tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54458193675768457152024-03-18T03:02:35.661-04:00Words on WheelsDebbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.comBlogger509125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-83968050047346447452014-12-01T07:59:00.001-05:002020-07-30T17:27:17.639-04:00I'm Finding Myself At A Loss For Words<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">... and the funny thing is, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">it's OK.</span></div>
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In case you're unfamiliar with it,</div>
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those are the words to one of my favorite songs, </div>
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<i>Word of God Speak, </i>by Mercy Me.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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That song has been my<span style="font-size: large;"> theme song</span> for the past few months. Yes, I pick theme songs for certain seasons of my life. When you're the star of your own personal situation comedy, that's the kind of thing you do. It happened to be playing in the background one day as I was foraging through Hobby Lobby, looking for some purple-y fall schlock<i> </i>for the October tablescape challenge over at Cuisine Kathleen's place. For a variety of reasons, it spoke to me. It spoke to me so strongly that I put all my purple schlock back on the shelf, left the store empty handed, and went home. </div>
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Have you seen the new reality show on TLC where three families agree to go <span style="font-size: large;">off the grid </span>for a while in an effort to save their families? Yeah, well, that's <i>kinda</i> what I thought God was telling me to do, only in <i>my case </i>it didn't involve an outhouse and washboard. </div>
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And in my case, I wasn't trying to save my family as much as my sanity. <br />
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Or maybe, it was my <i>family's</i> <i>sanity </i>and my broken spirit. </div>
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Whatever the reason, I found myself at a loss for words. (And the funny thing is, it's OK...) I stepped away from all things internet, gave up the teaching of my women's class for a while, and waited (and waited and waited) for the still, small, voice. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes,</span> there's a back story<span style="font-size: large;">, </span>and <span style="font-size: large;">no</span>, I'm not going to yak about it, at least not right now. I've tried to come up with some eloquent yet pithy way to describe what happened to break my spirit, but for the life of me, all I can come up with is this:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Somebody was mean. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></i><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">No, it wasn't a family member. The family is <span style="font-size: large;">fine. </span>Sir Lotsa Hair hasn't run off to join the circus or anything. </span><span style="text-align: center;">Miss Whimsy is working locally for now, and The Practical One just flew in and out for the Thanksgiving holiday. </span><span style="text-align: center;"> The Duchess and her new bionic knees are busy creating her 2014 Christmas house. </span></div>
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<br />
We even got to take down our <span style="font-size: large;">yellow ribbons </span>last week,<br />
way ahead of schedule.<br />
<br />
I really wanted to blog about all of that,<br />
but well, you know... <i>the theme song</i> and all...</div>
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<br />
Right now, I'm trying to elf myself into the Christmas spirit,<br />
one Hallmark movie at a time.<br />
Though I'm still at a loss for words, I do have a new,<span style="font-size: large;"> shiny red Iphone</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>which is ready for some adventure. Kind of puts a damper on things<br />
when you've lost your yakabout.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So here's the thing...</span></div>
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I would love to have you join me on facebook and instagram for now.<br />
In case you missed it, I've got the little buttons up in the<span style="font-size: large;"> corner</span> that look like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZFCIKkguoMWGUM87JApfWc5eU0ZO2OdzYAXkyXFI2uhuG-2hVIJ3FsYPqZ0Vt-8DIRp2KCMuNjoaf3gBPMQsqLCUFZixlDp3o8Td-CbH5JmQoiAKqWov-35yFNMi93A1vMNtMMGLA-Y/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZFCIKkguoMWGUM87JApfWc5eU0ZO2OdzYAXkyXFI2uhuG-2hVIJ3FsYPqZ0Vt-8DIRp2KCMuNjoaf3gBPMQsqLCUFZixlDp3o8Td-CbH5JmQoiAKqWov-35yFNMi93A1vMNtMMGLA-Y/s1600/1.png" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpEt2W-83ad13Zn4o0yOMwZ-ZE0NMR3s-WYF4jQazctRcC98vV86JHZge4n7UxXwFlOwJM5orK-jj_CemsfBk8O4MdoA_QOSvTMIbhgv1YdrxOTJp5AnvyzoET_vwUDJDYFgR5Viwqcc/s1600/2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpEt2W-83ad13Zn4o0yOMwZ-ZE0NMR3s-WYF4jQazctRcC98vV86JHZge4n7UxXwFlOwJM5orK-jj_CemsfBk8O4MdoA_QOSvTMIbhgv1YdrxOTJp5AnvyzoET_vwUDJDYFgR5Viwqcc/s1600/2.png" /></a><br />
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Just <span style="font-size: large;">click </span>them and join me.<br />
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<i>Don't worry... </i><br />
<i>You won't have to fight a crowd to get a good seat.</i><br />
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If you don't have a facebook or intagram account, <i>now</i> would be the time to create one.<br />
<br />
(I'm needy like that and not too proud to beg.)<br />
<br />
Because I'm finding myself at a loss for words.<br />
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<i>And the funny thing is, it's OK. </i><br />
<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/W8cJQMU9Q-U" width="420"></iframe></div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-69949568009069265022014-10-12T14:57:00.001-04:002020-07-30T17:40:59.250-04:00Me and My Drum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It has been nearly a decade since <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5va1iaLj2M"><i>Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show</i></a><i> </i>came into town. They came for a revival service at the First Baptist Church. Brother Love was an amazing speaker. He had his own brand of hybrid holiness which combined stand up comedy with hell-fire and brimstone. His wife played the piano and belted out original compositions which could be purchased for a reasonable price in the vestibule. Visa and Master Card accepted.<br />
<br />
By all worldly accounts, the show was a success. Night after night, they filled the pews for an evening of high church entertainment which had us rolling in the aisles. We weren't rolling with the Spirit; we were rolling with laughter as he pranced back and forth across his stage, perfectly executing one joke after another. His favorite topic was that of the <span style="font-size: large;">church flowers</span> and the persnickety old ladies who arranged them. <br />
<br />
If he thought he wasn't getting quite enough response on <i>another subject,</i> he would trot over to the flowers, pick them up, and threaten to move them on us. <br />
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Oh how funny he was...<br />
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I'm ashamed to say that I laughed right along with everyone else. The guy was gifted, after all. Besides, I had my own personal pious opinion about the <i>non eternal</i> things in worship, and I figured he had a point about church flowers being one of them.<br />
<br />
So yes, I laughed.<br />
<br />
It was in the middle of one such chuckle that my eyes <i>just happened</i> to light on an old woman in the section in front of me. She wasn't scowling, but she definitely wasn't laughing either. She was just staring down at her lap. If I had to give her look a name, I guess I would call it embarrassment. I might even go so far as to call it shame. As you might have guessed, she was the resident flower lady.<br />
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Now, lest you think our flower lady was some pickle- faced old crone, please think again. Our flower lady was the most unassuming old soul in the church. If there is such a thing as being quiet to a fault (and I'm pretty sure there isn't), this woman would be<i> that </i>quiet. She had one of those soft, white, faces, the kind that made you want to reach out and touch it to see if it was really as soft as it looked. Her heart was as soft as her face, too. I never heard of her so much as giving an unkind <span style="font-size: large;">look </span>to anyone, let alone speaking an unkind word.. As presence goes, she was practically invisible, and all signs pointed to the fact that she liked it that way.<br />
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There was just one area where she <span style="font-size: large;">stepped out</span>, and that was in the area of gardening. The lady was a <i>flower whisperer.</i> Her skill at growing and arranging flowers was legendary in our little town, and aside from her role in the local garden club, she poured every bit of that skill into the flowers of the First Baptist Church.<br />
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Week after week, month after month,</div>
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year after year, decade after decade. </div>
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It wasn't until Christmas that I discovered she was no longer doing the job. She had exited in her characteristically <span style="font-size: large;">quiet way </span>at the fall turnover. I only realized it because the Christmas decorations had a distinctly different flair to them. They had a more designer, <i>Southern Living</i> look than usual, a look that was (dare I say it?) beautifully <i>faux. </i>Their loveliness had been credited in the church bulletin to our new <span style="font-size: large;">flower committee.</span> <br />
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It was just a week later that the local Garden Club held their annual Christmas Tour of Homes. Our old Flower Lady was involved as usual. When I saw her standing quietly in the corner of one of the homes on tour, I was reminded of the church and the revival, and I wondered for about the hundredth time if his <span style="font-size: large;">words</span> had hurt her spirit.<br />
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And you know how whenever something pops into my head, it <i>almost always </i>wants to pop out of my mouth? Yeah, well it did that day. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I walked over to her and told her how much I missed her <i>personal touch</i> with the flowers and decorations at the church.<br />
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She looked at me for a few seconds, and then her eyes started to fill with tears.</div>
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<i>Debbie</i>, she said,</div>
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<i>Do you know that you're the only person who has noticed that</i></div>
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<i>I'm no longer doing something to which I gave my heart and soul for over forty years? </i></div>
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I didn't know what to say. I just reached out, took her hand, and mumbled something awkward about my being the only one to <span style="font-size: large;">say it,</span> but most certainly not the only one to <span style="font-size: large;">notice it. </span>We had a few more kindred moments before I moved on to tour the home.<br />
<br />
She collapsed later that day.<br />
<br />
Right there on the tour of homes, she had some sort of a fainting spell and had to be taken to the emergency room. I think the doctor diagnosed her with a terminal case of<span style="font-size: large;"> old age </span>and sent her home to pasture out her days. As far as I can recall, she never made it back to church again. Not long after that, she passed away.<br />
<br />
Hardly a Sunday goes by that I don't think of that Flower Lady. I'll look at the flowers in the sanctuary, ordered from some local florist <i>to the glory of God or in memory of a loved one</i>, and I'll think about how that quiet old woman turned her <span style="font-size: large;">love </span>for flowers into a <span style="font-size: large;">gift</span> for the King.<br />
<br />
Maybe it didn't matter to <i>Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show.</i> I mean, Heaven forbid that anyone be distracted from his theatrics by a bunch of silly flowers. Maybe it didn't matter to anyone else in the church, either, and yes, in the whole, <span style="font-size: large;">eternal </span>scheme of things, maybe it doesn't matter whether we have flowers in a church at all.<br />
<br />
But it mattered <i>to her. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Like the Little Drummer Boy in the Christmas song, she had <span style="font-size: large;">one gift</span> to bring that was fit to give the King. <br />
<br />
<i>pa rumpa pum pum...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Maybe the flowers in the sanctuary don't have an<span style="font-size: large;"> eternal importance</span> to God, but the people who <i>put them there</i> <span style="font-size: large;">do. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
I happen to think that God has a particular fondness for all things botanical, too. After all, that <span style="font-size: large;">crown</span> of <span style="font-size: large;">righteousness</span> in scripture isn't a crown of jewels. It's the <i>stephanos</i>, the crown of victory given to the winners in the ancient Greek games. It's a <span style="font-size: large;">wreath</span> of <span style="font-size: large;">leaves.</span><br />
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Of course, when I think about the Flower Lady receiving her <i>stephanos</i>, I like to think that maybe... <i>just maybe</i>... He crowned her with a wreath of blossoms instead, blossoms collected from decades of her simple gifts to Him. And I like to think that maybe... <i>just maybe</i>... when she finally saw God face to face, He smiled at her and said, " Mary, I like flowers, too." <br />
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<b><i>The words of the reckless pierce like swords, </i></b><br />
<b><i>but the words of the wise bring healing. </i></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Proverbs 12:18</span><br />
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So, be careful little tongue what you say...<br />
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*****</div>
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comments off</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-67687565021743703782014-10-05T11:43:00.002-04:002020-07-30T17:45:52.254-04:00Gurgles and Bloops and Uplifted Roots<div style="text-align: center;">
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We knew there was a problem six months ago. </div>
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Technically, we knew it even before then. Even before the first of the year, we knew there was a problem with<i> the flow</i> around this joint. It didn't come with an unfortunate septic incident or anything. It came with a very quiet <span style="font-size: large;">gurgling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i>bloop-bloop</i><br />
<br />
I heard it one morning when the Man of the Place was in the shower. Then, I heard it again the next day, and then again a few days later. Because I'm sort of an ostrich when it comes to house gurgles, it took me that long to mention it to him. Because he's a man and apparently speaks fluent <i>toilet gurgle</i>, he called the plumber <b>that day. </b><br />
<br />
By the end of<b> that day,</b> we had had a visit from the septic tank guys. Crisis averted.<br />
<br />
That's what I thought, anyway. Then, a few months later...<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> bloop-bloop. </i><br />
<br />
This time the septic doctors pointed the bony finger at an innocent looking crepe myrtle standing too close to the junction box. They kind of pointed the finger <i>at us</i>, too, as if we had planted it there like a couple of morons. <br />
<br />
We hadn't. In fairness, <b><i>we </i>didn't plant that tree</b>; someone else did. We're just guilty of leaving it there. Mainly, we left it there out of ignorance. Besides, I liked that tree. It was pretty, and the flowering branches shaded the front porch. I wasn't even willing to let the man of the place trim it back all that regularly. I just let it grow.<br />
<br />
All the time that beautiful tree was growing on the top, the roots were growing on the bottom and spreading in the direction of the junction box. Once they got there, they began a slow, invisible strangle. <br />
<br />
Wouldn't you think we would have pulled up that tree six months ago? But no, we didn't. We tried some sort of hyperbolic root blasting method instead. For a while, all was quiet around here, but then... <br />
<br />
<i>bloop-bloop</i>.<br />
<br />
It was time to surrender.<br />
<br />
I watched as Mr. Backhoe Man reached into the ground and ever so easily pulled up what was left of the crepe myrtle. It took him all of two minutes.<br />
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How can something so beautiful on the surface</div>
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have such <span style="font-size: large;">ugly </span><span style="font-size: large;">roots</span>?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVidYRm4LjPrAoJhlMfWlBbhLt-z5rOyhKno39OPcC7NjKPhMpS9aVIScEJtzGl8PGdy9dsSSVN_Z8I7iHAVXKdRmV27M6uJYhduhikcms5mECkrHIu_txyBL6AiFZKjVVU8ATEDbrAZQ/s1600/roots+better.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVidYRm4LjPrAoJhlMfWlBbhLt-z5rOyhKno39OPcC7NjKPhMpS9aVIScEJtzGl8PGdy9dsSSVN_Z8I7iHAVXKdRmV27M6uJYhduhikcms5mECkrHIu_txyBL6AiFZKjVVU8ATEDbrAZQ/s1600/roots+better.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I dunno. It just can. </i></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A little tangle of roots can cause an awful lot of collateral damage, too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cprTA-YFCSJet4N4VsvNhW7zMd0pX6THRSr_zGdLoRHJGxnxmWxUBSMj5_Jnie9_Ct-6bktgdwKC7-UOaVHoZdimC26s6Z_5DpFqFIN3sjqbyFgviDYV7ZBv7RWY5kMf1fy6hnGXgmk/s1600/Edestroyed+lawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cprTA-YFCSJet4N4VsvNhW7zMd0pX6THRSr_zGdLoRHJGxnxmWxUBSMj5_Jnie9_Ct-6bktgdwKC7-UOaVHoZdimC26s6Z_5DpFqFIN3sjqbyFgviDYV7ZBv7RWY5kMf1fy6hnGXgmk/s1600/Edestroyed+lawn.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I stood outside that day and looked from the roots to the ditch, and the ditch to the roots, and suddenly, I <i>*got*</i> it. I got it so clearly that I looked up at the sky and gave God <i>the look.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You know the one, the one that says,<br />
<i>"Doink!" </i></div>
<br />
You see, I've been dealing with some serious flow problems around here of another sort, too, a <span style="font-size: large;">spiritual</span> sort. You can call it coincidental or ironic if you want to, but I choose to call it Providential that almost the <i>exact same week</i> <i>six months ago,</i> I had a a crisis of the spirit. <br />
<br />
What's more? I had been hearing the gurgling for longer than that. I had tried nearly everything to stop it, too. It would quiet down for a while, but then...<br />
<br />
<i>bloop-bloop</i><br />
<br />
Six months ago, it all came to an ugly head. Six months ago, I discovered some really ugly roots growing too close to my spiritual junction box. <i>I hadn't planted them</i>,<i> either</i>. I was just guilty of letting them grow. You know, for the sake of the<span style="font-size: large;"> tree.</span><br />
<br />
Can anyone relate?<br />
<br />
Wouldn't you think I would have pulled up roots when I discovered them six months ago? But no. I didn't want to be left <span style="font-size: large;">treeless.</span> I tried to blast through those bitter roots with the power of prayer instead.<br />
<br />
It didn't work.<br />
<br />
It didn't work because, sometimes, all the prayer in the world won't blast through a problem that God says it's time to <span style="font-size: large;">uproot. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
As I stood there surveying the damage that day, I kind of wanted to give myself a good, swift kick in pants. I thought about how much my lawn... <i>and my spirit.</i>.. might have grown in the six months that I wasted trying to keep the<span style="font-size: large;"> roots</span> for the sake of the <span style="font-size: large;">trees, </span> and I could <i>almost</i> hear the voice of Little Debbie the Closet Stuffer from <a href="http://wordsuponwheels.blogspot.com/2011/04/musta-been-da-debil.html">THIS POST</a> that I wrote years ago:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i>
