in storms like this and I always keep a eye for the beginnings of that signature "hook" that will show up on radar. Nothing so far.</div>
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A moment later I heard Matt. I had never heard him bellow like that! He was out back yelling at the boys, <i>"In the house, NOW!"</i></div>
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He had spotted a rotation in the clouds over the woods about a quarter mile behind our house. A large tree crashed to the ground. I ran to the dining room just as they charged through the door.<i> "It's a tornado!"</i> one of the boys cried.<i> "Really?"</i> I asked Matt. <i>"Not sure,"</i> he replied,<i> "but we're not waiting to find out! Everyone in the basement!"</i></div>
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Fumbling for a moment with the basement door, I got it open and the children and my mother-in-law rushed down the stairs. I glanced at Matt. The color had gone from his face. Joseph was in my arms as I started down the steps into the dark. Matt descended last, closing the door behind us. We were now in the basement, but <i>where</i> in the basement should we be? Normally storms come in from the West, but this one was rushing at us from the North. <i>"Come away from the North wall,"</i> I instructed. </div>
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We huddled close together in the South section and Brendan started the Divine Mercy prayer. In moments the storm overtook us. There were windows in this part of the basement. The sky turned a dark purplish-gray. I could see the young trees in our yard lashed about and bent until their tops brushed the ground. I rocked Joey back and forth as if he was so much younger. I'm not sure which of us I was trying to comfort. The sound of the wind grew louder. I had never heard anything like it. The wind absolutely howled down the chimney with a ferocity that made my heart pound. And then it was gone.</div>
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As quickly as it had come up the storm moved on. With prayers of thanksgiving we ascended the stairs and found nothing damaged beyond some broken limbs on the edge of our property. A stack of pallets and several sheets of plywood had been strewn about, but that was it. </div>
<div>
<i>"Great tornado drill, everyone!"</i> I cheered. I received a handful of weak smiles. I truly was pleased. Not only had no one been harmed, but each person had responded quickly and correctly. Good to know!</div>
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(We later heard that the storm rotation had produced an EF<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>0</b></span> tornado a few miles away, but the straight line winds had caused wide-spread damage - trees downed and power outages.) </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor Matt looked like he'd been put through the wringer. Concern for his family's safety had left him frazzled.</td></tr>
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We sat together at the table. I dished up the food. At first no one wanted to eat. We still needed to recover from the adrenaline that coursed through our systems. The storm was over. We were fine, but that mad dash for cover had left us shaken. </div>
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<i>"Well, </i><i><b>that</b></i> <i>was an exciting party game,"</i> someone joked. Now we were laughing, a mixture of humor and relief.<br />
The aroma of teriyaki chicken and grilled corn beckoned.<br />
Conversation became more animated.<br />
Birthday candles were extinguished, and gifts given.<br />
Our celebration slowly returned to normal.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who doesn't appreciate a card that features sharks with lasers on their heads?</td></tr>
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Well, as close to normal as this family gets.</div>
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AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-29602320137299044802016-06-14T08:56:00.000-05:002016-06-14T08:56:13.277-05:00Of Little Boys and Tractors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-5570525931075036612016-06-10T07:41:00.000-05:002016-06-10T07:41:13.647-05:00My No Errand DayI wouldn't say errands are the bane of my existence. It's not like they take up my whole day making it impossible to accomplish the other hundred and one things waiting to be checked off my list each day.<br />
<i>(Ahem)</i><br />
<br />
Early this morning I checked my calendar. Where would I be headed off to today? Grocery shopping? Doctor/dentist appointment? Taxiing teens to their jobs? The little square on the calendar was blank. Really? Could I really stay home today? I could clean my house? (How weird is it that the thought of house cleaning excited me?)<br />
Anywhoo...<br />
<br />