<i>Musta been da debil... </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Musta been da debil that made me leave those bitter roots in the way. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But the Lord's in me now, 'cause I'm pulling them up. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I won't say it has been easy, and I won't say it has been fun, but this one thing I know: The view from the porch has changed since the beginning of the week. The time for uprooting is over, and now it's time grow. As for the tree? Well, leave it to God to show us that what we think we want is never is good as what He wants for us. You see, I was fighting to keep the shade, but He was trying to give me the sun.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7a3BqsW-cXZjCHLkTjuia5uJoR6RxHAx0iTx0KE41R9faCv5BVvb7vP6Kc5WuriBLhXzqui9ZqWLg493ZrDm_4FeENg-AwYb0dDm6K3IH8RlNli4WGKfKpF9CET_SCDTyS0NZ5m1Cff0/s1600/sunshine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7a3BqsW-cXZjCHLkTjuia5uJoR6RxHAx0iTx0KE41R9faCv5BVvb7vP6Kc5WuriBLhXzqui9ZqWLg493ZrDm_4FeENg-AwYb0dDm6K3IH8RlNli4WGKfKpF9CET_SCDTyS0NZ5m1Cff0/s1600/sunshine.JPG" width="361" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heaven. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A time to be born, and a time to die. </i><br />
<i>A time to plant and a time to uproot what has been planted. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*****</i><br />
<i>comments off</i></div>
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-64991542392551130462014-09-29T08:46:00.003-04:002020-07-30T17:48:47.986-04:00I Fought The Lawn...<div style="text-align: center;">
... and the <span style="font-size: large;">lawn won. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfMMPEB5rErA4h4L-6mYV_lU_J9d9IRM_cYui9rofdeqW1zHyQMkfprmxvFj-G7vE12TbOJfdKmzZaI6KKc_zMgMmTL8rmn-nwW9QbX9hEj2Sgt-icTiQTZa_wVwSAyDz3_aFlid0wlA/s1600/E+lawn+won.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfMMPEB5rErA4h4L-6mYV_lU_J9d9IRM_cYui9rofdeqW1zHyQMkfprmxvFj-G7vE12TbOJfdKmzZaI6KKc_zMgMmTL8rmn-nwW9QbX9hEj2Sgt-icTiQTZa_wVwSAyDz3_aFlid0wlA/s1600/E+lawn+won.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I fought the lawn, and the lawn won.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
That was <i>my version</i> of the vintage tune stuck in my head like an ear worm for the past week.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
I kept singing it over and over. </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And. Over.</div>
<br />
I have no clue what the rest of the words are to the <i>actual</i> song so I just filled the gaps with some carefully placed <i>doot- doot- dooting</i>. It worked for me. It kept my mouth occupied and away from worthless lamentation and grumbly grousing as we attempted to save both a lawn and the privilege of indoor plumbing.<br />
<br />
<br />
The rest of this post will be short on words. Nobody wants to hear it, anyway. I just figured that some of you might have wondered what had sidelined my flower cart for the past week.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Here's a quick recap. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We tried to salvage as much sod as time and strength would allow before the backhoe came. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioWUTafwOUG1SXb9sokDqC3qB42Lo2iyKF55p0oZvEk_eU5TBtv5JhOBsQ6REu3o5bO0lHAN4X5RNhylIzmKCyErCyMgCSdLwGWu99k2ebtWtVsK_li2O0TlF7yG3gxETpaTI1uLLYs6w/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioWUTafwOUG1SXb9sokDqC3qB42Lo2iyKF55p0oZvEk_eU5TBtv5JhOBsQ6REu3o5bO0lHAN4X5RNhylIzmKCyErCyMgCSdLwGWu99k2ebtWtVsK_li2O0TlF7yG3gxETpaTI1uLLYs6w/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Time and strength didn't allow very much. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mr. Backhoe Man came. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfVnTd77dTfWXkoRkSCYq8zBHo_XR7WJsSZv3UfYiGm_cS95ExETc2mpdw7p2_CxkXEEUe_aE5DXBQhIqg4HpvkIqJ7y3Bup_mZg_mxeWkZJgB9w379AKXMG514K84CpRqiQmjqc5sSw/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfVnTd77dTfWXkoRkSCYq8zBHo_XR7WJsSZv3UfYiGm_cS95ExETc2mpdw7p2_CxkXEEUe_aE5DXBQhIqg4HpvkIqJ7y3Bup_mZg_mxeWkZJgB9w379AKXMG514K84CpRqiQmjqc5sSw/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He came with his backhoe, and his big old truck and trailer, and two more tractors. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which are apparently called <span style="font-size: large;">tractors </span>because they leave<span style="font-size: large;"> tracks, </span>right? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOQlvEbkI3F3hUj-Eopx5Rm7QC4kgW09MD-nP-wZmmCE5ZDJ_MAB89WZKS5I4i1N9YVp5UQdva-UcLy4cjwuY-NCH7fIra75iQqG1YyMoXLFw3XNEWPVv6kj4tDMcrSQjgOnl8OjsTq4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOQlvEbkI3F3hUj-Eopx5Rm7QC4kgW09MD-nP-wZmmCE5ZDJ_MAB89WZKS5I4i1N9YVp5UQdva-UcLy4cjwuY-NCH7fIra75iQqG1YyMoXLFw3XNEWPVv6kj4tDMcrSQjgOnl8OjsTq4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They tracked in areas not even remotely close to the trench they were digging. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dkC_qLMvEPfnZ7xC73ce12pGEjFzSAcQEcRCGDuXM1K108k361xJqyfdYR4ZcRBIRjfYf0tNIWN39dt5QaBvn8T7tOmyjcwA_muVNeNEXSTJegnzvdsusveh7yjqKl5r4zO7Q0gi67I/s1600/Edestroyed+lawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dkC_qLMvEPfnZ7xC73ce12pGEjFzSAcQEcRCGDuXM1K108k361xJqyfdYR4ZcRBIRjfYf0tNIWN39dt5QaBvn8T7tOmyjcwA_muVNeNEXSTJegnzvdsusveh7yjqKl5r4zO7Q0gi67I/s1600/Edestroyed+lawn.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's because the big pile of <span style="font-size: large;">gravel</span> that was going into said trench </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
was unloaded onto the driveway and then <span style="font-size: large;">tracked </span>across the lawn.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFT99LLa_MO7xxoi_7o0v8FQzb_rhVq9dqJVXVym1qdv1lnsYv1PIHTuKzx7r_W-rikCLg_ju5hciyJB9kVCNrX9R2sVGrdK1qF3f-ML1msVUwYTwcPOKuMEqSfK56dcgGQTtyXdZg-TM/s1600/E+junction+box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFT99LLa_MO7xxoi_7o0v8FQzb_rhVq9dqJVXVym1qdv1lnsYv1PIHTuKzx7r_W-rikCLg_ju5hciyJB9kVCNrX9R2sVGrdK1qF3f-ML1msVUwYTwcPOKuMEqSfK56dcgGQTtyXdZg-TM/s1600/E+junction+box.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The new junction box that started the whole thing. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSq3BEuAmT427ZT7ft7uk7JQ6iN57c35EDa8g40eRrbggikM2_cWwUWL_vjSD7zOjkKZTjEhyRpDHp5QgR_PugITz3YmPdnX44oNWlowj90iiHbZptuq6xyjCITTYlhKCTV-xa2kqU45U/s1600/E+pumpkin+latte+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSq3BEuAmT427ZT7ft7uk7JQ6iN57c35EDa8g40eRrbggikM2_cWwUWL_vjSD7zOjkKZTjEhyRpDHp5QgR_PugITz3YmPdnX44oNWlowj90iiHbZptuq6xyjCITTYlhKCTV-xa2kqU45U/s1600/E+pumpkin+latte+2.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The pumpkin latte that helped me cope with the whole thing. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmoj3i9Kp4NpHLUVAAfBcJjw43DI5ONvaU0qZvCuNi-XmG4NmzXQK2XRGz8tM90syD0oBuWvLEfRPzzQwZ4b827Z8jxDf0JIWDzVztgkn6jYaiQ8G-YQGwEfT8R1WI1e1fVH07Oiua5M/s1600/E+after+the+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmoj3i9Kp4NpHLUVAAfBcJjw43DI5ONvaU0qZvCuNi-XmG4NmzXQK2XRGz8tM90syD0oBuWvLEfRPzzQwZ4b827Z8jxDf0JIWDzVztgkn6jYaiQ8G-YQGwEfT8R1WI1e1fVH07Oiua5M/s1600/E+after+the+party.jpg" width="486" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The tractor tracks when it was all said and done. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(I do give them an A for leveling it off nicely.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPbbzMjGIpJGoLeweWneGF5pjIM6qF6K6z8YNYWUHttBmb65AQzcdvfBaWUVqyVDBbG6mB6-vd0UGN6stZ7FVPr8ZApz99ooLV8cJbj6V5MocB9Rdbp06DxAqaGqogMllE2N0942BWrQ/s1600/E+trying+to+relay+the+sod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPbbzMjGIpJGoLeweWneGF5pjIM6qF6K6z8YNYWUHttBmb65AQzcdvfBaWUVqyVDBbG6mB6-vd0UGN6stZ7FVPr8ZApz99ooLV8cJbj6V5MocB9Rdbp06DxAqaGqogMllE2N0942BWrQ/s1600/E+trying+to+relay+the+sod.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And here's where we are in putting it back together again, one clump at a time. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This <i>whackado </i>method came on the advice of a neighbor </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
who was the first one in the 'hood to survive an unfortunate septic incident. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We'll be adding seed later in the week. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And that's all I have to offer this morning. <br />
Yes, I know it's not the most interesting post, but it is what it is.<br />
<br />
'Cause I fought the lawn, and the lawn won. <br />
I fought the lawn, and the lawn won...<br />
<br />
****<br />
Oh, and by the way?<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy National Coffee Day!!</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-18424823352571193222014-09-23T07:45:00.003-04:002014-09-23T16:21:35.632-04:00Thrifty Thelma and the Three Dollar LampsDo you have one of those friends who loves to get all her clothes at the thrift store so she can tell you all about it?<br />
<br />
You know the kind I mean, the Thrifty Thelma who can't receive a compliment on her blouse without assigning it a dollar amount followed by an outfit yakabout that sounds like a clip from <i>The Price Is Right</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This blouse? It's Ann Taylor, and the tags were still on it. It was only<span style="font-size: large;"> $5.00.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
These Michael Kors shoes were<span style="font-size: large;"> $5.00</span> too.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And this Kate Spade purse? <span style="font-size: large;">Two bucks.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wow. Just wow. </div>
<br />
I've never purchased an article of clothing in a thrift store in my life. I have enough trouble finding clothes to fit me in Retail Land where they have not yet begun to shrink. I'm sure enough not going to buy preshrunk clothes in a a place with neither a dressing room nor a return policy. That would be a trip to the crazy patch for me.<br />
<br />
No, I'm not a Thelma in the <span style="font-size: large;">fashion</span> department. I totally <i>get</i> her, though. I get her because I'm a Thelma in just about every <i>other d</i>epartment, especially in the <span style="font-size: large;">home decorating</span> department. I don't know what it is, folks, but I get a serious thrill (I mean a<i> serious thrill</i>...) out of finding stuff for my house on the cheap and then yakking it abroad to anyone who will listen. <br />
<br />
But then, you knew that, didn't you?<br />
<br />
Very soon, I'm going to be finished with the Great Living Room Adventure that I've been working on for months, and I'll give you a tour. When I do, you can be certain that it's going to sound like an episode of <i>The Price Is Right. </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Coffee table...$20.00.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some sconces... $5.00 for the pair</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Table lamps...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e5npRs4qzWjc7b4YJAwmcy9f2ZTMC9Ps9YzhluaHMQkM9lfVyskAWi2eTvxj72zUBZ_yq2wpIowYi1XuBxx86EUJLJPpiZdqsv2N1DDzpVUcfYoYRp-D8HEdx5L2qeGareP3h0veOl8/s1600/E+huge+harp+and+price.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e5npRs4qzWjc7b4YJAwmcy9f2ZTMC9Ps9YzhluaHMQkM9lfVyskAWi2eTvxj72zUBZ_yq2wpIowYi1XuBxx86EUJLJPpiZdqsv2N1DDzpVUcfYoYRp-D8HEdx5L2qeGareP3h0veOl8/s1600/E+huge+harp+and+price.jpg" height="640" width="483" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Three bucks.</i><br />
<br />
About the cost of a pumpkin latte.<br />
(Thrifty Thelma always throws in the comparison cost. It makes it even thriftier. )<br />
<br />
I paid a latte apiece for the matching lamps in my living room,<br />
and today, I'm going to yak about them.<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
I didn't buy them because they were pretty. I bought them because they resembled the lamps living in my head. Of course, the lamps in my head didn't have rusted lamp parts and a body coming apart in several places.<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2rSgVAvxQIHco5yQ77DBUlYsRrvs5iA7emu60QE0JnMHX5YHswkEs6uVesCv2eAi8U2TmxOif3Z2mBCg1L9k_wzobSbT2peKCgfXVpuV4OBoQ-Z7Qsn8AXgDDAZJDa3husrqGmvnRzM/s1600/E+coming+apart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2rSgVAvxQIHco5yQ77DBUlYsRrvs5iA7emu60QE0JnMHX5YHswkEs6uVesCv2eAi8U2TmxOif3Z2mBCg1L9k_wzobSbT2peKCgfXVpuV4OBoQ-Z7Qsn8AXgDDAZJDa3husrqGmvnRzM/s1600/E+coming+apart.jpg" height="640" width="518" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i><span style="text-align: center;">And they didn't have a <span style="font-size: large;">harp </span>almost as tall as the lamp itself. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>What in the world is up with that harp?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlwV33Hys9_IeIKb17hEIqANMAKyauJa_qEzqiKKFVlSuucoRvaXa-Zq4Vt7oDOgd2f79TZ2bQHkBSTgToYwG9DjXIs10SwMaoI7cvC8-Av4Y29dHZiwyFqP31baybLYiM-1P8Cit0ZY/s1600/E+lamp+before+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlwV33Hys9_IeIKb17hEIqANMAKyauJa_qEzqiKKFVlSuucoRvaXa-Zq4Vt7oDOgd2f79TZ2bQHkBSTgToYwG9DjXIs10SwMaoI7cvC8-Av4Y29dHZiwyFqP31baybLYiM-1P8Cit0ZY/s1600/E+lamp+before+(2).jpg" height="640" width="486" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
But they were tall and skinny. <i>I was looking for tall and skinny</i>. And they weren't metal. <i>I <span style="font-size: large;">wasn't </span>looking for metal. </i>I was looking for a<i> </i>modified <span style="font-size: large;">baluster style. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
And they worked.<br />
<br />
That part's kind of important too.<br />
<br />
So they got cleaned up, and the brass parts got polished and<i> Rub n Buffed</i>. Gorilla wood glue fixed all the loose parts, and I bought new harps. (Which technically adds five bucks to each lamp, if you're keeping track.)<br />
<br />
I painted them with poor man's Annie Sloan in a shade that I call <i>taupelicious.</i> It's a combination of 423 different taupe rejects from my very large stash of taupe reject testers. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because it's nearly impossible to find the perfect taupe for a project, <i>that's why.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's <span style="font-size: large;">hard</span> I tell you.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's so hard that I have nearly broken up with taupe three times this year. When I finally created a shade that worked, I made a paint chip and took it to the paint store. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It looks really pretty<span style="font-size: large;"> white washed </span>with some soft white.<br />
<br />
At least it looks pretty <i>to me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Kind of a <span style="font-size: large;">latte </span>color, don't you think?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1djSxP1a_01xLKEb0E0I-YMGqqkKnitOz876XngFHH4pQjba9EHlBF3njWHvZt9Dtv8r-mOW6_rRjEi-DD-KxqEs5lcrvUvneMYDoWRVWH5-xxAh_lY3UP07izt0SJDxb-hZ4pp4rWXo/s1600/E+white+wash+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1djSxP1a_01xLKEb0E0I-YMGqqkKnitOz876XngFHH4pQjba9EHlBF3njWHvZt9Dtv8r-mOW6_rRjEi-DD-KxqEs5lcrvUvneMYDoWRVWH5-xxAh_lY3UP07izt0SJDxb-hZ4pp4rWXo/s1600/E+white+wash+1.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I could very easily sand it down in parts to distress it if I have a mind to. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I <span style="font-size: large;">don't</span> really have a mind to.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The shade was actually the biggest pain. Every lamp shade that I tried came up a bit short. <i>Literally. </i>They were all <span style="font-size: large;">ten inches </span>in length, and they tended to make the lamp look like a gawky preteen.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
See?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbggmgo2kojlfYvcT2OWK224tb9K9yRV3DOiY_SMRFu_TX4GnsbgttPu6UcAwl_A-Iel2-DvBJHVJRsu3zgbCNyxBd4k3d-OSpsRHPkQ-VFaKU8ah6_qqO0e9Taf1dYqexVsLZfFj6yE/s1600/E+shade+too+short.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbggmgo2kojlfYvcT2OWK224tb9K9yRV3DOiY_SMRFu_TX4GnsbgttPu6UcAwl_A-Iel2-DvBJHVJRsu3zgbCNyxBd4k3d-OSpsRHPkQ-VFaKU8ah6_qqO0e9Taf1dYqexVsLZfFj6yE/s1600/E+shade+too+short.jpg" height="640" width="428" /></a></div>
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Longer shades were all too chiffony or pleated for the lamp in my head. </div>
<br />
I finally found these simple barrel shades at Target of all places for $22.00. Lucky me, I happened to have a fifty dollar gift card to Target in my stash of unused gift cards.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
So in Debbie Land, that means these shades were<span style="font-size: large;"> free.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYji1TLKmU5rDDkPzGwGRdE_m2uxmEYoN04896BL9eZHbGRzOnWjAZhvodb75f00nvaRDIYcmOgZAgbJXTTV0IjX9TxCPLPAFuZ6BgBJDlGmbKHd6tRRS3lfSQhyVclPMG_QZEeCSQo60/s1600/E+shade+just+right.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYji1TLKmU5rDDkPzGwGRdE_m2uxmEYoN04896BL9eZHbGRzOnWjAZhvodb75f00nvaRDIYcmOgZAgbJXTTV0IjX9TxCPLPAFuZ6BgBJDlGmbKHd6tRRS3lfSQhyVclPMG_QZEeCSQo60/s1600/E+shade+just+right.jpg" height="640" width="518" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They're a soft white, which is what I wanted, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and they <span style="font-size: large;">stay</span> white even with the light on, which was important to me, too. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_nBmJYEH511OWY2NZ4cgyUVEZFRLt1vE_AXEHuB9451Ev2er7oLcpC-fe41ExxJzRJCtZKsYVOvKwG21iC5Oy0hxJQYtHHaS52LP-nqbUP95UrtYY1qzUbJUtZ6DsBkXOEXCnSvg39o/s1600/E+shade+with+light+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_nBmJYEH511OWY2NZ4cgyUVEZFRLt1vE_AXEHuB9451Ev2er7oLcpC-fe41ExxJzRJCtZKsYVOvKwG21iC5Oy0hxJQYtHHaS52LP-nqbUP95UrtYY1qzUbJUtZ6DsBkXOEXCnSvg39o/s1600/E+shade+with+light+on.jpg" height="640" width="542" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I like them. </div>
<br />
Yes, I know it's plain. Plain happens to be exactly what I was going for here. I like to call it <span style="font-size: large;">simple</span> instead. <span style="font-size: large;">Soft,</span> <span style="font-size: large;">restful</span>, and <span style="font-size: large;">simple</span>. Those are the watchwords for the new living room.<br />
<br />
And taupe. Don't forget taupe.<br />
<br />
So in the end, the lamps ended up costing me about <span style="font-size: large;">eight bucks</span> each. Even if you add in the cost of a shade,<i> which I didn't, </i> that's still only thirty dollars for the lamp and shade. Not too shabby for a lamp that is so very much like the one living in my head, is it?<br />
<br />
No, I don't think so either.<br />
<br />
And that's all I have for today. I think it has stopped raining enough for Mr. Backhoe Man to begin the terrible, horrible, very bad, no good lawn destruction, and I need to go upstairs and put on the big girl pants...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>... which I can assure you would never come from a thrift store. </i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
What about you? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What<span style="font-size: large;"> will </span>you buy from the thrift store?</div>
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What <span style="font-size: large;">won't</span> you buy?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And yes, dear Farm Sister. You do not need to answer this question. I know the answer fully well. Shhh.</span></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
.<br />
<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-91531899562695436362014-09-21T12:03:00.001-04:002014-09-21T19:09:19.808-04:00The Sisterhood of the Traveling Lights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So I was trying to share a random act of senseless decorating last week. It was little corner of the living room sort of dressed up for fall. </div>
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Don't scroll back. You didn't miss it. The post had a failure to launch. </div>
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For one thing, it was <span style="font-size: large;">gloomy </span>out there. It was one of those days when you have absolutely <i>no business</i> trying to take a picture for Blogville, one of those days when you know that any picture you post is going to be followed by that goofy apology for the clouds... as if they're your fault or something. </div>
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I was trying anyway. I had turned on every light in the room and was running about the place turning on <i>every other ligh</i>t I could find as well. The Scottish MacHusband was running right behind me, turning them<span style="font-size: large;"> off</span> as fast as I could turn them on. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Oooh</i>, that man. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>"</i>I am trying to light up this corner in the living room,"</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">said I.</span> </div>
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"By turning on lights in the den?" </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">said he.</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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Then he called me Deb-or-ah and launched into some kind of <span style="font-size: large;">physics lesson</span> about the properties of light. (At least I think it was physics. Science and I aren't exactly on speaking terms.) </div>
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<br /></div>
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All I heard was <i>wok wok-wok-wok-wok wokkkk </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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and something about light traveling in a <span style="font-size: large;">straight line. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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And therefore, apparently, it makes no difference whatsoever whether we have a</div>
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light turned on around the corner...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Deb-or-ah. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I'm sure he's right. It's his turn to be, after all. Still, it irked me to have him going around behind me turning off my lights when I was so desperate to chase the gloomies out of my picture. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So yesterday morning, I did a little experiment. I took a series of photos of the same spot in the house while I ever so<i> scientifically</i> turned on lights in the adjacent spaces and then around the corner.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then, without retouching them at all, I lined them all up. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Because apparently, I have too much time on my hands. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rX1HITszoXFLwSS89nmyXTT4ozpncwAAiy2TM-ksFRj1FVwbl4Sv5TVDmbDaNWvOgzoQeRtEJnfvhsQZbTkzh0Jc3_tJhq20LAdEDnpMR-r7LVoWo9exbLrflPclbAWmrpXdBSwzhBs/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rX1HITszoXFLwSS89nmyXTT4ozpncwAAiy2TM-ksFRj1FVwbl4Sv5TVDmbDaNWvOgzoQeRtEJnfvhsQZbTkzh0Jc3_tJhq20LAdEDnpMR-r7LVoWo9exbLrflPclbAWmrpXdBSwzhBs/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+1.jpg" height="276" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And then</i>, I showed them to Einstein to make him admit that he could see a slight difference. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVoeXdmp6BlfoDTLrZEm4MPhefQFHEdl5VTO3O_fWHqdPcJ0OuueMp3RS0FejOZHgFgT3LJDc_UJzd_2_13NCCuM4UUPjjmSlJ2Nhqi8Ne-Rw5cuXoWsT4R7PDuBnSlWue9mg3XUtcyg/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVoeXdmp6BlfoDTLrZEm4MPhefQFHEdl5VTO3O_fWHqdPcJ0OuueMp3RS0FejOZHgFgT3LJDc_UJzd_2_13NCCuM4UUPjjmSlJ2Nhqi8Ne-Rw5cuXoWsT4R7PDuBnSlWue9mg3XUtcyg/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2.jpg" height="264" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And either because he <i>did</i> see a difference, or probably because he had a tree to cut and wanted to me to stick a sock in it, he <i>said</i> that he could see a difference.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
He used the word<span style="font-size: large;"> subtle.</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then, he said something snotty about turning on the light upstairs in the master bathroom. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelCf5vRy-6heXTheaL9vanfFDyFY-7SrQqxhP9ShOzZlki3m9m9pFkCJgB3gj39rTMigPbBljRdM5EVcXwjsQoCtEkl-QOnY1GQHKFn8k2qLjrFNHHkncC8halsbPP3ZFHmGycvq5FCU/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelCf5vRy-6heXTheaL9vanfFDyFY-7SrQqxhP9ShOzZlki3m9m9pFkCJgB3gj39rTMigPbBljRdM5EVcXwjsQoCtEkl-QOnY1GQHKFn8k2qLjrFNHHkncC8halsbPP3ZFHmGycvq5FCU/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+3.jpg" height="460" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So OK... Maybe I wasn't able to bring about any great change by turning on the lights around the corner. Maybe that part is mostly in my head.<br />
<br />
But here's the thing: When you're desperate for just a <i>little light</i> in your corner of the world, isn't even a subtle change an encouraging one?<br />
<br />
It is to me.<br />
<br />
And it got me thinking.<br />
I'm always thinking...<br />
<br />
There seems to be a lot of folks out there desperate for just a little more light in their corner of the world. Oh, maybe it's not completely dark in there, but you're facing your own version of the <span style="font-size: large;">gloomies. </span> Some of you have shared it openly on the world wide web. Others have quietly emailed. Still others have said it, but their words were mostly written between the lines.<br />
<br />
<i>You know who you are</i>.<br />
<br />
And if I could, I would take whatever paltry light I have to share and come <span style="font-size: large;">straight </span>to your corner of the world to help you chase those gloomies away. If I could, I would get on a plane and travel coast to coast with a tray full of pumpkin lattes.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I can't.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm sort of stuck here in<i> my own</i> little corner of the world.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
But maybe... and yes I know this flies in the face of physics... <i> maybe</i> I can send at least a little light to your corner of the world just by turning one on in <span style="font-size: large;">mine. </span><br />
<br />
I think the Master and Creator of the Universe can do whatever He pleases with the laws of physics. He made them up in His head, after all. He is perfectly capable of taking one little light from Georgia all the way to a corner in California by way of North Carolina with a side trip to Texas... if He has a mind to.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think He has a mind to. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After all, what's a corner but an intersection of two straight lines? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's the way I see it anyway.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
So even though I can't travel to your corner of the world with a pumpkin latte this morning, I'm going to do my best to light <i>your</i> world by lighting up <span style="font-size: large;">the</span> world, one little corner at a time. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYwAWOGhQObrUyB8b-eCsG7fJRAmuAUV06Wz4RCUA-7OIseBwWquQyOXXjVQ89grLu7Zg71bUeOxxLLUZIvAwxZu8JwhrUCTc6g_o8m91PTyX7u5x5KIbR9syo-rw1zhKOcSl7fx-bjs/s1600/light+lit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYwAWOGhQObrUyB8b-eCsG7fJRAmuAUV06Wz4RCUA-7OIseBwWquQyOXXjVQ89grLu7Zg71bUeOxxLLUZIvAwxZu8JwhrUCTc6g_o8m91PTyX7u5x5KIbR9syo-rw1zhKOcSl7fx-bjs/s1600/light+lit.JPG" height="320" width="215" /></a></div>
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Anybody want to join me?<br />
I'll meet you at the<i> intersection.</i> </div>
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****<br />
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Comments off as always for Sunday</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-82824855617981318932014-09-19T15:10:00.003-04:002014-09-19T17:18:32.322-04:00Finding Something Orange<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's that time of year again, folks. </div>
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Time to get out there and find the <span style="font-size: large;">orange. </span></div>
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It's one of my favorite things to do. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjus-T0ZT6mqT-7qs2ux1SPrILGcp-fjc4530LiZPVzfZOvkTEWunODjIIEDqeYIPmDvyQudI09bWa8KRPTou_U2w0Hk_blgENp6g-mlrciaXhCBYsBF7itRy0QZDv7DvuZVAYKLXs7IYw/s1600/bend+in+the+road+railroad+track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjus-T0ZT6mqT-7qs2ux1SPrILGcp-fjc4530LiZPVzfZOvkTEWunODjIIEDqeYIPmDvyQudI09bWa8KRPTou_U2w0Hk_blgENp6g-mlrciaXhCBYsBF7itRy0QZDv7DvuZVAYKLXs7IYw/s1600/bend+in+the+road+railroad+track.jpg" height="640" width="548" /></a></div>
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In full disclosure, I actually found this orange while on one of my inexplicable blog breaks. I took it along the country commute that lies between me and every place I need to be. Usually, I need to be there<i> pretty quickly</i>, too.<br />
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Was it worth the delay to<span style="font-size: large;"> stop </span>that day and notice the orange?<br />
Yes, it was.<br />
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It was worth it in more ways than one, too. Not long after I took that photo, they began to <span style="font-size: large;">clear cut </span>that entire little forest. Today, it's nothing more than gravel and some weeds. I won't depress you with the evidence.<br />
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And then, we had <span style="font-size: large;">this orange </span>sighting. </div>
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OK, it's an old one too... </div>
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These are the Bradford pears that line our street. It's a good thing I have stopped to enjoy them every<i> other</i> year because they will <span style="font-size: large;">never</span> look that lovely again.<br />
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Between the ice storm, some sort of pear tree blight, and old age, we lost more than <span style="font-size: large;">half </span>of the pear trees in the neighborhood this summer. Ours was the first to go, too. It nearly broke my heart. What was once a beautiful canopy road now looks more like a random bunch of umbrellas.<br />
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As if the pear trees were not enough...</div>
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Today, I found <span style="font-size: large;">this orange.</span></div>
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I'm not so jazzed about<span style="font-size: large;"> this orange, </span>but I took a picture anyway.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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In case you can't tell, this would be the little orange trail left by the <span style="font-size: large;">power company</span>. It shows where the electric lines are buried. We're all<i> schmancy</i> in our neighborhood, you see. We have things like buried power lines.<br />
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Too bad we don't have things like buried <i>sewer lines.</i><br />
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No, this little country neighborhood has septic tanks instead. And do you know where septic tanks are installed when the back yard is a piney stick forest?<br />
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And that's exactly where the big, ugly <span style="font-size: large;">backhoe</span> is going to go, too. </div>
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<i>That's why we needed to find the orange. </i></div>
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Monday morning, Mr. Backhoe Man will dig two, big <span style="font-size: large;">trenches</span> out there so a new drain line can go<i> into </i>that septic tank. (Or does it go <i>out of </i>the septic tank? ) I'm not ashamed to admit that I haven't the first clue how septic systems work.<br />
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I only know when they<span style="font-size: large;"> aren't working,</span> and even after major repairs in the spring, ours is<span style="font-size: large;"> not. </span> Apparently, the drain line has been snuffed out by a gang of malicious pine roots and their gun moll named Myrtle.<br />
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Sigh.<br />
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Myrtle will be going the way of the pear trees and taking half my <span style="font-size: large;">front lawn</span> along with her.<br />
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By this time Monday (weather permitting) I'll be the proud owner of a bald lawn and a balder bank account. We really had no choice... considering the alternative.<br />
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On the upside, I'm also the owner of four toilets, without which we would not need a septic system at all. That being the case, I'm pretty sure this qualifies as the ultimate <i>First World Problem.</i><br />
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Time to put on the big girl pants and deal with it.<br />
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Of course, since I tend to deal so much better with the help of a hot beverage, I'll be taking this <span style="font-size: large;">half full</span> cup of mine out for a drive to find something orange.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunGvWOYtPvG0LriHL74FVQrSkZV9Br93D7n48xj_UFH6Ofp0_783s2Mei5Kk3rXOacK2xHozJx11FU4W0cv1WH69oAyjcAH6SZ8Qg74YSRcXz300JEgPgW_JiNBiAVaIQnpo_T28sEas/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunGvWOYtPvG0LriHL74FVQrSkZV9Br93D7n48xj_UFH6Ofp0_783s2Mei5Kk3rXOacK2xHozJx11FU4W0cv1WH69oAyjcAH6SZ8Qg74YSRcXz300JEgPgW_JiNBiAVaIQnpo_T28sEas/s1600/034.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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If you have any suggestions for regrowing a lawn in the autumn,<br />
now would be the time to share them.</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-30667880403148410732014-09-16T07:40:00.000-04:002014-09-17T14:33:50.353-04:00I Suspect Mrs. Peacock...<div style="text-align: center;">
... in the dining room</div>
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... with a <span style="font-size: large;">feather.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0KCOmMwyAagzYElkznWRL0MRMPvl6UDToDOUYS9b8zAfKlzvdfpRpy2IFAKOKKduZJT-0_7ZDZ9g5Ot3JkjqddrzWE8klnn7NzMO87xgJSZGJBnjKU6P551CcQheU1tkZoVWWCSh3rU/s1600/E+peacock+feather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0KCOmMwyAagzYElkznWRL0MRMPvl6UDToDOUYS9b8zAfKlzvdfpRpy2IFAKOKKduZJT-0_7ZDZ9g5Ot3JkjqddrzWE8klnn7NzMO87xgJSZGJBnjKU6P551CcQheU1tkZoVWWCSh3rU/s1600/E+peacock+feather.jpg" height="400" width="348" /></a></div>
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Yep, that's the way it happened. I was there, and I saw it. </div>
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Apparently, the old broad invited a bunch of hens to a luncheon club </div>
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and <span style="font-size: large;">tickled</span> them to death.<br />
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Have I mentioned that the Farm Sister has always had a thing for peacocks? Probably not, I can't imagine why I would. She <i>has</i>, though. When we were kids and played the game Clue, she was always<span style="font-size: large;"> Mrs. Peacock</span>, and she spoke the entire game with a British accent. I was Miss Scarlet and spoke with a drawl. </div>
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<i>We've always been a couple of oddballs now that I think about it. </i></div>
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Mrs. Peacock grew up to marry a farmer, and on their farm they actually do have a <span style="font-size: large;">peacock</span>. His name is Ralph. Ralph is a bit shy about showing his feathers for the camera. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpKxgXE3acXsnGUaVaxGYlIZnzeI1q_6IOXJsGHRYxF_Mrmu08yYnkg4AkyoVTHxjFOxHn6AiD5YqmVXv_jRRsUngSKmm7h-EOl4EM2wXC9s3wqI8-eCmfBd_-IGQhrGkIziqz4jQchU/s1600/E+Ralph+the+peacock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpKxgXE3acXsnGUaVaxGYlIZnzeI1q_6IOXJsGHRYxF_Mrmu08yYnkg4AkyoVTHxjFOxHn6AiD5YqmVXv_jRRsUngSKmm7h-EOl4EM2wXC9s3wqI8-eCmfBd_-IGQhrGkIziqz4jQchU/s1600/E+Ralph+the+peacock.jpg" height="397" width="400" /></a></div>
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He's not in the least bit shy about shedding his feathers for the<span style="font-size: large;"> picking</span>, though. </div>
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So when her daughters gave her these whimsical<span style="font-size: large;"> plates</span> for her birthday this year,</div>
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she knew exactly what she was going to do for her turn at <b><a href="http://wordsuponwheels.blogspot.com/2012/02/talking-with-your-mouth-full.html">luncheon club</a>.</b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasWYKPLYDJWWtAHqtahnRyDfTxmF8mH_jvetYHjoHlqBsb5RA3OUrZG0gSkLEuazLDU2OHLo0xXKdF1GcDfyyTuxchUEOco3p9f-aK3Boo9XB1aioYr7f7BPlfhyphenhyphen0Iqw-gW-bP2CoLPk/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasWYKPLYDJWWtAHqtahnRyDfTxmF8mH_jvetYHjoHlqBsb5RA3OUrZG0gSkLEuazLDU2OHLo0xXKdF1GcDfyyTuxchUEOco3p9f-aK3Boo9XB1aioYr7f7BPlfhyphenhyphen0Iqw-gW-bP2CoLPk/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></div>
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Gold flatware and some gold chargers were a must. </div>
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Peacocks are all about the bling. </div>
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And the rest of the table was all about the <span style="font-size: large;">feathers. </span> </div>
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Feathers on the <span style="font-size: large;">place cards.</span></div>
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Feathers down the middle of the table</div>
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And <span style="font-size: large;">eyes</span> looking out from the <span style="font-size: large;">votives</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">linen. </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsVBaWrubfB4wmdmMC7WZRt_XuOjCRIqWhqwuF-7kjBZ2C7vKNKKyxdafvssArG_rLdg4N7kVXe9L0DoGMv9Qk44UYdLqvHwqES7I6MwNsDhCSgonKzNQ7OeCiaDCH4ZRL5RE2AWeiX4/s1600/E+partial+showing+linen+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsVBaWrubfB4wmdmMC7WZRt_XuOjCRIqWhqwuF-7kjBZ2C7vKNKKyxdafvssArG_rLdg4N7kVXe9L0DoGMv9Qk44UYdLqvHwqES7I6MwNsDhCSgonKzNQ7OeCiaDCH4ZRL5RE2AWeiX4/s1600/E+partial+showing+linen+detail.jpg" height="518" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mrs. Peacock is nothing if not a detail person. </div>
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Napkins were done in a <span style="font-size: large;">peacock fold. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOJdHcuNjv_qeNiRLQXWDODfKVTX7gETv8T-uMyTokJjNOuq5pT0C1AjqWNps4QyqBLdyAHPnoIO1bkcab0oR3QKhdkZZ1v-WNSjbo3ib3zhaJqCx7B4BJOu67RDjGD-mkM4v0AV5kes/s1600/E+napkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOJdHcuNjv_qeNiRLQXWDODfKVTX7gETv8T-uMyTokJjNOuq5pT0C1AjqWNps4QyqBLdyAHPnoIO1bkcab0oR3QKhdkZZ1v-WNSjbo3ib3zhaJqCx7B4BJOu67RDjGD-mkM4v0AV5kes/s1600/E+napkin.jpg" height="640" width="486" /></a></div>
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It's made by fan folding a square napkin on the <span style="font-size: large;">diagonal</span> </div>
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and nesting it in the glass. </div>
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Her <span style="font-size: large;">flowers</span> had a lot of plumage too. </div>
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She was kind of afraid that this centerpiece was going to be too tall,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but noooo...</div>
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<br /></div>
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We talked right over them without a problem. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpgRQGSCJCSC7jepwMepAB-C60yfI_c5ru8g9zB8HK2c6Sq9eUJPIgVg0oxANf83qTSj9AyJtxf8QsVgNZjSlWeIgCxD5TMV231KAo0A-0HexZxRvaxvTjyipTogPk_wIJPCDLVzAla0/s1600/E+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpgRQGSCJCSC7jepwMepAB-C60yfI_c5ru8g9zB8HK2c6Sq9eUJPIgVg0oxANf83qTSj9AyJtxf8QsVgNZjSlWeIgCxD5TMV231KAo0A-0HexZxRvaxvTjyipTogPk_wIJPCDLVzAla0/s1600/E+flowers.jpg" height="486" width="640" /></a></div>
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In regular accents though, which means that everybody was trying to be Miss Scarlet.<br />
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Everybody that is, except the Farm Sister. </div>
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No matter how she talks, she will always be Mrs. Peacock. </div>
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And she will always be the <i>second </i><span style="font-size: large;">oddest bird</span> in town. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(If Miss Scarlet inexplicably disappears for that one, </i><br />
<i>feel free to suspect Mrs. Peacock with a lead pipe in the conservatory...) </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*****</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Sharing with <a href="http://betweennapsontheporch.net/">The Porch</a> on Thursday. </div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-41094822539355937792014-09-12T10:50:00.002-04:002020-07-30T18:12:38.954-04:00With Some Spare Time and Spare Change<br />
Just a very quick post for me this morning. (No, really. It's quick.) I've been busy and distracted this week not accomplishing anything and I need to get back to that fruitless endeavor and not accomplish even more.<br />