I finished my coffee and dressed for a day at home. I had just grabbed the laundry basket to carry clothes out to the line when the phone rang. It was Brendan's manager. Brendan needed to bring in his work permit. That meant a trip to the courthouse. No sooner did I set the phone down it rang again. We have a small rental property. Rent money was ready to be picked up. Fine, we could do both and still be home with plenty of daylight left.<br />
<br />
Stop 1) Driving into town (a 20 min. drive), I noticed I had forgotten to gas up the car on my last trip. I'd better stop at the gas station first.<br />
<br />
(Stop 2) Back on the road I realized the gas station was right across from the shop that had a part for the mower I was in the middle of repairing. How convenient! It would only take a moment. They didn't have the part in stock, but could order it. It would take 7- 10 days. How disappointing. Never mind. I'll try somewhere else.<br />
<br />
Stop 3) We stop at Brendan's workplace. He runs in to get the form we'll need to file at the courthouse.<br />
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Stop 4) Oh look, there's the bank. The renters have left a check there for us. Standing in line I remember we still have to pay the second installment of property taxes on the rental. I guess I should do that today. After all, we'll already be at the courthouse. I cash the check and withdraw a bit more to cover the tax.<br />
<br />
Stop 5) Now at the courthouse we sign the paperwork for Brendan's permit and wait for the clerk to enter everything into the database. Minutes tic by.<br />
<br />
Stop 6) The tax office is only a couple doors down. Paid. Done. Whew! We're good for the next six months.<br />
In the parking lot I receive a call from my hubby. He has a terrible headache and could I please bring him some medicine? (He is at a job site about 20 minutes away.)<br />
<br />
Stop 7) First we stop at Brendan's work and he drops off a copy of his completed work permit.<br />
Annie calls from home. We are out of eggs and cat food. There is a store on the way to Matt's work site.<br />
<br />
Stop 8) Eggs? Check. Cat food? Check. Oh, and fruit. Matt took the last piece with his lunch. Anything else? No? Good. Let's hurry so we can bring Matt his medicine and get home.<br />
<br />
Stop 9) Matt's easy to spot in his safety florescent yellow work shirt. We chat for a brief moment. "Can you believe they didn't have the mower part I need?" I ask. He tells me of a store one town over, (You guessed it - 20 minutes away.) that is sure to have the part in stock. I sigh thinking of the over-grown lawn.<br />
<br />
Stop 10) As we enter the new town Brendan discovers he still has a check he needs to deposit in his account. Our bank has a branch nearby. Speaking with the teller he explains he never received an ATM card. Looking into it she tells him he needs a different type of account, but not to worry, they could switch him over. There's a banker available now and it wouldn't take long at all.<br />
<br />
An hour later the banker is still clicking away on her computer setting up brand new checking and savings accounts for Brendan. He has lots of questions. I glance at the time and start to worry the parts shop will be closed by the time I get there. Little shops are notorious for closing well before their posted close time. The banker tells me head over to the shop now while she and Brendan finish up. Good idea.<br />
<br />
Stop 11) The shop is closed. I'm pretty sure there is another just down the road a bit.<br />
<br />
Stop 12) This one is open, but they don't have the part. They tell me to try the previous shop.<br />
<br />
Stop 13) Brendan is finished. He leaves the bank with two new accounts and a stack of paperwork to review.<br />
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Stop 14) Home at last! ...and it's time for me to start dinner.<br />
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Busy, busy, busy! So little time, so much to do.<br />
It's a good thing this was my <span style="font-size: large;">No Errand Day</span>.<br />
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<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-32343784624981062592016-05-12T13:13:00.000-05:002016-05-12T13:13:29.406-05:00A Fishy TailThis year opening day for fishing was Mother's Day. (Of course it was.) As I was enjoying the lovely dinner Matt and Annie made in my honor, I noticed Matt was restless. He kept looking at his watch and glancing out the window at the lowering sun. Mid-bite it dawned on me.<br />
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<i>"You want to go fishing!" </i><br />
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He had been talking about it for weeks, but today was Mother's Day and he didn't want to disappoint me by taking off in the middle of dinner. I glanced at Annie. She would keep an eye on the kids.<br />
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<i>"Come on! Let's go!"</i> I said, grabbing him by the hand.<br />