<br />
I did take a few minutes out of my very busy schedule to swing by the thrift store to see what I could see, and today's yakabout is all I have to show for it.<br />
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I found <span style="font-size: large;">this.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWRq4aYCbfbt2kb-Bdxc07YB1a3m3flCwQkShwHdqmaRJRjVtsReLMXSS_P2rfSFIBUTX_qEBHtWMMtMM8iNoAyVltl67ptkQeq2XCuI-hBymFM3mteEJ0HNbfZEZd-9dUrLusimHSXM/s1600/E+bun+foot+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWRq4aYCbfbt2kb-Bdxc07YB1a3m3flCwQkShwHdqmaRJRjVtsReLMXSS_P2rfSFIBUTX_qEBHtWMMtMM8iNoAyVltl67ptkQeq2XCuI-hBymFM3mteEJ0HNbfZEZd-9dUrLusimHSXM/s1600/E+bun+foot+framed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
I was pretty excited about it, too. I mean, really... for a<i> quarte</i>r? I couldn't believe that no one had snapped it up for a lousy quarter. Clearly, the orphaned bun foot was meant for me. I brought it home and showed it ever so proudly to the bread winner.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He said</span>, "What did you get that for?"</div>
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And <span style="font-size: large;">I said</span>, "For a quarter."</div>
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Yes, I knew what he meant. I just like to mess with him that way. The man has absolutely no vision. He thinks an old, orphaned, bun foot is just an, old, orphaned bun foot.<br />
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Men.</div>
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<br />
A little orange paint and a white wash, </div>
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and we have a perfectly good pumpkin.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpvrEyObQ5TunyI5wObodVnH78FycMYIZv90-qBO4812YEJHkCOPEOVvje7l0DF0kRtYmx9wLiUkqi3Xg3Gkry8NVYWR3XN9kCe4KAiG9sLvb4k9SstdTtdmCrelFc_Sey3KH5B0Lk74/s1600/painted+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpvrEyObQ5TunyI5wObodVnH78FycMYIZv90-qBO4812YEJHkCOPEOVvje7l0DF0kRtYmx9wLiUkqi3Xg3Gkry8NVYWR3XN9kCe4KAiG9sLvb4k9SstdTtdmCrelFc_Sey3KH5B0Lk74/s400/painted+framed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I feel the irresistible urge to say,<br />
<i>bippity, boppity, boo.</i><br />
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Then I stuck a <span style="font-size: large;">cork</span> in it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cx5pYSGdLr6C-_Pfa9eNgrbjiw02nX8fo-KTTB6As3CWG6MspUCup20FR2g-SRZiqiXgPd0vOOt-g4CmhvNsRTI-70sbJuKBcIvHh467zbDDhgEJo3x5DhKzKh402qKGK6028i-pjbg/s1600/stick+a+cork+in+it+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cx5pYSGdLr6C-_Pfa9eNgrbjiw02nX8fo-KTTB6As3CWG6MspUCup20FR2g-SRZiqiXgPd0vOOt-g4CmhvNsRTI-70sbJuKBcIvHh467zbDDhgEJo3x5DhKzKh402qKGK6028i-pjbg/s1600/stick+a+cork+in+it+framed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And added a little green burlap for leaves.<br />
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I actually have no idea whether pumpkins have leaves, but when you've got an orphaned bun foot pumpkin with a cork for a stem, you can jolly well add some burlap leaves if you have a mind to.<br />
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I had a mind to.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_P_fT8ClPcDDwYA4V5y2246obed9WjGGy6N_tZ99pOl_XBvERT_6XQhVtAmMkZM8e6OEEHwxDns_eD0aC7bFnXdW6f77Ih00KamIuYWo8mzORDjPXp1L6TWx9K3YbSIv6afLy6GDj2M/s1600/pumpkin+on+plate+2++framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_P_fT8ClPcDDwYA4V5y2246obed9WjGGy6N_tZ99pOl_XBvERT_6XQhVtAmMkZM8e6OEEHwxDns_eD0aC7bFnXdW6f77Ih00KamIuYWo8mzORDjPXp1L6TWx9K3YbSIv6afLy6GDj2M/s1600/pumpkin+on+plate+2++framed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Here she is now, all dressed for the Fall Ball. </div>
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Now, where I'll actually<i> put it</i>, I have no clue. If I had four of them, I'd use them on my table, but there is only one.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
So what did I make it for?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For a quarter.</i></div>
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Try to keep up, folks.</div>
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By the way...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Don't you think these old finials look like a couple of acorns?</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaXHD8DITGAwuRPhB7ovUNOEjeXYs_CQ2FxAsjWsgILa9qUWkpp2Z4iPRIXqE3DDGEpaNoI2G007nKQU2_hEk7Tz0VUxONQm7FjwL6tKjuzR2t9puVbJE9YkSvolzz5DKhqZyMAo4-kc/s1600/acorns+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaXHD8DITGAwuRPhB7ovUNOEjeXYs_CQ2FxAsjWsgILa9qUWkpp2Z4iPRIXqE3DDGEpaNoI2G007nKQU2_hEk7Tz0VUxONQm7FjwL6tKjuzR2t9puVbJE9YkSvolzz5DKhqZyMAo4-kc/s1600/acorns+framed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yeah, I think so too. </div>
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<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-63743522743341804082014-09-08T08:09:00.003-04:002014-09-12T16:33:02.286-04:00 Pine Cone Pinter-Testing<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I got a little sidetracked from here for the past few days, <br />
and it's all because of Pinterest.<br />
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I love Pinterest. I'm not sure I use it like everyone else out there. I don't care about followers or any of that sort of thing. This blog doesn't have a board in Pinville, and I don't have any plans to start one. I'm just out there pinning away as plain old Debbie. Wave if you see me. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I found something months ago that I have been dying to try for my fall and winter decorating this year. Last week, I decided to put it to the <span style="font-size: large;">Pinter-test</span> before the hot summer sun sets in Dixie. </div>
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Bleaching pine cones.<br />
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Now, just in case you think it's a little<span style="font-size: large;"> silly</span> to bleach pine cones, let me remind you that I live in the Piney Stick Forest. If there's one organic element that we have around here in abundance, it's pine cones. It would be silly<i> not</i> to decorate with them.<br />
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I usually just gather them up and use them <i>au naturale</i>, but but this year I happened upon a pin in Pinville with bleached ones. They were kind of white but a little <span style="font-size: large;">taupey</span> at the same time and really beautiful. That being the case, I decided that I had to have some bleached pine cones too.<br />
<br />
<i>So... </i>I collected about a dozen of them, and I followed all the <span style="font-size: large;">instructions</span> to the letter.<br />
<br />
I <span style="font-size: large;">measured</span> the bleach and water to make sure I had the correct ratio.(2:1)<br />
I completely <span style="font-size: large;">immersed</span> them, and I <span style="font-size: large;">weighted</span> them down to keep them from floating.<br />
I <span style="font-size: large;">waited </span> 24 hours before peeking <i>just like Miss Blogger told me to do. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>Then, I pulled them out and drained them off, <i>just like she told me to do.</i><br />
And, I left them in the <span style="font-size: large;">hot sunshine</span> to dry, <i> just like she told me to do. </i><br />
<br />
I baked those pine cones in the south Georgia oven <i>all day</i> Thursday, just waiting for the eureka moment when my pine cones would look like <i>her</i> pine cones. When the sun went down, I went for a look.<br />
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Did I have bleached pine cones?</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
No I did not.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I had bleached <span style="font-size: large;">pineapples</span> and bleached <span style="font-size: large;">pine cream cones.</span> </div>
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I admit it,<br />
I was a little disappointed<span style="font-size: large;">.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
In my head, I was blaming the poor blogger who started the whole thing. I might have even suspected her of a little blog foolery, too. I went back to Pinville to look for the blue smoke and mirrors, but all I saw were big, beautiful, bleached pine cones.<br />
<br />
So I went a-googling and found out that my pine cones were opening right on schedule. Apparently, it should take <span style="font-size: large;">days</span>... and not <i>a day</i>... for the pine cones to reopen. (In fairness to the bleached blogger, that part should have been intuitively obvious. It's not her fault that I suffer from a perpetual state of insta-glam. ) *They* also said you could speed up the process by drying them in a 250 degree oven for an hour or two. </div>
</div>
<br />
I baked mine for about <i>three.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Then, I put them back in the sunshine and waited some more.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By the middle of day 2 (and three hours of baking)<br />
I was seeing some action.... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG29ht5Is738G-zafjPiNZNNXMA8eTGPGxJuhMohbLn5ptYx3u3zjz0KipyFbXhiUhQOyBL8-MKpAWuFBCsfPddIJmyQFOgjl_-UnYSSNa10IXN4L4u_f1HOOX1_n2UT38HbXGOncarx0/s1600/E+bigger+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG29ht5Is738G-zafjPiNZNNXMA8eTGPGxJuhMohbLn5ptYx3u3zjz0KipyFbXhiUhQOyBL8-MKpAWuFBCsfPddIJmyQFOgjl_-UnYSSNa10IXN4L4u_f1HOOX1_n2UT38HbXGOncarx0/s1600/E+bigger+1.jpg" height="618" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You can see a little breakage on the pine cones on the left. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There was actually <i>very little</i> of that, and it was barely noticeable when they started to open. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which they did. <br />
And once they started opening,<br />
it was almost like they were opening before my eyes, too. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgts0js53zumG5m8RWna8B1eiEP59Tl6If-w5g3k3upa9JabE7FlNUBCJLClS08x1Ke_c-EDVJtVgdEZcJsZv5wnzhnlCah1GXCUuzsrDtiVMI3axKt7Vap32Us77gyffZP6UH-_ICF0ao/s1600/E+bigger+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgts0js53zumG5m8RWna8B1eiEP59Tl6If-w5g3k3upa9JabE7FlNUBCJLClS08x1Ke_c-EDVJtVgdEZcJsZv5wnzhnlCah1GXCUuzsrDtiVMI3axKt7Vap32Us77gyffZP6UH-_ICF0ao/s1600/E+bigger+2.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Every time I looked at them,<br />
they were a little bit<span style="font-size: large;"> bigger</span> and<span style="font-size: large;"> lighter.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHNX8erBKWbPcOrnOTPHfeq13UT5dSZgdlmCPFANXKThY3Joqjrwpuyyy6njj7ydBIglJbYPEZJO9KLMW68CN2GkcIL20dvJSuXSao7FRoSGHshM3n8prsgm3dxqlzruPb0VjnB4Z7yw/s1600/E+bigger+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHNX8erBKWbPcOrnOTPHfeq13UT5dSZgdlmCPFANXKThY3Joqjrwpuyyy6njj7ydBIglJbYPEZJO9KLMW68CN2GkcIL20dvJSuXSao7FRoSGHshM3n8prsgm3dxqlzruPb0VjnB4Z7yw/s1600/E+bigger+3.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
By the morning...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ta da!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTYcqzNr2u59F9jOoePaBxHomeYOQ5Ha0c1epGWFCHMOhL0PEFIDhqHuq-tOwn96tpfUsiKaAtTSRI9wpkfZ01e7AeR3L6aB_APgnj5rUdrqMC2N2e0hKnj0wZ9N2mR9zDjD5vRF0hDQ/s1600/E+This+ones+for+you+with+text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTYcqzNr2u59F9jOoePaBxHomeYOQ5Ha0c1epGWFCHMOhL0PEFIDhqHuq-tOwn96tpfUsiKaAtTSRI9wpkfZ01e7AeR3L6aB_APgnj5rUdrqMC2N2e0hKnj0wZ9N2mR9zDjD5vRF0hDQ/s1600/E+This+ones+for+you+with+text.jpg" height="640" width="562" /></a></div>
<br />
Most of them are much more <span style="font-size: large;">subtle</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">taupey</span> than that one,<br />
especially inside and out of the sun.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mixed with a few natural ones, and the clump has a really nice texture.<br />
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</div>
<br />
I'm giving this Pinter-test two enthusiastic thumbs up.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In fact, I'm heading out to the Piney Sticks to pick up some more.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try baptizing them for a shorter amount of time this time,<br />
probably just overnight. I want to see the difference.<br />
<br />
If it's at all remarkable, I'll come back and remark.<br />
<br />
And that's all I've got for now. <br />
<br />
*****<br />
Sharing on <a href="http://betweennapsontheporch.net/">The Porch</a> for Met Monday.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-76310020803706992342014-09-03T09:20:00.002-04:002014-09-04T13:59:19.978-04:00Make Hay While The Sun Shines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So long August....</div>
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<br /></div>
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I never have liked you. </div>
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You're a perpetual sweat ball on the end of the nose... a hot flash that won't go away. You kill the flowers and zap the strength. You steal little children from the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer and<i> </i>lock them up in classrooms before they're ready. </div>
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You meanie, you. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFJ1C3MKIjwqqDOUj5qa4qdIZL1DAkzNBLHF5O4Ig2Lt0q8e0Dx1qtGmLWj5YTEwv46SVX60Nmfb8HzCAIcEDKBLwSoONpgZzAubcroqK63kjONHj02DIXkduUJGXrE-dc_REUaQu9UU/s1600/hay+bales++framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFJ1C3MKIjwqqDOUj5qa4qdIZL1DAkzNBLHF5O4Ig2Lt0q8e0Dx1qtGmLWj5YTEwv46SVX60Nmfb8HzCAIcEDKBLwSoONpgZzAubcroqK63kjONHj02DIXkduUJGXrE-dc_REUaQu9UU/s1600/hay+bales++framed.jpg" height="438" width="640" /></a></div>
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No. I never have been a fan of August. </div>
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Not when I was a kid, not when I was a young mother, not ever. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Until now. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprOSctduvRVKUQLVELe79s1oB-Fif2iey8_vRBHpq6HQsg9DMcjJ_qBABGGAlK5Kn8savvrKCCJD4xy70SSg9RTKIrWUR7db6-BoDhMWH7Fgpta67NRpfelQ0_Jh1pIcSqBzTt47xTV8/s1600/hay+bales+1+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprOSctduvRVKUQLVELe79s1oB-Fif2iey8_vRBHpq6HQsg9DMcjJ_qBABGGAlK5Kn8savvrKCCJD4xy70SSg9RTKIrWUR7db6-BoDhMWH7Fgpta67NRpfelQ0_Jh1pIcSqBzTt47xTV8/s1600/hay+bales+1+framed.jpg" height="412" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Yep.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It has taken me 52 years to find the redeeming value of August,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but I've finally found it.<br />
<br />
Here's what it is:</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Congress is on <span style="font-size: large;">recess. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2CYLX2ICi3SbAtKD1mbhIZoa_GoYv_m8PfwbuymJsWLWC7TJCG9LrRZt4L44aL9kAuDwdElgZgyTHIq3BZXzH8aAzAEt1xbbzBQxqoqimq7d-YU6hoBE0MaMhb8za1Vh2lZNgTMgWHk/s1600/hay+bales+lined+up+2+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2CYLX2ICi3SbAtKD1mbhIZoa_GoYv_m8PfwbuymJsWLWC7TJCG9LrRZt4L44aL9kAuDwdElgZgyTHIq3BZXzH8aAzAEt1xbbzBQxqoqimq7d-YU6hoBE0MaMhb8za1Vh2lZNgTMgWHk/s1600/hay+bales+lined+up+2+framed.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
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Lest you think this is a political post and plan to skedaddle,<i> hold yer horses</i>. It isn't. I don't suffer from the delusion that a congressional recess is a month long vacation. This is a representative republic, after all. Recess means that they work in the district among the folks they are<span style="font-size: large;"> supposed</span> to represent.<br />
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<br /></div>
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That's a good thing, right?</div>
</div>
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<i>Yeah, I think so too. </i></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But that's not the reason I like it. I like it because recess makes <span style="font-size: large;">August</span> is a great time for the little ants on the Hill to take <i>their</i> vacation time. In other words, come home to Mother...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP28L_5Prw4GG1J5V8lqPkAlSLooyxqvk5o0n2_H7rNzDbFKT54zYrlRJWrjmD5gG5ERXihqMZfbacWbhTfaK84JCmScxGaYt_wRdNMU0YJRftSBrtfDgD5X-bTP1pqVAiv-jRr5xmEHM/s1600/hay+bale+entrance+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP28L_5Prw4GG1J5V8lqPkAlSLooyxqvk5o0n2_H7rNzDbFKT54zYrlRJWrjmD5gG5ERXihqMZfbacWbhTfaK84JCmScxGaYt_wRdNMU0YJRftSBrtfDgD5X-bTP1pqVAiv-jRr5xmEHM/s1600/hay+bale+entrance+2.jpg" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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That's what mine did, anyway, and that's why August is <span style="font-size: large;">off</span> the naughty list this year. </div>
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We had a wonderfully extended Labor Day weekend around here with a <span style="font-size: large;">full house.</span></div>
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<br />
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You'd think I would have all kinds of blog fodder to show for it, wouldn't you? </div>
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<br />
But no. </div>
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Mainly, we just sat around and yakked. We ate a meal on that sunflower table and sat on the porch fighting the gnats with our church fans. The gnats won.<br />
<br />
We had better luck when we took our dream team to Trivia Night at<i> El Sombrero. W</i>e kind of kicked butt there 'cause we know random stuff like the name of Kimmie Gibler's boyfriend on<i><span style="font-size: large;"> Full House.</span></i><br />
<br />
We ended up coming in second place behind a team whose name I can't repeat on the world wide web and won a $15.00 gift certificate for our trivial pursuit. We would have won $30.00 if we hadn't second guessed ourselves on a bonus question... or if any one of us had ever read<i> The Life of Pi.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Which takes place in the Pacific Ocean, just in case you get asked that at<i> El Trivia Night</i>.) </div>
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All too soon, it was time to say good-bye. Fortunately, we had enough family memories stored up to last us until next time. <br />
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<br /></div>
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Oh, and it's <i>Dwayne.</i> </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kimmie Gibbler's boyfriend's name was Dwayne.</div>
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You were all racking your brains trying to remember that, weren't you?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yeah, that's what I thought. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So what did you do on your Labor Day weekend?<br />
<br />
*****<br />
sharing at <a href="http://run-a-roundranch.blogspot.com/">Good Fences</a> this week.</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-54789001117973347742014-08-31T06:56:00.001-04:002014-09-01T19:31:12.619-04:00Lessons From A Drive- By Shooting<div style="text-align: center;">
No, not <i>that kind...</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This</i></span> kind</div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: inherit;"><b>May every wilted slice of summer remind us of the one thing that never dies. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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*****</div>
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That's all I have for this morning. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I happen to have been blessed with a<span style="font-size: large;"> full house</span> for the past few days</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and intend to keep on enjoying it for one more day. </div>
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See you in <span style="font-size: large;">September!</span></div>
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Comments off</div>
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-74137290262215933712014-08-27T12:37:00.003-04:002014-08-27T22:36:28.141-04:00Sand Gnats and SunflowersSo here we are, after months of tablescapes with a failure to launch, back again with a second table in as many weeks. Lest you think this means we've gotten it all together, think again. We've just gotten it together <i>enough</i> to join the tablescape challenge at <i>Cuisine Kathleen.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This month's challenge is called </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Farewell Summer. </span></div>
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<i>Something we'd be more than happy to do around here. </i></div>
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Unfortunately, we probably won't be able to officially bid summer farewell for about two more months. We have, however, already bid a sad farewell to<span style="font-size: large;"> summer's favorite flower</span>. We're using that flower for our tablescape inspiration.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfYwEg2cJgJEyspaUyrmDSORjdrwtftGRkmISIvanEBmSlvkYsc0aE_InhqSiCx1h9YWMfuNnK4PbIgyAUYIqzVHuTlampXyfIadUvDUhVFKFRow9l6PHZ4LRkYBSWny9tJR3r-PLvq0/s1600/E+So+long+summer+white+text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfYwEg2cJgJEyspaUyrmDSORjdrwtftGRkmISIvanEBmSlvkYsc0aE_InhqSiCx1h9YWMfuNnK4PbIgyAUYIqzVHuTlampXyfIadUvDUhVFKFRow9l6PHZ4LRkYBSWny9tJR3r-PLvq0/s1600/E+So+long+summer+white+text.jpg" height="640" width="482" /></a></div>
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I had two measly contributions to the whole table this week. First, I offered up this happy yellow<span style="font-size: large;"> tablecloth</span> from my mother-in-law. Not to be confused <i> in any way w</i>ith her harvest gold table cloth from <a href="http://wordsuponwheels.blogspot.com/2014/08/that-70s-table.html"><b>last week.</b></a>, this one is definitely<span style="font-size: large;"> sunflower yellow, </span>and happy, happy, happy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5uFLZEJWKrItRuP3X5HnURxojCopB2kGu8_E3FKVy-08-tx8_Ilev65TVA69LSG0GP4VmFkwob4SNRbnB9yc8gvZWB0jfMA7wK40sHrz_f2CeL1YzC3s1_uFjmHNO24iWKjJs9ivyN0/s1600/E+tablecloth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5uFLZEJWKrItRuP3X5HnURxojCopB2kGu8_E3FKVy-08-tx8_Ilev65TVA69LSG0GP4VmFkwob4SNRbnB9yc8gvZWB0jfMA7wK40sHrz_f2CeL1YzC3s1_uFjmHNO24iWKjJs9ivyN0/s1600/E+tablecloth.jpg" height="640" width="468" /></a></div>
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It matches the inspiration dishes, sunflower <span style="font-size: large;">salad plates</span> </div>
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which belong to the Duchess. </div>
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In fact, the entire place setting belongs to her, from the <span style="font-size: large;">burlap charger</span> to the bold<span style="font-size: large;"> blue dinner plate, </span>to the completely unnecessary <span style="font-size: large;">white one </span>we stacked between the two. </div>
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We just put it in there because the rim kind of looks like a<span style="font-size: large;"> paper plate.</span> </div>
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We happen to think paper plates are very summery. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NyActr0jsvbVh36UQBs5LrxJvk7kKXoZB3YMFGhhil_lE5N2_dRiU7ETZMCjQa6oRgfoSNDak9l_9915BXXH2rpqGMoQwo1ioUhk7JDyrk3YoLTCWJnLZ0iOu6JCLHeRZoHKPf6EBHM/s1600/E+PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NyActr0jsvbVh36UQBs5LrxJvk7kKXoZB3YMFGhhil_lE5N2_dRiU7ETZMCjQa6oRgfoSNDak9l_9915BXXH2rpqGMoQwo1ioUhk7JDyrk3YoLTCWJnLZ0iOu6JCLHeRZoHKPf6EBHM/s1600/E+PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
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See? Not actually paper...</div>
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She contributed just about everything else on the table, too. </div>
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(Well, not the sunflowers. God contributed the sunflowers.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnANETs6FrIGbJHPSI4I5FbAbngELHK_lImNcQwkuSNkhHz7oAEJ5Y1F3_BBfJDGFA6pPMl9owkGCnanS-2GrR5ywUdxehI3Px3dwRh1Gs1L7Zw8Nnpl_bwh4pUBFFg2geoeDC8_0XXQ/s1600/E+centerpiece+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnANETs6FrIGbJHPSI4I5FbAbngELHK_lImNcQwkuSNkhHz7oAEJ5Y1F3_BBfJDGFA6pPMl9owkGCnanS-2GrR5ywUdxehI3Px3dwRh1Gs1L7Zw8Nnpl_bwh4pUBFFg2geoeDC8_0XXQ/s1600/E+centerpiece+2.jpg" height="640" width="556" /></a></div>
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We took the <span style="font-size: large;">farmer gourd</span> and little red<span style="font-size: large;"> wagon </span>right off her summer mantel. </div>
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<i> He has a little sunflower hat. Not that any farmer I know</i></div>
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<i> would walk around with a sunflower stuck to his hat. </i></div>
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The <span style="font-size: large;">napkins </span>came<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>off her kitchen table. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJs_qmpJ2Zqgscwa9kDAzL8JHMLJnUWNbZic6TOofLpm60W18cr8qa4QPuBw26ABaQyVjzMOobI_4J8Hg87lCPbmDbEffEL5Z70ahh50NUFjCVGHiJ6MDxj7xZPaZq_s-CLO5zzsJ9GA/s1600/E+final+napkin+choice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJs_qmpJ2Zqgscwa9kDAzL8JHMLJnUWNbZic6TOofLpm60W18cr8qa4QPuBw26ABaQyVjzMOobI_4J8Hg87lCPbmDbEffEL5Z70ahh50NUFjCVGHiJ6MDxj7xZPaZq_s-CLO5zzsJ9GA/s1600/E+final+napkin+choice.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></div>
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I had to put them at the top of the plate </div>
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because the place card <span style="font-size: large;">church fans </span>took up all the other space. </div>
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<i>And there was no way we were leaving those church fans off the table. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFNBRCCNxtOyTPJd44VEKoPIgxukYJf6sSfm4yHdXXkLr08c_YATVRTWVVBTBy5SRRCbaMW1FvFgBmaBbdfdGGCgyPsOWkkCkJg5bcOJRLNGn5_eEQ8BiY2CDXiE3JlH_qQ-JpHSSNwI/s1600/E+laura+fan+better.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFNBRCCNxtOyTPJd44VEKoPIgxukYJf6sSfm4yHdXXkLr08c_YATVRTWVVBTBy5SRRCbaMW1FvFgBmaBbdfdGGCgyPsOWkkCkJg5bcOJRLNGn5_eEQ8BiY2CDXiE3JlH_qQ-JpHSSNwI/s1600/E+laura+fan+better.jpg" height="574" width="640" /></a></div>
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Because it's summer and this is south Georgia, folks.</div>
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People aren't the only <span style="font-size: large;">invisible guests</span> at an outdoor table. </div>
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The <span style="font-size: large;">gnats </span>are sure to show up as well. If you've never experienced a south Georgia <b>sand gnat</b>, consider yourself blessed. Old timers used to call them <span style="font-size: large; font-style: italic;">Noseeums...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>...</i></span>because you <i>no see um</i> until you<span style="font-size: large;"><i> feel um</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They bite. </span></div>
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Of course, church fans aren't going to keep the sand gnats at bay.</div>
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Nothing short of running in the house whilst screaming will do that. </div>
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They will, however, keep their slightly bigger first cousins from becoming </div>
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<i> no see ums</i> until you<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">taste ums. </span> </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ub0nym1zaysgxtBuvdd9DgtkD5ggcX-cVPCpuHWzTp3MNyTL29-RZzm6DO-Nw0S_ibkvy7ta5GUO4sbnXd3a7MDXvJDMDiANFDvuEwjh_dA3-jKJieYMHpCSlByETALW8_M4Ij1qKtE/s1600/E+-mary+fan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ub0nym1zaysgxtBuvdd9DgtkD5ggcX-cVPCpuHWzTp3MNyTL29-RZzm6DO-Nw0S_ibkvy7ta5GUO4sbnXd3a7MDXvJDMDiANFDvuEwjh_dA3-jKJieYMHpCSlByETALW8_M4Ij1qKtE/s1600/E+-mary+fan.jpg" height="606" width="640" /></a></div>
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And they might just keep a little summer breeze blowing at the table too, especially when we all start waving them in concert. Back and forth... betcha think we're sipping on some<span style="font-size: large;"> sweet tea </span>while we're at it, too. </div>
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Well we're not. </div>
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Need I remind you that I don't know how to make sweet tea?</div>
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Plus, I was setting this table in <span style="font-size: large;">100 degree</span> weather. </div>
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I needed a little <span style="font-size: large;">Power Aid </span>to replenish what I was losing in sweat balls. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnttBEj4mPa7MIweEEhdbcurpd0BwxUAMhi_GNcknsbUEAwdPPQ5KpKPBZStX9kT90I_CA9a183eXwbqXMjhvFXC2mz0fxR-ZwEkm_ZPS8_ZkCm4tOlMuJUY8yafXirB9Que8mjPnHYI4/s1600/E+stemware.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnttBEj4mPa7MIweEEhdbcurpd0BwxUAMhi_GNcknsbUEAwdPPQ5KpKPBZStX9kT90I_CA9a183eXwbqXMjhvFXC2mz0fxR-ZwEkm_ZPS8_ZkCm4tOlMuJUY8yafXirB9Que8mjPnHYI4/s1600/E+stemware.jpg" height="580" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Oh who am I kidding...</i></div>
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We picked the Power Aid because it's<span style="font-size: large;"> red,</span> and we thought red would look pretty on the table. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96k1b9-qSumjY4ufipBngvAOedihVB7jxZ37A9IAkjf61Hlw48OdKuT7VBHnOauQEZG4AFQtgJ9l89olkzEdCxac1C94gCUYzRHrf4yHqGoY1PbMgw2DRmmwS0lDVRGZ5Nkeh5lQ3afE/s1600/E+closing+table+partial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96k1b9-qSumjY4ufipBngvAOedihVB7jxZ37A9IAkjf61Hlw48OdKuT7VBHnOauQEZG4AFQtgJ9l89olkzEdCxac1C94gCUYzRHrf4yHqGoY1PbMgw2DRmmwS0lDVRGZ5Nkeh5lQ3afE/s1600/E+closing+table+partial.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></div>
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The fact that I guzzled most of it down</div>
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when I came back inside is just a happy coincidence. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmE_LY6AM0npuu6aKtPLdmZKlIQF7X4vcUKKHRP-KzFVNQkC7z9uQGWyi9Eqo0H3oGSzi9N1nFen6xLuk90RwYqXUBzjsfzurhTrBHkqjQ_LeDilEuEuSg8xG19hWOXhcSmolmCqS57c/s1600/E+full+table+red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmE_LY6AM0npuu6aKtPLdmZKlIQF7X4vcUKKHRP-KzFVNQkC7z9uQGWyi9Eqo0H3oGSzi9N1nFen6xLuk90RwYqXUBzjsfzurhTrBHkqjQ_LeDilEuEuSg8xG19hWOXhcSmolmCqS57c/s1600/E+full+table+red.jpg" height="414" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yes, indeed, I felt very refreshed, so refreshed </div>
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that I almost... <i>almost... </i> forgot </div>
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that it's <span style="font-size: large;">still</span> August, this is<span style="font-size: large;"> still </span>south Georgia,</div>
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and we still have some time to go before we can truly say,</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Farewell summer! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i>Sharing with <a href="http://www.cuisinekathleen.com/">Cuisine Kathleen</a></i></div>
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<i> and the good folks over on <a href="http://betweennapsontheporch.net/">The Porch</a> as well. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-18711073583277406642014-08-25T18:57:00.004-04:002014-08-26T07:36:26.972-04:00Smoochie the Chair Gets A Makeover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Have you ever wished that once, <span style="font-size: large;">just once,</span> you could open this blog</div>
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and not have to wade through an hour's worth of yakking? </div>
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Yeah, well, you are about to get your wish. </div>
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What follows is a <span style="font-size: large;">pictorial story</span> of the pesky armchair</div>
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that I finally finished <span style="font-size: large;">recovering</span> this morning. </div>
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I've named her <span style="font-size: large;">Smoochie...</span> </div>
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because she kept trying to <span style="font-size: large;">pucker</span> up on me.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </div>
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I<i> finally</i> got her all ironed out, though, so with no further ado, </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Smoochie</span> the <span style="font-size: large;">Chair </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yO9PRAPj1s5XEVIVwEU9twP_fjGqFoxzwy6TrjQQTTmTYMzizYNxDSPb6wYK8qNp5oFw2VSsTbeJI1FXBPOXfx_NeFAJ9K_GA-3ZVEY1-YIIUp6ew3at5cHqSA0cXFqoEX7j8AptxvI/s1600/smoochie+the+chair+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yO9PRAPj1s5XEVIVwEU9twP_fjGqFoxzwy6TrjQQTTmTYMzizYNxDSPb6wYK8qNp5oFw2VSsTbeJI1FXBPOXfx_NeFAJ9K_GA-3ZVEY1-YIIUp6ew3at5cHqSA0cXFqoEX7j8AptxvI/s1600/smoochie+the+chair+edited.jpg" height="640" width="448" /></a></div>
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<br />
OK, this is the <i>one point </i>where I'll interject. I had originally intended to paint her but changed my mind. Since she didn't need a full refinish, I tried an<span style="font-size: large;"> oil </span>and <span style="font-size: large;">vinegar </span>rub down instead. I'm <span style="font-size: large;">very </span>pleased with the result.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN9v61hM2W5rFn7DcmW6vXRjLcQ-DAZuwwAUGB9Us-SHHHSoBbMmued7KYMA04nhdF6RmoQs1E54EbGOG1lOvJuYYxl7JLV6THN8UWH1YBRVCU2g-nZKn9lyQQzuYc_-y_JvTpPEMpJ4/s1600/side+by+side+leg+comparison+best+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN9v61hM2W5rFn7DcmW6vXRjLcQ-DAZuwwAUGB9Us-SHHHSoBbMmued7KYMA04nhdF6RmoQs1E54EbGOG1lOvJuYYxl7JLV6THN8UWH1YBRVCU2g-nZKn9lyQQzuYc_-y_JvTpPEMpJ4/s1600/side+by+side+leg+comparison+best+edited.jpg" height="410" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mix, rub, buff, repeat....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxSyed_fLdqyM_wWHeD6Uyyuf1JlDT21soYmwBXcFSJy-fwZ2inx_kUV37hTFr0PBo_J9fcHkw2kgm9OQo3ipyoivvF1snqfrmvmjWUyrJtOcuOt2y-7PvsbRv4Gcfgf2IyBy7UFBtEw/s1600/side+by+side+leg+comparison+best+2+edit+again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxSyed_fLdqyM_wWHeD6Uyyuf1JlDT21soYmwBXcFSJy-fwZ2inx_kUV37hTFr0PBo_J9fcHkw2kgm9OQo3ipyoivvF1snqfrmvmjWUyrJtOcuOt2y-7PvsbRv4Gcfgf2IyBy7UFBtEw/s1600/side+by+side+leg+comparison+best+2+edit+again.jpg" height="444" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>And now...</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F-_EBLK7S4Agn3S_KsIQK_QdLKvjIaUKy7-iKeSdGyPcGlVnWpq8G893OZOGs3kRxaspJAhQPYJjgzGW2kfvsN8DyJG4XjD2T7ptrWe_wqwkPBMimsJtfLCjpB0bAvP1HLuP_bxCb4E/s1600/smoochie+the+chair+1+edited+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F-_EBLK7S4Agn3S_KsIQK_QdLKvjIaUKy7-iKeSdGyPcGlVnWpq8G893OZOGs3kRxaspJAhQPYJjgzGW2kfvsN8DyJG4XjD2T7ptrWe_wqwkPBMimsJtfLCjpB0bAvP1HLuP_bxCb4E/s1600/smoochie+the+chair+1+edited+final.jpg" height="640" width="450" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Finished! </span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And before the September 1st deadline to boot.<br />
<br />
Total cost, including the chair: <span style="font-size: large;">$25.00</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And thanks to a very nice sister with a good heart and a decent sewing machine, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the contrasting<span style="font-size: large;"> pillows</span> on the <i>prayer chairs</i> are finished too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DKIUZAQ_44hOBAgpFre8hvyC6V4LtpQdhgJucXtzVzAe02gQYzJggEoT6F__UCiC6CeZhS0Nvzn6xrCNS0KCycwbuqsi4pu0_AYXMg7dr_-Kh0EjtetvK4_YnA4Etzkzwy1cRfdNU54/s1600/contrast+with+prayer+chair+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DKIUZAQ_44hOBAgpFre8hvyC6V4LtpQdhgJucXtzVzAe02gQYzJggEoT6F__UCiC6CeZhS0Nvzn6xrCNS0KCycwbuqsi4pu0_AYXMg7dr_-Kh0EjtetvK4_YnA4Etzkzwy1cRfdNU54/s1600/contrast+with+prayer+chair+edited.jpg" height="640" width="622" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know what shocks me more, that I'm almost finished with that room,<br />
or that I made it through this post without the incessant yakking.<br />
<br />
Wooohooo for both!</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-47506572495945512802014-08-24T12:31:00.004-04:002020-07-30T21:20:04.819-04:00From the Mixed Up Diary of Little Debbie<div style="text-align: center;">
Can you stand just <i>one more</i> 1974 related post? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hope so because I have one. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You see, while digging through artifacts for that very pivotal year in my life,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I came across <span style="font-size: large;">this one. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BsgHH-uPVPP7FBM-wRWSnamOpQb_2hik10lx5xaN-fPCG7erA58D3pOzKrQFYmACmqmanzzfmWUFPprgdapfdwIJBy6hicwTkfqtZXVZj8h7SJxwdt39Am_xRPuAzBWCdA5e4-Qd9uM/s1600/debbie's%2Bdiary.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BsgHH-uPVPP7FBM-wRWSnamOpQb_2hik10lx5xaN-fPCG7erA58D3pOzKrQFYmACmqmanzzfmWUFPprgdapfdwIJBy6hicwTkfqtZXVZj8h7SJxwdt39Am_xRPuAzBWCdA5e4-Qd9uM/s1600/debbie's%2Bdiary.JPG" width="331" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
It's Little Debbie's diary, and it was written in<span style="font-size: large;"> 1974</span>. I know that, not because she bothered to date it, but because on the very first entry on January 1st, she says this: . </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEi05MzHccOcllEJN7rQl7Xg_p87HA0gUi5NYksEqQF7zxjQ7aA4FgF_0sgRF2Tm3eYxAmoOeNFsr3bIb5tTU2oEFkLxqgZpFGHDdFDWzEtt8uEkFz5jU3DnLME9h6Mbv1u1mtbNjMik/s1600/moving+to+Georgia+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEi05MzHccOcllEJN7rQl7Xg_p87HA0gUi5NYksEqQF7zxjQ7aA4FgF_0sgRF2Tm3eYxAmoOeNFsr3bIb5tTU2oEFkLxqgZpFGHDdFDWzEtt8uEkFz5jU3DnLME9h6Mbv1u1mtbNjMik/s1600/moving+to+Georgia+edited.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>I'm scared. We're moving to Georgia.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>I don't want to go.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
If you think this is yet another blog post about the Great Moving Adventure though, you're wrong. Little Debbie barely mentions that auspicious event again. Her thoughts over the next month are occupied with far more pressing matters. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
<br />
Yep, forget the kidnapping of Patty Hearst. Forget the national nightmare of Watergate. The top news story every day in Debbie Land was an update from the lonely hearts club. Poor Little Debbie just wanted one thing in her life; she wanted a boyfriend, and she couldn't seem to get one. <i>Bless her heart. </i><br />
<br />
It all started with a boy named <span style="font-size: large;">Frank.</span> Now folks, try as I might, I can't conjure up an image of this Frank. Apparently, though, he was very important to Little Debbie back in the day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
She liked him.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
He hated her back. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
But the very<span style="font-size: large;"> next day.</span>.. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEids1meRUD0wv3D6yJJ-sDhMyh_ED9m80ooQVej3w6CuULsgGN_uzJ-GjBhKIy2G79xwcXO6CcAgs9i8fnoTNelCHFJI8Qq8NDAnxa87SaYatJ3vhVxoMjf-iFDNKhM6SxKYKESztkgDGA/s1600/Philip's%2Bnot%2Bso%2Bbad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEids1meRUD0wv3D6yJJ-sDhMyh_ED9m80ooQVej3w6CuULsgGN_uzJ-GjBhKIy2G79xwcXO6CcAgs9i8fnoTNelCHFJI8Qq8NDAnxa87SaYatJ3vhVxoMjf-iFDNKhM6SxKYKESztkgDGA/s1600/Philip's%2Bnot%2Bso%2Bbad.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Philip's not so bad...</b></i></div>
<br />
Now, I might not remember this Frank boy, but <span style="font-size: large;">Philip</span> is another story. Little Debbie became twitterpated with Philip when he first showed up in the fifth grade, and she never really changed her mind. In mathematical terms, Philip would be known as the love constant. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not to worry, though. There was plenty of room in her heart for<span style="font-size: large;"> two. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Three</i> </span>even...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_ZkqvqZ_IJYcnF2tJQQa4uqrb0qaDRN3ZVXij96G7PR06nqXalCEGaM4KGhZQCQRDcvB3NB8AY3PtGIDKgoKEg2FGVLzKcUpnlvt5J4vSNhcd7mlBCy2VYa5NGggXIjboSsLiYLVA6k/s1600/Remo,+Philip,+or+Frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_ZkqvqZ_IJYcnF2tJQQa4uqrb0qaDRN3ZVXij96G7PR06nqXalCEGaM4KGhZQCQRDcvB3NB8AY3PtGIDKgoKEg2FGVLzKcUpnlvt5J4vSNhcd7mlBCy2VYa5NGggXIjboSsLiYLVA6k/s1600/Remo,+Philip,+or+Frank.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Remo</span></div>
<br />
You have to give the kid points for loyalty. Once a fellow got on her love list, he <i>stayed </i>on her love list. Little Debbie never was much for subtraction. She was more into <span style="font-size: large;">addition,</span> and apparently she thought it was time to add a little Italian to the mix. (At least I think <span style="font-size: large;">Remo</span> was Italian... maybe Greek. I'm not sure. ) <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