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We live two minutes from the river and in flash I was settling down to watch on the grass near the water's edge. This really was a pretty spot. I could hear noisy birds, and the roar of water pouring over the small dam before rolling it's way over the rocks that extended into the middle of the river. The late day sun gave the newly-leafed trees a gorgeous green glow. The rocky river bottom could be seen through the tea-colored water and an occasional splash verified the presence of more than a few hungry fish. Matt waded in and made his first cast. Hopefully we'd have trout for dinner tomorrow.<br />
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Matt's shout alerted me he had indeed hooked something. That was fast! I ran to the car to grab the bucket. Any moment now we would have a trout or maybe a pike to bring home. I sat back down on the grass, bucket at my side, and waited.<br />
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An HOUR later I was still waiting. This was ridiculous. What on earth had he hooked? We still hadn't caught sight of the creature, but every time Matt reeled it in closer, it would suddenly take off pulling the line out behind it. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. We were going to lose light before long. He had to land this fish!<br />
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Suddenly the fish made for the rocks below the dam and for the first time we saw a sharp tail fin cut through the water's surface. Wait a minute. I knew that profile. These were the telling fins of a fish we had gathered many times to witness during spawning season. We loved these massive, magnificent, prehistoric-looking fish. Lake Sturgeon. Oh no! Matt had unintentionally hooked one! (They're not legal to keep.)<br />
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<i>"Matt!"</i> I called. <i>"I think you got a sturgeon. You have to release it!"</i><br />
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Just then I heard a "snap" as the line broke. The fish settled into the shallows near the rocks. Matt waded over to remove the hook and rest of the line. As he grabbed hold to pull out the hook the giant fish executed what looked like an alligator death roll. From the shore all I could see was a massive amount of splashing. A moment later the fish swam off unharmed and Matt was carefully making his way back to me. It was difficult for him to see where he was putting his feet in the dusky light. I prayed he wouldn't fall in.<br />
<br />
Poor man. All that work and he couldn't even keep his catch. He had so wanted to bring some fish home. I hoped he wasn't too disappointed. He wasn't. His hand was bruised and bleeding from a small cut, but he was grinning from ear to ear.<br />
<br />
"Did you see the size of that thing?" he asked excitedly. "If he stood on his tail, he would have reached up to my shoulder! He must have been seventy pounds, at least! And all that on a six pound test line!"<br />
<br />
We returned home that evening without a fish, without a photo, with the only proof of his catch - a Band-aid on his hand... But what a fish story!<br />
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I didn't have a camera when Matt went fishing, but here are a few photos taken last year when our family went to see the sturgeon spawning on the larger Wolf River. Hundreds turn out for this annual event.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4oeR3zdgvEcEfInL6lN6mPCKr8OX_zN4GP83BShZlwKWFtptqwV_y1X_N9xDGXDhkJmUaJkjCjqT1uOLpk7Pz8yMkXFs2lnrjqLM10f0McS5Bd63g1eEp1pz8E2hMUI1mB7yoesEQ-DM/s1600/13214496_1222180347816913_1290863212_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4oeR3zdgvEcEfInL6lN6mPCKr8OX_zN4GP83BShZlwKWFtptqwV_y1X_N9xDGXDhkJmUaJkjCjqT1uOLpk7Pz8yMkXFs2lnrjqLM10f0McS5Bd63g1eEp1pz8E2hMUI1mB7yoesEQ-DM/s320/13214496_1222180347816913_1290863212_o.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uLU1vWldLK-OaH7G5pLHP5PksePfZK_r8MzwXs9MBQ1o3l4VoEgT6cMn7ucs-Pl3XJs-5bgy95OdkdZXbwMhYO90ZoVfV28DXt_AN3je4fHneDE1sE7qdR0gsgZZUkRIivas4n5IgX3F/s1600/13214676_1222180271150254_769092869_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uLU1vWldLK-OaH7G5pLHP5PksePfZK_r8MzwXs9MBQ1o3l4VoEgT6cMn7ucs-Pl3XJs-5bgy95OdkdZXbwMhYO90ZoVfV28DXt_AN3je4fHneDE1sE7qdR0gsgZZUkRIivas4n5IgX3F/s320/13214676_1222180271150254_769092869_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
What a good big brother.<br />
Alex was keeping Mary from getting too close.<br />