At any rate, it was probably a good idea to keep her options open,<br />
<i>what with Frank hating her and all.</i> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And just a <span style="font-size: large;">few days</span> later....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfCKmVJ9kJrF85SHyARldyw-jaLhQeMwFxv2yEnbZzjtQuNOr2p6U4WAVACjC2TDMIdDan-OUpYpakNajhsivFqpCTy5cB2JabY_TDc2hAFekseJarNQ0aEtlYlPxSP2UFwBN21fvKUo/s1600/Adding+Troy+Jervas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfCKmVJ9kJrF85SHyARldyw-jaLhQeMwFxv2yEnbZzjtQuNOr2p6U4WAVACjC2TDMIdDan-OUpYpakNajhsivFqpCTy5cB2JabY_TDc2hAFekseJarNQ0aEtlYlPxSP2UFwBN21fvKUo/s1600/Adding+Troy+Jervas.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Troy. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now, though he may not be mentioned here, she hadn't dropped the Italian boy. She continues to pine over Remo... and Frank... and Philip.... and Troy over the next month. It's a dream team of four, and Little Debbie loved them all. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
See? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHYiKtBBaEjIV5YbiOX9fHCEAobD40Wl2tPm_1LVhg8tnneY-h0Je2IuDwbPIAWr-TjFMHeXCLVm2X9aIfOmRt3gjrnSFD8HyoTl9txXfZn9tKJMlEysR3JnKpGWhOtYXrYL6BflvomY/s1600/love+all+four+of+them+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHYiKtBBaEjIV5YbiOX9fHCEAobD40Wl2tPm_1LVhg8tnneY-h0Je2IuDwbPIAWr-TjFMHeXCLVm2X9aIfOmRt3gjrnSFD8HyoTl9txXfZn9tKJMlEysR3JnKpGWhOtYXrYL6BflvomY/s1600/love+all+four+of+them+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
It's at this exact point that the writing <span style="font-size: large;">stops</span>, and Little Debbie inexplicably disappears. Looks like nothing much has changed in Debbie Land since 1974.<br />
<br />
But lo and behold, six months later, she's back again, writing from her new home in southeast Georgia. You would think she had a lot of stuff to tell Dear Diary at this point, stuff about her new house with her new room, or her new school, or new church, or new friends, or a whole new culture.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
But no.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Little Debbie came back to talk about the new<span style="font-size: large;"> boys.</span> </div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82wmw5Qrm9YR98-r2_Qe39lwe6vHyNWzdCneRmXXaYoq-5YR-z15PZzXaem9CkGIRTH88eURhdR-0Te3BKlsGffL25aOyXHZoz9HArx3-7JVTPPVvEbOaGOIlSzb0R0nKiVLKZlubM5I/s1600/Georgia+boy+crazy+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82wmw5Qrm9YR98-r2_Qe39lwe6vHyNWzdCneRmXXaYoq-5YR-z15PZzXaem9CkGIRTH88eURhdR-0Te3BKlsGffL25aOyXHZoz9HArx3-7JVTPPVvEbOaGOIlSzb0R0nKiVLKZlubM5I/s1600/Georgia+boy+crazy+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And thus was the life of a Little Debbie, chasing from one boy to another. Boy after boy after boy after boy.<br />
What a mess.<br />
<br />
I kept reading Dear Diary until I came to the very <span style="font-size: large;">last entry</span>. After the usual lamentation about how ugly I was and that no boy would ever slow down enough for me to catch him, I came to the very <span style="font-size: large;">last sentence</span> in the book.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Apparently, I was not only boy crazy but a lousy speller.)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtC4-UZ5-MoTexeIYD81DHHuFHCFPncnrFws3sd8hnMPszo4zq1gRW6X9BE44RDh_OEbfQhRHqMKxx3bWO7UvzCA55ZBK1jhQs7shHz7MQ8ekea1ZfdP73XuGrmzBI7iJdYFsRiOCIyw/s1600/last+entry+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtC4-UZ5-MoTexeIYD81DHHuFHCFPncnrFws3sd8hnMPszo4zq1gRW6X9BE44RDh_OEbfQhRHqMKxx3bWO7UvzCA55ZBK1jhQs7shHz7MQ8ekea1ZfdP73XuGrmzBI7iJdYFsRiOCIyw/s1600/last+entry+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><b>I'm trying to find that God has someone chosen for me in my Bible. </b></i></div>
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Now folks, the rest of that rambling Debbie mess made me laugh right out loud, but do you know what that last part did?<br />
<br />
It made me smile.<br />
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And maybe, <i>just maybe</i>, it made me a little misty-eyed too. Maybe it even gave me a lump in my throat and a catch in my heart. Because, you see, I never did find that passage in the Bible. ( If you know of one, please share. I'm sure there are a lot of Little Debbies who would love to see it.) I did, however, find something even better.<br />
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I found <span style="font-size: large;">him.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61hr2DOLfcyR7wySaWTlFlFFkOChmJqPbUldwpyBv8Q0rzovySdoM8H9XYB-oJkjJlWIAL0u0UNImMMleNcxLKIsL4o7EI341nERV_G1lk8mzQTeI7tmyAXGrrhGjsTOK80NM4YJGA-g/s1600/scan0003+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61hr2DOLfcyR7wySaWTlFlFFkOChmJqPbUldwpyBv8Q0rzovySdoM8H9XYB-oJkjJlWIAL0u0UNImMMleNcxLKIsL4o7EI341nERV_G1lk8mzQTeI7tmyAXGrrhGjsTOK80NM4YJGA-g/s1600/scan0003+(2).jpg" width="506" /></a></div>
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And within days, I knew <i>without a doubt</i> that <span style="font-size: large;">the chase </span>was over. </div>
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I realize that I get a little nauseating when I talk about Sir Lotsa Hair, but friends, that man <i>really is </i>my knight in shining armor. No other man could fit me the way that he does. No other man would<i> put up with me</i> the way he does. Indeed, God had <span style="font-size: large;">chosen</span> <span style="font-size: large;">that someone</span> just for me. <br />
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He is<i> immeasurably, abundantly, more than I could ask or imagine. </i></div>
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And here's the thing: If I had known what was <b>waiting ahead </b>for me, I wouldn't have bothered with all that <span style="font-size: large;">chasing.</span> I wouldn't have bothered with Frank or Philip or Remo or Troy. I wouldn't have bothered with Walter or any of the other 4,728 contestants on the Love Connection. I would have spared my heart the sorrow and spent my time and emotions on the<span style="font-size: large;"> better stuff. </span>If I had only known...<br />
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Can anyone relate?<br />
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Probably.<br />
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We all *get* that, don't we? We shake our heads at Little Debbie and her lack of belief. We wish we could go back in time and tell her that what God had planned for her was so much better than what she could see in front of her. We wish we could convince her that all that stuff she was chasing was well, just <span style="font-size: large;">stuff.</span><br />
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And yet, here we are, all grown up and <span style="font-size: large;">still chasing. </span><br />
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Oh sure, it might not be the incredible ever- expanding boy collection, but we're still out there chasing after the <span style="font-size: large;">stuff. </span> What's more? We're chasing it for the exact same reason Little Debbie chased the boys:<br />
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Because we refuse to believe that what God has<span style="font-size: large;"> ahead</span> of us is<i> immeasurably, abundantly, more</i> than anything in front of us.<br />
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One day, all the silly <span style="font-size: large;">stuff</span> we're pouring out in the journals of our hearts will be even less of a memory than poor, faceless Frank. It'll all be gone, and we won't even care.<br />
<br />
Because, friends, what lies ahead of us is so much better than we can ask or imagine. If we can only convince our little hearts to believe...<br />
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<i><br /></i>
<i>No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can comprehend </i><br />
<i>what God has in store for those who love him.`</i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 Cor. 2:9</span></i></div>
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****</div>
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Comments off as usual for Sundays<br />
<br />
But I am linking this to<br />
<a href="http://www.thewritersreverie.com/">All Things Bright and Beautiful</a></div>
<br />
<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-68161526766292647722014-08-21T07:38:00.001-04:002014-08-22T06:43:11.640-04:00That '70s Table<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I mentioned a few days ago that my family was having an anniversary celebration this week. </div>
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We're celebrating our arrival in Georgia 40 years ago<span style="font-size: large;"> today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">August 21, 1974.</span></div>
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We thought it would be fun to celebrate by creating a </div>
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1974 themed table. </div>
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We're calling it...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgNQggWr4wG28TLO1jqxEx-d8Nro4hFI5yo-JmEHWw0cT-Hdd6mS4mYYtbOGvInWQUg08NIXtI3tfEcdvSfRkoAYBuNhqtM06JExYl5OQgyoTaF_raWfpy1QB-fc3JkdF6gEK_GmWYbw/s1600/opening+table+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgNQggWr4wG28TLO1jqxEx-d8Nro4hFI5yo-JmEHWw0cT-Hdd6mS4mYYtbOGvInWQUg08NIXtI3tfEcdvSfRkoAYBuNhqtM06JExYl5OQgyoTaF_raWfpy1QB-fc3JkdF6gEK_GmWYbw/s1600/opening+table+edited.jpg" height="640" width="457" /></a></div>
Of course, since 1974 was smack dab in the middle of a recession, we didn't want to spend too much money on it. I set myself a goal of staying within a<span style="font-size: large;"> $10.00 budget. </span>Everything on the table was either <span style="font-size: large;">hoarded</span>, <span style="font-size: large;">thrifted</span>,<span style="font-size: large;"> borrowed</span>, or<span style="font-size: large;"> crafted.</span><br />
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We started with these thrifted <span style="font-size: large;">salad plates</span> in harvest gold and avocado green... with just the tiniest pop of orange thrown in. Then, we added dinner plates and chargers already living in the dish closet.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXMyEjC3Vczm2KC44wgLsNIuNbiJ6hHamGRIrmvs66HLDvuiHF4HN1W4JqGE8Fhh1sjgZmQLuMt63PD8jw_8BZNwi0nGZO7gZtL7dECe3MCR33GX7bjSGkgUD4YbNIoKdaPrg-uIJhPw/s1600/definitel+plate+introduction+E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXMyEjC3Vczm2KC44wgLsNIuNbiJ6hHamGRIrmvs66HLDvuiHF4HN1W4JqGE8Fhh1sjgZmQLuMt63PD8jw_8BZNwi0nGZO7gZtL7dECe3MCR33GX7bjSGkgUD4YbNIoKdaPrg-uIJhPw/s1600/definitel+plate+introduction+E.jpg" height="400" width="373" /></span></a></div>
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The <span style="font-size: large;">harvest gold tablecloth </span> belonged to my mother-in-law.<br />
It matched perfectly because, <i>apparently</i>, there was really only one shade of harvest gold. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoAFkVeGQdE6i3JMPWM1CZj2GynDovFf4mOzBZzvGdt53dEIYUn78-r3z7LAJp3Bi3Q3sNWMXxo9suWcwrQj2dRjRMU6Xk2UVu18AIjWOLlGcaeHKJpJMN6p-aT2uUzzhyphenhyphena6q9x1P-O4/s1600/table+cloth+E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoAFkVeGQdE6i3JMPWM1CZj2GynDovFf4mOzBZzvGdt53dEIYUn78-r3z7LAJp3Bi3Q3sNWMXxo9suWcwrQj2dRjRMU6Xk2UVu18AIjWOLlGcaeHKJpJMN6p-aT2uUzzhyphenhyphena6q9x1P-O4/s1600/table+cloth+E.jpg" height="640" width="521" /></a></div>
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The thrft store <span style="font-size: large;">stemware</span> was dirt cheap. </div>
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because avocado green glasses aren't much in demand these days.</div>
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<i>Gee, I wonder why...</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvpo0C1jPca_NMImp2qDttG4WubikzSPfwcroq-_qaPV31vS_EV8_XTDIKm3IlXssQdEfERRudAPBGETWMeEABXtl4XP-QairzNGF4v3bCqCkh1kDNeErPfwbRgjITj1c4f_hnK4KYxw/s1600/stemware+DEFINITE+Edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvpo0C1jPca_NMImp2qDttG4WubikzSPfwcroq-_qaPV31vS_EV8_XTDIKm3IlXssQdEfERRudAPBGETWMeEABXtl4XP-QairzNGF4v3bCqCkh1kDNeErPfwbRgjITj1c4f_hnK4KYxw/s1600/stemware+DEFINITE+Edited.jpg" height="640" width="492" /></a></div>
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and the<span style="font-size: large;"> flatware</span> was borrowed from a friend of mine. </div>
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It's from her Great Wedding Adventure of 1974.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaZ-jNUqNBZvd-227itGfm7ZPH1EaZYZ5uDDNpsHHCYmmwUiojdKqHMjsi6fZhUAEMQAFvTitbbI0xWAH0ovAYBwV6l9WnfSx8r5Kze5e517uqX1NnhVnRVWPkfg6h1NpQejXHguMfUA/s1600/fork+final+E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaZ-jNUqNBZvd-227itGfm7ZPH1EaZYZ5uDDNpsHHCYmmwUiojdKqHMjsi6fZhUAEMQAFvTitbbI0xWAH0ovAYBwV6l9WnfSx8r5Kze5e517uqX1NnhVnRVWPkfg6h1NpQejXHguMfUA/s1600/fork+final+E.jpg" height="640" width="550" /></a></div>
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The rest of the table was filled with icons of 1974.</div>
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Like <span style="font-size: large;">mellow mushrooms. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7zA7fpKEh4KZEeTaPsyaMoqZOP2aOSonf3dXpKnTIcbWKzUI-zgwHyWIp9uozAG4MaA8p2JFKSHm0IQxwOEwScG-XtS5d1KRHmjg8yplBHXHYK5nOQNn01XXhRkij0LcxzQrXG-AB2U/s1600/partial+2+edited+again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7zA7fpKEh4KZEeTaPsyaMoqZOP2aOSonf3dXpKnTIcbWKzUI-zgwHyWIp9uozAG4MaA8p2JFKSHm0IQxwOEwScG-XtS5d1KRHmjg8yplBHXHYK5nOQNn01XXhRkij0LcxzQrXG-AB2U/s1600/partial+2+edited+again.jpg" height="554" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: orange;"><i>Little tidbit: The Mellow Mushroom pizza place is having their 40th anniversary this week, too. </i><i>The first one opened right around the corner from the husband's house in Atlanta forty years ago yesterday. Cool, huh?</i></span></b></div>
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Our little <span style="font-size: large;">mushroom</span> isn't very mellow at all. </div>
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The happy little <span style="font-size: large;">pitcher </span>belonged to my grandmother.</div>
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She had a whole set of canisters to match it, but we couldn't find them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oXpXVQ4fM-sBPORZ2t5LZGz-TiwDXWft8qOEEEbS22KjUfFIGVE0XWd1zfdmKTD0Dvt_KoXOXUiNFJx7GIVJ7KC8S5XYoTbap9Q6KJqtQvx_x38O_Pr_E_vuz7bqNx5-ATV4zZuMbD8/s1600/mushroom+E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oXpXVQ4fM-sBPORZ2t5LZGz-TiwDXWft8qOEEEbS22KjUfFIGVE0XWd1zfdmKTD0Dvt_KoXOXUiNFJx7GIVJ7KC8S5XYoTbap9Q6KJqtQvx_x38O_Pr_E_vuz7bqNx5-ATV4zZuMbD8/s1600/mushroom+E.jpg" height="640" width="538" /></a></div>
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So we used a harvest gold <span style="font-size: large;">fondue pot</span> for the centerpiece instead. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxOeuNuy2jA7ORgQlVFIDBnhWudca_miKsx0X7uH_ktKB_ty6AdHAYolLioICFFEWcypXKrC3IPcHFkwwkiy6qGSdn_88SHITOa5pUITZnU0hCWnFLtSGcyCwprlclN3S_fJibkFOV3I/s1600/fondu+pot+better+E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxOeuNuy2jA7ORgQlVFIDBnhWudca_miKsx0X7uH_ktKB_ty6AdHAYolLioICFFEWcypXKrC3IPcHFkwwkiy6qGSdn_88SHITOa5pUITZnU0hCWnFLtSGcyCwprlclN3S_fJibkFOV3I/s1600/fondu+pot+better+E.jpg" height="640" width="458" /></a></div>
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What could be more iconic of 1974 than a fondue pot?</div>
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Maybe these two <span style="font-size: large;">crafty staples</span> of the era...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTLLyS69m4WEP7qkyhHviY3K51bn0bjzp_34eKifbJJU9aHXHDx4HFEfYISF8hbEtReQKwYu6pV3HDIA9v4JbMIqbF_abJz-1oAMeIuDEVLbxwYf0YK8lPmJngbzO2VoJoL6ZPXetsQ4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTLLyS69m4WEP7qkyhHviY3K51bn0bjzp_34eKifbJJU9aHXHDx4HFEfYISF8hbEtReQKwYu6pV3HDIA9v4JbMIqbF_abJz-1oAMeIuDEVLbxwYf0YK8lPmJngbzO2VoJoL6ZPXetsQ4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage+2.jpg" height="456" width="640" /></a></div>
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I cannibalized an unloved thrift store plant holder to make those <span style="font-size: large;">napkin rings. </span> </div>
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And yes, I do realize that they wouldn't have stuffed </div>
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two different napkins in there in 1974.</div>
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<i>Maybe they should have</i>.</div>
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I think a little napkin bling kinda jazzes up <i>That '70s Table.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu89Ya9ZPCzxBYfaQGh4mKDDIp_Cnpt6g6hpGB-qge_fSFfPNinXFKFXsKfQqa71m3VwjjtvzeCjqROXcT8byuWPNOl5VJVjTViHNRcKMB0BjObCWUqSVGEnsrmGocEYMZjNUsS3MdmIA/s1600/setting+last.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu89Ya9ZPCzxBYfaQGh4mKDDIp_Cnpt6g6hpGB-qge_fSFfPNinXFKFXsKfQqa71m3VwjjtvzeCjqROXcT8byuWPNOl5VJVjTViHNRcKMB0BjObCWUqSVGEnsrmGocEYMZjNUsS3MdmIA/s1600/setting+last.jpg" height="466" width="640" /></a></div>
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Of course, the <i>Sunshine On My Shoulders</i> helped a little too. </div>
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<i>And that's the way it is, </i></div>
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Thursday, August 21, 2014.</div>
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The day we celebrated with an<span style="font-size: large;"> anniversary table. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTibCPiIafqtjK6saZNH7TT2o_Yd_VXjkyJ_24Ck77Jn80DpZYWwBj_4jFuCmBeqYvGN6ZZ581r5s_s9oCkhyphenhyphenA-O20nvESvsGerZZnqrCtRMigAzljkbclZOZfDi9Y7GWk-IGFaz6yrlc/s1600/setting+morning+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTibCPiIafqtjK6saZNH7TT2o_Yd_VXjkyJ_24Ck77Jn80DpZYWwBj_4jFuCmBeqYvGN6ZZ581r5s_s9oCkhyphenhyphenA-O20nvESvsGerZZnqrCtRMigAzljkbclZOZfDi9Y7GWk-IGFaz6yrlc/s1600/setting+morning+edit.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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Maybe it doesn't rise to the level of a </div>
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<i>beautiful one</i>... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqw4Qp_t63BL6ff0YREPdnuOIQVslzb0ugzpI1YbxkFs8f58YRjDViYJKbp-aG8tD5VHIhQI6q9-7nJ0XD_NIjbsyNUePg78HnxQRXYpoPiR5ttVB3ylzh0YjxfTS0RBOV5PYxlbjcyQ/s1600/full+table+without+frost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqw4Qp_t63BL6ff0YREPdnuOIQVslzb0ugzpI1YbxkFs8f58YRjDViYJKbp-aG8tD5VHIhQI6q9-7nJ0XD_NIjbsyNUePg78HnxQRXYpoPiR5ttVB3ylzh0YjxfTS0RBOV5PYxlbjcyQ/s1600/full+table+without+frost.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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But it sure was <span style="font-size: large;"> fun!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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Happy Anniversary </div>
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from our table to yours!</div>
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*****</div>
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Sharing with <a href="http://betweennapsontheporch.net/a-summer-dinner-party-on-the-porch/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+BetweenNapsOnThePorch+%28BETWEEN+NAPS+ON+THE+PORCH%29">the Porch People</a></div>
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for Tablescape Thursday</div>
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-76743422806181314612014-08-18T12:18:00.006-04:002014-08-19T07:42:53.222-04:00The journey of a thousand miles<div style="text-align: center;">
... began with a single step.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfjxKUGYLZkbG3634fkDTEGG_bllq3C4EMrewKxcUkLdvqJglyEsFU0QWFPT18g3xAvhFitXuQ_m-kLO9rC7fgeSQ6ZSCmNdyM_O_PU2MfElEHJC2EQtbo_QptGdHQ7w3VE-6OBmt_fQ/s1600/keep-on-truckin-button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfjxKUGYLZkbG3634fkDTEGG_bllq3C4EMrewKxcUkLdvqJglyEsFU0QWFPT18g3xAvhFitXuQ_m-kLO9rC7fgeSQ6ZSCmNdyM_O_PU2MfElEHJC2EQtbo_QptGdHQ7w3VE-6OBmt_fQ/s1600/keep-on-truckin-button.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=keep+on+truckin%27&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=jSHyU4SPJqjgsAS5nIKAAQ&sqi=2&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ&biw=1366&bih=600#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=MR_sAN4f11nVWM%253A%3BVCLadvoxTTc4UM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.sunshinedaydream.biz%252Fassets%252Fimages%252Fbuttons%252Fkeep-on-truckin-button.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.sunshinedaydream.biz%252FKeep-on-Truckin-Blacklight-Poster_p_2514.html%3B300%3B300"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">source</span></a></div>
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My family is celebrating a milestone this week. It's an anniversary of sorts, and if all goes well, I'm planning to include you in the celebration. It's an anniversary<span style="font-size: large;"> forty years</span> in the making.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">40 years...</span></div>
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That would take us back to <span style="font-size: large;"> 1974. </span></div>
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... the year Hammerin' Hank broke Babe Ruth's home run record.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2QVJb35Fo-z-rt7Cen5YGWY4eYWxUv30x2RBP1mOinymAVinNh2QAMWAbuVsXDEisxI9jIY3HUm927-CrekYHK6BzyC9pkgJdA5B3a1e_rE1oAh76fB4GcsA5IADZcQs0Bs1rh-eUNs/s1600/Hank+715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2QVJb35Fo-z-rt7Cen5YGWY4eYWxUv30x2RBP1mOinymAVinNh2QAMWAbuVsXDEisxI9jIY3HUm927-CrekYHK6BzyC9pkgJdA5B3a1e_rE1oAh76fB4GcsA5IADZcQs0Bs1rh-eUNs/s1600/Hank+715.jpg" height="400" width="301" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><a href="http://onthisdayinsports.blogspot.com/2013/04/april-8-1974-hammerin-hank-breaks-babe.html" style="font-size: x-small;">source</a></div>
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and <span style="font-size: large;">Patty Hearst </span>was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3i4MVu_7rYXSKhvkFaMy6DgYepB6pyzejy5OU00Xap6jhUOJxmi4E5Ww_xZzrVFF9tOu7_QQZlnIIxjRbKty-4woLnM7JEkCuKE9zO4Gb8loTnpQb45KSg0zxfunZ4cbGfMDo8mmlTHM/s1600/PattyHearstThomsonGun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3i4MVu_7rYXSKhvkFaMy6DgYepB6pyzejy5OU00Xap6jhUOJxmi4E5Ww_xZzrVFF9tOu7_QQZlnIIxjRbKty-4woLnM7JEkCuKE9zO4Gb8loTnpQb45KSg0zxfunZ4cbGfMDo8mmlTHM/s1600/PattyHearstThomsonGun.jpg" height="400" width="275" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=patty+hearst+gun+photo&tbm=isch&imgil=5El1TA7Jc8ftCM%253A%253BGhTwkGQwMR--qM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.guns.com%25252F2012%25252F11%25252F17%25252Fth-iver-johnson-enforcer-an-m1-carbine-pistol%25252F&source=iu&usg=__oG_YqjjtPlpyOP-E0TZOt-N_rwM%3D&sa=X&ei=URvyU7W0E6bmsASf_YLoCw&ved=0CCcQ9QEwBA&biw=1366&bih=600#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=cftPIHhtC9VMYM%253A%3B4n-NPrtVJNrxzM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.hum.aau.dk%252F~i12bent%252FPattyHearstThomsonGun.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.hum.aau.dk%252F~i12bent%252FDoingCulturalStudiesWorkshop1.html%3B242%3B350"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">source</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Post- it notes </span>were invented that year too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-o8OJ3RTWS-4uLeGJEqKrkWNqt_9Wm-AITm1UwR8oKnNEe_bEOZIKqJXs5xsQLO4roi9zMzd9Tp6xG2wtIJxLesWiGDb0iNwLcsh1kqMBw0HmSsfwaPEYuDFW14yR2uaQvm1d7fJGgg/s1600/016af99.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-o8OJ3RTWS-4uLeGJEqKrkWNqt_9Wm-AITm1UwR8oKnNEe_bEOZIKqJXs5xsQLO4roi9zMzd9Tp6xG2wtIJxLesWiGDb0iNwLcsh1kqMBw0HmSsfwaPEYuDFW14yR2uaQvm1d7fJGgg/s1600/016af99.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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And some missing White House tapes contributed to the resignation<br />
of an <span style="font-size: large;">American president.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRx7wwW32JYLs2_0mLPGc3rMF6EgNf0HH0mP08mfJ4YOo-GtdmNobz2aNvMDqR3IMecPTr-_0bmRT1q5uLTVviJoXCPjGomA28tgnfJTCm7hn7_b5Mu9v190hLbXDVYX5OxWg-d2OAqI/s1600/Nixon+plate+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRx7wwW32JYLs2_0mLPGc3rMF6EgNf0HH0mP08mfJ4YOo-GtdmNobz2aNvMDqR3IMecPTr-_0bmRT1q5uLTVviJoXCPjGomA28tgnfJTCm7hn7_b5Mu9v190hLbXDVYX5OxWg-d2OAqI/s1600/Nixon+plate+1.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Things that make you go hmmmm... </i></span></div>
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The <span style="font-size: large;">speed limit</span> across the nation was lowered to<span style="font-size: large;"> this </span>glacial speed in 1974, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwsH7T-W_J5PGeXfVIORIjyuVCd_mjCNFNW7TEspp1jfHMGEPrWgPXZ92wZsyRyPGuD8T_53MiTANGC7NRsC0a9rTotnNT4CPIRlLq_p-l8Sru05D_TDTwARnJB49ZMhUqvkjRsl2wgA/s1600/speed+limit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwsH7T-W_J5PGeXfVIORIjyuVCd_mjCNFNW7TEspp1jfHMGEPrWgPXZ92wZsyRyPGuD8T_53MiTANGC7NRsC0a9rTotnNT4CPIRlLq_p-l8Sru05D_TDTwARnJB49ZMhUqvkjRsl2wgA/s1600/speed+limit.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<i>Just in time </i>for my parents to pick up stakes </div>
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and take the family on a journey of a thousand miles,</div>
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all the way from our home in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts</div>
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to a land flowing with biscuits and honey.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoufR0YpffVJN_w2jTpuXT6Pt0w0jeTa03zBrP8JjNRQTath1F3vDedXJ0M3kfn0FkRrPYyzNY6NwjBefGQxpkDx-dD-Cw7OPY5xAxY2_TE7h80IBK9qGLAwoI1iqNZtMBpRGimSIdsFs/s1600/welcome-to-georgia-state-sign-ga,75660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoufR0YpffVJN_w2jTpuXT6Pt0w0jeTa03zBrP8JjNRQTath1F3vDedXJ0M3kfn0FkRrPYyzNY6NwjBefGQxpkDx-dD-Cw7OPY5xAxY2_TE7h80IBK9qGLAwoI1iqNZtMBpRGimSIdsFs/s1600/welcome-to-georgia-state-sign-ga,75660.jpg" height="508" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was a <span style="font-size: large;">one way</span> adventure.</div>
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Yes folks, forty years ago<span style="font-size: large;"> today</span>, my parents <span style="font-size: large;">packed up</span> the wood paneled station wagon, <span style="font-size: large;">hitched up </span>the trusty travel trailer, <span style="font-size: large;">loaded up</span> four kids and two cats, and <span style="font-size: large;">headed out</span> to our new home in Georgia. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
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It took us three and a half days to make that thousand mile journey. Sure, we could have done it faster, much, much faster in fact. In the years that followed, we managed to whittle it down to about 22 hours, <i>21 if nobody drank coffee. </i></div>
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<i>Like that was going to happen in our family... </i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">That trip</span> </i>was longer for a variety of reasons.<br />
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For one thing, we were at the mercy of the moving company. North American Van Lines wasn't scheduled to deliver all the house <i>schtuff </i>until August 20th, and Mom and Dad wanted it to arrive before we did.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chaos control</span>, I imagine.<br />
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I <i>did</i> mention the four kids and two cats, right?</div>
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And that one of the kids was blond and... <i>me</i>?</div>
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Then, of course, there was the <span style="font-size: large;">other reason</span> for the snail's pace, the one that in retrospect was probably the <i>real</i> one. <br />
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Those four kids weren't exactly thrilled about the move,<i> </i></div>
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Especially<i> this</i> one<i>. She was scared.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJYJQIhKVhkQTnklwtz-UPaU0LZcNfCKOcFKhgj3Jfk_xE7oiwjN1uWf_9AKWM3ineWNlef28cc-WYcIOSzbeGUbeON93tTpUcFKg7k-Ag9QjuGOTI76ZFeM9kkSCMQKpucfziG35Zcc/s1600/edited+Debbie+third.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJYJQIhKVhkQTnklwtz-UPaU0LZcNfCKOcFKhgj3Jfk_xE7oiwjN1uWf_9AKWM3ineWNlef28cc-WYcIOSzbeGUbeON93tTpUcFKg7k-Ag9QjuGOTI76ZFeM9kkSCMQKpucfziG35Zcc/s1600/edited+Debbie+third.jpg" height="400" width="210" /></a></div>
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I'm pretty sure the cats weren't too happy, either. Somewhere around Virginia, Muffy tried to make a run for it. She would've made it, too, had Dad not caught her by the scruff of the neck. I laid aside all plans of my own escape after that and deployed the <span style="font-size: large;">pout option</span> instead.<br />
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It didn't work. Dad just kept driving. Somewhere around South Carolina, I finally decided that we were, indeed, moving to Georgia.<br />
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<i>And that we did.</i><br />
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In the heat of the afternoon on <span style="font-size: large;">August 21st, </span>we finally arrived. We stopped off at Dad's office, where the secretary offered us a <i>Co-Cola</i> and told us how she had once been crowned <i>Miss Savannah. </i><br />
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I thought she talked kinda funny.<br />
I'm pretty sure she thought we talked funny, too.<br />
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Then we headed to see the new house. True to plan, all that harvest gold and avocado green <i>schtuff </i>had arrived and was waiting in its proper rooms. We had about ten minutes to tour the place before we were sent <i>un</i>packing.<br />
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By suppertime, we were completely<span style="font-size: large;"> finished </span><i>because that's the way the Duchess rolls.</i> We didn't have any food in the house so we celebrated our first night in Georgia with a meal at the <i>Tastee Freez.</i><br />
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<strike>Woohoo</strike>.</div>
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Let's make that one a <i>yee haw</i> instead.</div>
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And that, folks, is how Debbie became a Georgia Peach. Not that it happened overnight, of course. This is the <i>south</i>, after all. Things move along at a nice, slow drawl around here. We take our time. Eventually, though, I not only <i>liked </i>this place but <span style="font-size: large;">truly loved it, </span> and every bit of southern fried Dixie that went along with it, from<span style="font-size: large;"> grits</span> to <span style="font-size: large;">gravy</span>.<br />
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It is <span style="font-size: x-large;">home. </span></div>
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And now, it has been home for <span style="font-size: large;">forty</span> years. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>40 years....</i></span></div>
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Don't you think it's time I learned to make sweet tea?</div>
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Yeah, I think so too. </div>
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*****<br />
Where were <span style="font-size: large;">you </span>in '74?<br />
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-32002072800935848112014-08-15T10:10:00.001-04:002014-08-16T12:15:08.267-04:00Those Cotton Pickin' Dog Days of Summer<div style="text-align: left;">
I was planning to share a little project I've been working on this morning. It's a chair that was put on the To Do list way back in February. Taking procrastination to whole new levels, I have finally finished it in August. </div>
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OK, strike that. I have <i>almost</i> finished it in August. I hope to have it finished by September.<br />
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<i>... 2016</i><br />
<br />
At the risk of letting this post get all sidetracked about the<i> terrible horrible very bad no good chair project</i>, I'll just say that I had an unfortunate <span style="font-size: large;">piping</span> incident yesterday, brought about by an even more unfortunate <span style="font-size: large;">sewing machine</span> event. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6KXEsd85SKc5SRRE3NZSSNQ-AsKmNelh0TdJhf2iaWBqIKRM5qbODeqCiWNb3Zu3SmU5A9UEI8iC6JqeHFlx0dcU9OAdujGZfH8abYar_ao0ncWHECuk7_JJoX-yVIdaevbWFpg8CxE/s1600/sewing+machine+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6KXEsd85SKc5SRRE3NZSSNQ-AsKmNelh0TdJhf2iaWBqIKRM5qbODeqCiWNb3Zu3SmU5A9UEI8iC6JqeHFlx0dcU9OAdujGZfH8abYar_ao0ncWHECuk7_JJoX-yVIdaevbWFpg8CxE/s1600/sewing+machine+edited.jpg" height="363" width="400" /></a></div>
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Grrrrrr....</div>
<br />
What was left for me to do but toss up my hands and take a drive? <span style="text-align: center;">I'm <span style="font-size: large;">so glad</span> I did because guess what I discovered...</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Autumn</span> is actually on the way! </div>
<br />
No, really. Even down south in the Land O' Cotton, we're seeing signs that the most wonderful time of the year is just around the corner.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">See?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgSjjF_g6oH-UPtREDnD_x050sdgXjGnoFc_puX4ULdyI_BsL-DHJi2zGlwZnMNMoFnTE-6e2tgMK-kmHNA3oYAZblYVWG86ahcGHIkMSQhhMDxALk9edsSUO1g6fJ3S-ub_K0nnz47U/s1600/cotton+blossom+7+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgSjjF_g6oH-UPtREDnD_x050sdgXjGnoFc_puX4ULdyI_BsL-DHJi2zGlwZnMNMoFnTE-6e2tgMK-kmHNA3oYAZblYVWG86ahcGHIkMSQhhMDxALk9edsSUO1g6fJ3S-ub_K0nnz47U/s1600/cotton+blossom+7+framed.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
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Cotton blossoms</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLie4a8LO0bP1uppT_Rs17SJWQZJAD-ptzZdOPPYoZRtbmMIyUl1pJHP8ijsfEC7o05VWspRiG4PWW4MBJ0YgBq-rd7t932sTBFayRKBk0lnp4TZYSNPGyHZ0SAWcj6W6qdJTZNK2IS90/s1600/cotton+blossom+2+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLie4a8LO0bP1uppT_Rs17SJWQZJAD-ptzZdOPPYoZRtbmMIyUl1pJHP8ijsfEC7o05VWspRiG4PWW4MBJ0YgBq-rd7t932sTBFayRKBk0lnp4TZYSNPGyHZ0SAWcj6W6qdJTZNK2IS90/s1600/cotton+blossom+2+edited.jpg" height="640" width="486" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
They're everywhere, folks. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJdGzNkcd5ANOTVa2NejJhJ8jNVmrW8ilNOnYbbPJHU0T51lFTqTVHcdYkUlAjkrvsLc25DmvYN8Wd9-pBWNff0g-n3NWZ3ShET0bSmSxa2ES-igx_3zLOYPnMUy6Q02SaVU90zMJ890/s1600/cotton+blossom+4+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJdGzNkcd5ANOTVa2NejJhJ8jNVmrW8ilNOnYbbPJHU0T51lFTqTVHcdYkUlAjkrvsLc25DmvYN8Wd9-pBWNff0g-n3NWZ3ShET0bSmSxa2ES-igx_3zLOYPnMUy6Q02SaVU90zMJ890/s1600/cotton+blossom+4+framed.jpg" height="486" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
And since those cotton pickin' blossoms only last a few days, I'm<span style="font-size: large;"> thanking God</span> for that unfortunate piping incident. Had I been in the house with my nose staple-gunned to the sewing machine, I might have missed <span style="font-size: large;">this field</span> entirely. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NHqM-K08_3qEuoqHTPxbicDtAqScQlK3U8hJWH1AbuUNcrgsCmKT7Z-WTnClv-vHf8lR94uyYE1Dsv3E_JPBZOzqcGzr3o83XLrTMvcIKWGFPlL-fNktt4Vp-IVLpenQeLpdptkrc-s/s1600/cotton+blossom+5+cotton+candy+sky+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NHqM-K08_3qEuoqHTPxbicDtAqScQlK3U8hJWH1AbuUNcrgsCmKT7Z-WTnClv-vHf8lR94uyYE1Dsv3E_JPBZOzqcGzr3o83XLrTMvcIKWGFPlL-fNktt4Vp-IVLpenQeLpdptkrc-s/s1600/cotton+blossom+5+cotton+candy+sky+framed.jpg" height="486" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
What could be prettier than a cotton blossom field under a cotton candy sky?</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing much.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Except maybe a full throttle field of cotton.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which will be coming soon enough folks. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After all, if the cotton blossom comes, can cotton season be far behind?</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
No, I think not. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I can practically taste the<i> pumpkin lattes </i>now.<br />
<br />
So I'm taking the rest of the day off, which kind of means I'm taking the rest of the week off,<br />
and I'm off to find more evidence that <i>the most wonderful time of the year</i> is just around the bend. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are you seeing any signs of fall in your neck of the woods?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-41861452533503472922014-08-12T07:23:00.001-04:002014-08-12T07:28:50.999-04:00Because He Rocks, That's Why<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So guess what Sir Lotsa Hair brought home</div>
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from his business travel last week...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Porch rockers. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GejVovKWvMmlYqi8h3kni2dQOzlDf4rzxVbsA_oicAHoyVbQN1_29yjEYi7oCj3SR8EIFmqmXu_fDOWr_TrEXIkk6WkwH0o8eSIEp7lEQZK6RuksEFdmzLwaXtqodi4wydxTL_VJD70/s1600/rockers+arrive+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GejVovKWvMmlYqi8h3kni2dQOzlDf4rzxVbsA_oicAHoyVbQN1_29yjEYi7oCj3SR8EIFmqmXu_fDOWr_TrEXIkk6WkwH0o8eSIEp7lEQZK6RuksEFdmzLwaXtqodi4wydxTL_VJD70/s1600/rockers+arrive+edited.jpg" height="483" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Really nice ones, too,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
from <span style="font-size: large;">Cracker Barrel.</span> </div>
<br />
There's only <i>one thing </i>I like better than a Cracker Barrel rocker, and that's a practically new Cracker Barrel rocker being sold for <span style="font-size: large;">half </span>the cost of a brand new one.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Ka-Ching! </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The man knows how to ring my bell.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of course, when you're looking for a bargain, you can't be Miss Picky. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
These were <span style="font-size: large;">stained, </span>and I wanted <span style="font-size: large;">white</span> ones</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for the newly redone front porch. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifd8Qy1_sGvFGDCNTFEUBR4Y9QAd4PevoKC2zQe0pyPV0oP7Eyc5q1SxgVrokqE0m1GBtRuQeKcje66rjHhap1120LjnikhZDv2WTQvMWFKLI5HlZF_0pzp6Nz6i1LKzWMdB6kq2oSFx4/s1600/rockers+before+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifd8Qy1_sGvFGDCNTFEUBR4Y9QAd4PevoKC2zQe0pyPV0oP7Eyc5q1SxgVrokqE0m1GBtRuQeKcje66rjHhap1120LjnikhZDv2WTQvMWFKLI5HlZF_0pzp6Nz6i1LKzWMdB6kq2oSFx4/s1600/rockers+before+edited.jpg" height="628" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
But that was nothing a paint brush and four hands couldn't solve .</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPe87-evaKrQdVt7YWnklbCWDat1_pQCFPVzvUCUljSMQibxThT3zzEAzioBGdz_fy3v1_U0qKViqTgJwRl2qo28ijkZIL94TaFQt5MpGWqV6NCml975_wQgyPkgh-tWIOLesbroNtxA/s1600/rocker+painted+white+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPe87-evaKrQdVt7YWnklbCWDat1_pQCFPVzvUCUljSMQibxThT3zzEAzioBGdz_fy3v1_U0qKViqTgJwRl2qo28ijkZIL94TaFQt5MpGWqV6NCml975_wQgyPkgh-tWIOLesbroNtxA/s1600/rocker+painted+white+edited.jpg" height="400" width="385" /></a></div>
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Then, I threw on some <span style="font-size: large;">sunflowers. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, I realize that sunflowers are kind of <span style="font-size: large;">summery.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaM4CPEYgyLQvT9HwX6YndLV4nfw_pfiNQhKUVnTNpXoFo1HAL3JEJI2-6M3uiKX7GzD89C7F7CINzxLEpwtrCUSu31yS5O8UzeyVqDYl-EyJdWE0NT6eki74eZKnZcI2XhQsvcvbI8uA/s1600/rockers+2+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaM4CPEYgyLQvT9HwX6YndLV4nfw_pfiNQhKUVnTNpXoFo1HAL3JEJI2-6M3uiKX7GzD89C7F7CINzxLEpwtrCUSu31yS5O8UzeyVqDYl-EyJdWE0NT6eki74eZKnZcI2XhQsvcvbI8uA/s1600/rockers+2+edited.jpg" height="640" width="424" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I checked the calendar and the thermometer,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the three of us came to a consensus. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's<span style="font-size: large;"> still </span>summer.</div>
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVNH-_mxPeAxJWqQskUJpFZ76AeujgCoJD2X4auqy3JMOH0hT3jmqIahAs0g0mP6kvKhWmPGNF14X6AC-DASaLHhbE4bDTM74mm_Ab2px4QvS7mRRyldCXb-8-J0nWn67QXzCIGYV8Iw/s1600/summer+door+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVNH-_mxPeAxJWqQskUJpFZ76AeujgCoJD2X4auqy3JMOH0hT3jmqIahAs0g0mP6kvKhWmPGNF14X6AC-DASaLHhbE4bDTM74mm_Ab2px4QvS7mRRyldCXb-8-J0nWn67QXzCIGYV8Iw/s1600/summer+door+edited.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Plus, I already had those pillows.<br />
<br />
They go with the rest of stuff on the porch. </div>
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Plus, sunflowers will take me well into September without looking stupid out there. That gives me time to work on the fall porch between now and<span style="font-size: large;"> fall...</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>... which isn't here yet. Just thought I would say that one more time. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRGcNQ4mrt0jDiolVcLbW58x_NXOKqRf82L-ll3J-ALUIToay42K9lQm3JmOs8GtUKoKvXUyoVsjD9StgZFkqHjZyjpua9sEaryXt_ejlIvNxNkNC2_X5wnYK6ZmWZyCcwEVmidOMTro/s1600/rockers+5+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRGcNQ4mrt0jDiolVcLbW58x_NXOKqRf82L-ll3J-ALUIToay42K9lQm3JmOs8GtUKoKvXUyoVsjD9StgZFkqHjZyjpua9sEaryXt_ejlIvNxNkNC2_X5wnYK6ZmWZyCcwEVmidOMTro/s1600/rockers+5+edited.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