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Do you see how tightly I was holding him? Joey wanted to "pet the fish."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYX8f5rxpl0CvbvH3VfAbi911splmJNYu9kCvEqsfNmqbBYQ2PMrf-KzgKf8obYe9TbCD2oKRG0AKVNwxbwiR9MVCt0vI91HevwDLBmu4sJFqH2S4hzju0O5y7cenkloG4eqmeYieoxTHY/s1600/13214477_1222180214483593_1287699540_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYX8f5rxpl0CvbvH3VfAbi911splmJNYu9kCvEqsfNmqbBYQ2PMrf-KzgKf8obYe9TbCD2oKRG0AKVNwxbwiR9MVCt0vI91HevwDLBmu4sJFqH2S4hzju0O5y7cenkloG4eqmeYieoxTHY/s320/13214477_1222180214483593_1287699540_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgap9GSOsI_nPpGiNUPVs1EJYHLTCMJfuYicPB6SwZXpHheeGE0pBWTMSjXCVoPHZgaR4zSHb7ZOXX_Ut6Geddn1kMfagXhpaK4QAvI7Kg58pEqMEEVfc1DOhCHDmQDqsLMvOpN4TtggiZv/s1600/13234552_1222180334483581_608622263_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgap9GSOsI_nPpGiNUPVs1EJYHLTCMJfuYicPB6SwZXpHheeGE0pBWTMSjXCVoPHZgaR4zSHb7ZOXX_Ut6Geddn1kMfagXhpaK4QAvI7Kg58pEqMEEVfc1DOhCHDmQDqsLMvOpN4TtggiZv/s320/13234552_1222180334483581_608622263_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"I see them!"<br />
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The DNR catches,measures, and tags some of the sturgeon before releasing them. Huge crowds<br />
gather to watch.<br />
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Smile Matt! Your turn will come.AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-86888039866588725252016-05-05T21:09:00.000-05:002016-05-05T21:13:45.580-05:00Just Because<div style="text-align: center;">
Joey in an Alien Hat and Monster Feet</div>
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You're welcome.</div>
<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-26352926136738446842016-01-20T19:16:00.003-06:002016-01-20T19:16:54.742-06:00The Mice Will Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I had wondered what the kids do when I'm out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Now I know...</i></span></div>
<br /><br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JRzxMk5lZs4/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JRzxMk5lZs4?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6903798776967262232.post-54149699678214446932015-12-31T10:36:00.001-06:002015-12-31T10:36:36.736-06:00A Penny's Worth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Penny is acting weird," Mary reported. "I found her standing in the duck's water dish."<br />
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David immediately grabbed his jacket and headed out through the snow. No longer welcome in the chicken coop, Penny had been happily living with the ducks in the back pasture duck house. She had been doing well. She was a loved chicken with a special spot on a perch near the heat lamp and treats the kids brought her. I hoped she wasn't <a href="http://coldanchorfarm.blogspot.com/2015/10/most-of-which-never-happened.html" target="_blank">sick again</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltm4IR9fOVhRC4J2kVE0SBEkb7z4r0E8iY9NJL9vOz_9jjb5N_r36WK89z1Bsf66S-TRKEObvMxBc6Sx7iT84weeEbuZkWrgS56SkUavOAAdqdFhJHaCI580gTIE9ScTWy2aHhsLxKcYh/s1600/Copy+of+IMG_1081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltm4IR9fOVhRC4J2kVE0SBEkb7z4r0E8iY9NJL9vOz_9jjb5N_r36WK89z1Bsf66S-TRKEObvMxBc6Sx7iT84weeEbuZkWrgS56SkUavOAAdqdFhJHaCI580gTIE9ScTWy2aHhsLxKcYh/s320/Copy+of+IMG_1081.JPG" width="320" /></a>"She's too cold. For some reason she's not staying near the heat." David brought her into the kitchen. Her feathers were puffed up and her comb looked ragged. She snuggled into his arms and promptly fell asleep.<br />
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David and I made a bed for her in a box down in the warm basement. We'd keep her inside until she looked better. She seemed to perk up when we brought her food and water. I figured in a day or two she'd be back out where she belonged.<br />
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Just before bed last night Dave went to check on her. He came back up in a rush. One look at his face and I knew what had happened. Penny was gone. The sad news quickly spread. The kids were heartbroken.<br />
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Does one mourn a chicken? Apparently, the answer is yes. We had indeed become attached to this little bird. She was a silly thing, who liked to sit on our front porch, peering in the windows, pecking at the glass for attention. Like a dog she followed the children around the yard, ever curious about what they were doing. A show off, she lorded her freedom over the other chickens, strutting around the outside of their fenced yard, eating grasses and bugs beyond their reach. And she loved my boy. She looked for David and always came to him to be petted.<br />
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It's funny the way some animals worm their way into our hearts. They each add something unique to the wonder of our world. They have value and worth. They are gifts from a God who loves us, and we are grateful.<br />
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Rest in Peace, Penny girl.<br />
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<br />AnchorMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17809305719075093774noreply@blogger.com0