And now, at least one side of the newly painted front porch </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
doesn't look quite so <span style="font-size: large;">nekkid. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief-16NsFTMy3O-gG8Uvu5HrMP5t0m7n5CToZdcRt1DCLMFlmCcf1gZSxs7wVVBgVcD5PePPxYsAZO92rsm56TUUY8gYlz58BQJCptX3Y8TAfVcTzZvVZ0uPMdK0hSLn0lgq4DxkeVprM/s1600/rockers+1+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief-16NsFTMy3O-gG8Uvu5HrMP5t0m7n5CToZdcRt1DCLMFlmCcf1gZSxs7wVVBgVcD5PePPxYsAZO92rsm56TUUY8gYlz58BQJCptX3Y8TAfVcTzZvVZ0uPMdK0hSLn0lgq4DxkeVprM/s1600/rockers+1+edited.jpg" height="456" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
One side down, one to go. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhClrlhdoa-wbYpj6pqfQVtLw9uVE1okfZV3YgQCjuA8vQ9FE-tmKC487gpCOg662z7YQhNR3wnFhjm-wR7SWs48dsOXEMsuaCnw0NeVkSUpn_gefT9CFtmEQ6j_AxbJrkLCeDQvM5Cc/s1600/Big+empty+space+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhClrlhdoa-wbYpj6pqfQVtLw9uVE1okfZV3YgQCjuA8vQ9FE-tmKC487gpCOg662z7YQhNR3wnFhjm-wR7SWs48dsOXEMsuaCnw0NeVkSUpn_gefT9CFtmEQ6j_AxbJrkLCeDQvM5Cc/s1600/Big+empty+space+edited.jpg" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
So that's what I did this past weekend.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How about you?</div>
Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-69278500707414207472014-08-10T15:27:00.004-04:002014-08-11T19:29:57.829-04:00Spilling Some Dirt<div style="text-align: center;">
Remember last Sunday when I posted about the </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Word-of-the-Day Thought Collecting Adventure? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, even if you don't,<i> I did. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I had a notion when I typed that one up that I might come back here every day last week with a different word of the day from Philippians 4:8, just in case someone out there in blog land wanted to adventure along with me.<br />
<br />
I have lots of blog related notions like that. <i>You can see how well they work out. </i><br />
<br />
So, anyway, I didn't do that. What stopped me was my oddball need to do everything <span style="font-size: large;">properly</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">in order.</span> I got all tongue- tied trying to summarize the <span style="font-size: large;">first word</span> on the list into a blog post slightly shorter than <i>War and Peace</i>, and I couldn't do it. I started yakking away about <i>whatsoever things are<span style="font-size: large;"> true</span></i>, and I babbled my way into a blog corner.<br />
<br />
So today, I'm going to do something entirely different. I'm going to jump to the <span style="font-size: large;">end</span> of the list instead. I'm going to yak about the<span style="font-size: large;"> last part</span> of the Word-A-Day Thought Collecting Adventure.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>... If anything is excellent or praiseworthy, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>think on these things. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If anything is<span style="font-size: large;"> excellent...</span><br />
<br />
Now folks, as wonderful as it would be to drift away on daydreams of fettuccine alfredo, we all know that's not the kind of excellence Paul had in mind here. The (Greek) word in question speaks of<span style="font-size: large;"> moral excellence.</span> It carries the idea of rising up from the <span style="font-size: large;">dirt,</span> of things which are above the grime that <i>is</i> our fallen world. That's why some versions translate it<i> virtue </i>instead.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>...If anything is virtuous or praiseworthy, think on those things.</i> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
In other words, keep your head out of the gutter, people.</div>
<br />
Why do you think I warned you to stay away from Walmart? One need only spend a pair of <strike>minutes</strike> hours in the checkout line next to the trash magazines to get a headful of dirt without even trying. If that fails to drag you down, all you need to do is log on to MSN.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It never ceases to amaze me what that bunch deems newsworthy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVLYAKXB9hB2oA4KLO8Wdxo97bZINVJml0JB0d4WmX9ovKNPCbQ8T2VXCoh_TeXvdv3Z1PQOa7RfyBwWz6bK7443rwjc6QJDMxK353pGTTkgohjl_cIXlloOoRkW41YdZeKli131afIw/s1600/second+try.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVLYAKXB9hB2oA4KLO8Wdxo97bZINVJml0JB0d4WmX9ovKNPCbQ8T2VXCoh_TeXvdv3Z1PQOa7RfyBwWz6bK7443rwjc6QJDMxK353pGTTkgohjl_cIXlloOoRkW41YdZeKli131afIw/s1600/second+try.png" height="320" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It <i>isn't</i> newsworthy. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What's more, it isn't <span style="font-size: large;">praiseworthy, </span>either.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
It must get some serious <span style="font-size: large;">clicking traffic</span>, though, or they wouldn't keep putting it up there. Obviously, a whole lot of folks like to fill up their think tanks with what amounts to nothing more than <span style="font-size: large;">dirt. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
May I offer you a better option? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMMGkp30f7PWl8HAl0LLqzboauJDftjskJBj0ItrWMtfbhimk_Eiq7a2GWlk3N2Sduw-iS9Y-b5PI1JmWqlacNZQsclLfb_nwAz-C-ydkwb5-M97LmgSO8VHYZUSXyiskJaOyp6sYRM8/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMMGkp30f7PWl8HAl0LLqzboauJDftjskJBj0ItrWMtfbhimk_Eiq7a2GWlk3N2Sduw-iS9Y-b5PI1JmWqlacNZQsclLfb_nwAz-C-ydkwb5-M97LmgSO8VHYZUSXyiskJaOyp6sYRM8/s1600/029.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
A slightly different take on the dirty novel.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Earlier in the summer, I was sent a copy of <i>this book </i>by a blog friend of mine, who just happens to be married to the author.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>Tell me what you think</i>, she said. </div>
<br />
So I did. <br />
<br />
And then, I told <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dirty-Faith-Bringing-Christ-Least/dp/0764212133/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407686950&sr=1-1&keywords=Dirty+Faith">Amazon.com</a> what I thought.<br />
And now, I'm telling<span style="font-size: large;"> you.</span><br />
<br />
Folks, this book is<span style="font-size: large;"> praiseworthy.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: start;">
However, I must warn you: Don't expect to read it and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. If you're looking for a book that makes you feel all excellent and praiseworthy, you might need to look someplace else. You won't find it there. Don't expect to read it and leave without a broken heart, either. </div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
This book gets <span style="font-size: large;">down </span>in the <span style="font-size: large;">dirt. </span>It takes you to the slums and prisons of Brazil and forces you to look inside them at the children (yes, I said children) who live there, children <i>(yes, I said children)</i> who know exactly two ways of life, <span style="font-size: large;">drug</span> running and <span style="font-size: large;">sex</span> trafficking. That's the bad news. The good news is that the author doesn't go there empty handed. He brings along the transforming love of Jesus Christ. </div>
<br />
I would tell you what happens next,<br />
but I wouldn't want to rob you of the chance to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dirty-Faith-Bringing-Christ-Least/dp/0764212133/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407705349&sr=1-1&keywords=Dirty+Faith"><b>read it</b></a> for yourself. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
As far as I can recall, I've never endorsed a book on this blog. I don't know if I'll ever do it again, either. I'm pretty careful about the things I endorse. I can <i>like</i> something or even <i>love</i> something, but to give it an <span style="font-size: large;">endorsement</span> is a much bigger deal to me. To endorse something means I have put my<span style="font-size: large;"> name</span> behind it. I don't do that lightly, but I'm doing that this morning.<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>I'm Debbie, and I approved this message.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i><br />
And that's all I have to say about that.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Except maybe this: </i><br />
<i>In case you missed all the other clickable links I've inserted in this post, </i><br />
<i>here's one more:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dirty-Faith-Bringing-Christ-Least/dp/0764212133/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407705349&sr=1-1&keywords=Dirty+Faith">Dirty Faith</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*****</i><br />
<i>comments off </i><br />
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<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-88476235908749618452014-08-05T20:16:00.000-04:002014-08-05T20:20:46.924-04:00There Was An Old Blogger Who Swallowed A Fly<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know<i> whyyyyy</i>, she swallowed the fly.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Perhaps she'll die.</div>
<br />
Well, actually, I <span style="font-size: large;">do know</span>. I know exactly why we swallowed the fly. It all started because the Little House in the Piney Stick Forest was in dire need of a new <span style="font-size: large;">roof. </span> We've been well aware of that need for a while now. We're just a cash-as-you-go kind of family, and we have been saving for the big day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which<span style="font-size: large;"> finally</span> arrived.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrVFYcM_tx3UKgjZ1XWgoxZ_paoJh2dpSdK2Dl5l37KYfBGq87FP9jsEVfG6ok1s38OqBHsKmSFgfKXcWjAyXQbsAi1MmYyt01gVx8ECul10_zEiU3FZYpsfEX3D2HU2VVOlyDzPMnj0/s1600/Up+on+the+roof.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrVFYcM_tx3UKgjZ1XWgoxZ_paoJh2dpSdK2Dl5l37KYfBGq87FP9jsEVfG6ok1s38OqBHsKmSFgfKXcWjAyXQbsAi1MmYyt01gVx8ECul10_zEiU3FZYpsfEX3D2HU2VVOlyDzPMnj0/s1600/Up+on+the+roof.JPG" height="396" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, folks. The time had finally come to put away the umbrellas in the master bedroom and get on the waiting list for the <span style="font-size: large;">best roofer </span>in town. Sir Lotsa Hair was pretty well over the moon.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">But wait...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
Before we could get that fancy schmancy new roof, we (that would be<i> he</i>) decided that any and all <span style="font-size: large;">iffy siding</span> living beneath that roof would need to be replaced as well.<br />
<br />
Now folks, I hadn't really noticed the <span style="font-size: large;">iffy siding</span> all that much. As houses go, I'm more of an <span style="font-size: large;">innie</span>. I notice stuff like ugly carpet on the stairs or furniture left over from the set of <i>Full House</i>.<br />
<br />
We took a stroll around the place, though, and I had to admit that the man was right. There were really no <span style="font-size: large;"><i>ifs </i></span>about it, some of that siding needed to go.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvJKOX4YrFDV5y9sfivMJ6vX5E4j6WRnirthsQBethBSGFkMmSiV5CNBrv0t1BbOxFAv51J4lQBAXGHBT95euEKK3Y-_0wqTY77nrL3B1-YqkLt0_Uj9tiyrFoXcSFlnGFxgGfhTPl-Y/s1600/house+before+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvJKOX4YrFDV5y9sfivMJ6vX5E4j6WRnirthsQBethBSGFkMmSiV5CNBrv0t1BbOxFAv51J4lQBAXGHBT95euEKK3Y-_0wqTY77nrL3B1-YqkLt0_Uj9tiyrFoXcSFlnGFxgGfhTPl-Y/s1600/house+before+1.JPG" height="355" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>And that's how the whole thing started. </i> I don't even remember exactly <i>when </i>it started. It seems like a hundred years have passed since the first truckload of noise arrived in the Piney Stick Forest.<br />
All I know is that it started, and it started with a bang.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And a bang. And a<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b>bang</span>. And. A. <span style="font-size: x-large;">Bang. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For two full <span style="font-size: large;">weeks</span> and a <span style="font-size: large;">day, </span> I was living in the Bat Cave. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OutFFzOp308Z9uDSa8A_9-wCZ-JekbV_XvUPn9_l45QmRn8_HaL73Zp58T7Mecr8uZdMCfwn9OSxRdTRz-Nwc_H6rlzdkxi1HQ36R5yECMAcPXNH0lzXtxnYcH_yTm8ql-9MrFn-w58/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-12-25+at+10.53.30.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OutFFzOp308Z9uDSa8A_9-wCZ-JekbV_XvUPn9_l45QmRn8_HaL73Zp58T7Mecr8uZdMCfwn9OSxRdTRz-Nwc_H6rlzdkxi1HQ36R5yECMAcPXNH0lzXtxnYcH_yTm8ql-9MrFn-w58/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-12-25+at+10.53.30.png" height="291" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://imagesdegradingforever.blogspot.com/2012_12_01_archive.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">source</span></a></div>
<br />
No matter where I turned, there they were, banging away. They banged on the back. They banged on the front. They banged all around the dormers. When they finished, the Little House in the Piney Stick Forest bore a striking resemblance to a<span style="font-size: large;"> patch work quilt.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRjpdqXzWbbb7O24et_2hUhrAFSQ3NNHIHTbT14tcDuxgi5xxhxFZUpcwqplkjGIKXUVvn0Tl8bg-1noNE8Ng0J4UJHKWHAoNGracCTYQ0T9BlbtpcdznhbUJPkA2g8RQ25eH8pswO3c/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRjpdqXzWbbb7O24et_2hUhrAFSQ3NNHIHTbT14tcDuxgi5xxhxFZUpcwqplkjGIKXUVvn0Tl8bg-1noNE8Ng0J4UJHKWHAoNGracCTYQ0T9BlbtpcdznhbUJPkA2g8RQ25eH8pswO3c/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" height="324" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>That's when we decided to paint it.</i></div>
<br />
Technically, we had always<i> intended </i>to paint it. We'd just entertained the goofy notion of a do-it-yourself touch up job. When we surveyed the damage, though, even the Scottish MacHusband knew it was time to chunk down more change and call in the professionals. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
In for a penny, in for a pound of flesh.</div>
<br />
Fortunately, the bangers were in cahoots with some painters so we didn't have to wait very long. The sawdust had barely begun to blow away when they arrived and started to paint. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
They painted. And they <span style="font-size: large;">painted.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And they <span style="font-size: x-large;">Painted.</span></div>
<br />
Now in fairness to the painters, their job wasn't nearly so much of a<span style="font-size: large;"> noisy</span> one... unless you count the sound of their <span style="font-size: large;">chatter.</span> They were a talkative team, and when they weren't talking, they were <span style="font-size: large;">singing.</span> In their heads, I'm pretty sure they sounded just like George Strait.<br />
<br />
It didn't really bother me, though. The real painter imposition was more of a <i>visual one</i>... as in, I never knew where they were going to pop up. No matter where I looked, there was a belt-less backside looking back at me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've seen London. I've seen France. I've seen painters' under pants.</div>
<br />
All told, the Great Paint Project took nearly a <span style="font-size: large;">month</span> to complete. I guess that's not really so long when you consider that they had to drag the place into an entirely new century. In the end, the ecru <span style="font-size: large;">trim</span> turned white, the green<span style="font-size: large;"> shutters</span> turned black, and the mossy <span style="font-size: large;">siding</span>? It's now a very light shade of the 2014 <span style="font-size: large;">color of the year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHlfr77hNEtqx_RoMm145qF-cdLGwQvfBTjf8SA1yVe_t4kJPqmzzO4-BtahpMdz-OaAAUifi_yN_lxSG2BgQvEwkjbFkPRiDutdMxis4VwmAnvGIm1dDBTPEB6HaIllVxH84VmG1D0o/s1600/after+paint+colors.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHlfr77hNEtqx_RoMm145qF-cdLGwQvfBTjf8SA1yVe_t4kJPqmzzO4-BtahpMdz-OaAAUifi_yN_lxSG2BgQvEwkjbFkPRiDutdMxis4VwmAnvGIm1dDBTPEB6HaIllVxH84VmG1D0o/s1600/after+paint+colors.JPG" height="374" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And then...<i> finally</i>... <span style="font-size: large;">they</span> came.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6deGflOKBmq32tCUsExUO3lNIHwVOIeCtTv19jnJYVLquco9ImBX5Z4rTJ7vZMEo_Ipmc88ZTim4hwL063ALm19Im3LjP7P4o8Yd3nVfVP5ibP6AOYBJ-yWBuLerkJGQj72JaauDPMiE/s1600/roofers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6deGflOKBmq32tCUsExUO3lNIHwVOIeCtTv19jnJYVLquco9ImBX5Z4rTJ7vZMEo_Ipmc88ZTim4hwL063ALm19Im3LjP7P4o8Yd3nVfVP5ibP6AOYBJ-yWBuLerkJGQj72JaauDPMiE/s1600/roofers.JPG" height="640" width="488" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
You know, the guys whose project started the ball rolling. After all that money and all that time, it seemed rather fitting to go out with a <span style="font-size: large;">bang.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoZaPOR5HSSEcwCjHSAe9_ETRQ1MH8ohJajNrm3rHcXbwJtYOsBXfVWiACZRcZfTY4NsH8cNFgqys2wj2fHrPquyG1hy52K4g1DYiSR4oDD-TU8IeyAkVlc0GYPasZWeXTHrxyE1D7hc/s1600/roofers+arrive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoZaPOR5HSSEcwCjHSAe9_ETRQ1MH8ohJajNrm3rHcXbwJtYOsBXfVWiACZRcZfTY4NsH8cNFgqys2wj2fHrPquyG1hy52K4g1DYiSR4oDD-TU8IeyAkVlc0GYPasZWeXTHrxyE1D7hc/s1600/roofers+arrive.JPG" height="472" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pretend you don't see the scraggly bushes. </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">We decided to let the home wreckers trample all over them before we gave them a trim.</span></i></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm pleased to say that they did a <span style="font-size: large;">bang up job</span>, too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They banged on the back.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They banged on the front. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They banged on the perch of the <i><a href="http://wordsuponwheels.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-sunday-school-class-will-be-studying.html">Proverbs 25 husband</a> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They banged. And they<span style="font-size: large;"> banged.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And. They. <span style="font-size: x-large;">Banged.</span></div>
<br />
It took them<span style="font-size: large;"> five</span> full<span style="font-size: large;"> days</span> to complete the roof, which is pretty fast when you consider the number of breaks they had to take just to endure the south Georgia <span style="font-size: large;">sauna </span>they were working in.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And then, it was quiet.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>For a day.</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
But after these guys came and went<br />
and then came and went again,<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFR1ujkBIKIQCFDtjcmXTRAcA_X6XHAdfJEiInLjygPMVJkaBbTwF3z3HPo6iIP2NUpFTYtJmzq2cms6W1CCknNNeZuhi71yPyTGhyphenhyphenzO5Jfp19mU-gfIpk4rOccfV2KpJ0SzejDFZoyqM/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFR1ujkBIKIQCFDtjcmXTRAcA_X6XHAdfJEiInLjygPMVJkaBbTwF3z3HPo6iIP2NUpFTYtJmzq2cms6W1CCknNNeZuhi71yPyTGhyphenhyphenzO5Jfp19mU-gfIpk4rOccfV2KpJ0SzejDFZoyqM/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It really <i>was</i> very, very, <span style="font-size: large;">quiet</span>. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And it was <span style="font-size: large;">finished.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9s_cTf5N0svsSVdGMbs1Z9ZN8Jbd7SGYfaY7QxdSjb7HS1eoR82uaNcY0iwzab3IRWslAQ9OuuCOVtMVEuxKZniTlGtbKIzQNNXCr7mPudIva8yKeB7lj3HxrdcVxH592-GtfYofu4Vk/s1600/after+front+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9s_cTf5N0svsSVdGMbs1Z9ZN8Jbd7SGYfaY7QxdSjb7HS1eoR82uaNcY0iwzab3IRWslAQ9OuuCOVtMVEuxKZniTlGtbKIzQNNXCr7mPudIva8yKeB7lj3HxrdcVxH592-GtfYofu4Vk/s1600/after+front+2.JPG" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, <span style="font-size: large;">kinda</span> finished.<br />
<br />
Did you notice the bare and boring front porch?<br />
Admit it. You did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXxtDOkMgyd5uimk7wSA_goiqE9yKnGZMspK5kKOOZbRIgl0mtaruKxTP237_BTk93yFVGWy1lYa1jhfTm44PBbWWcWafWkCdU-rRH86Drskamnhan0Jos_P4iTScL5nGDNPIsTRE_88/s1600/after+house+colors.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXxtDOkMgyd5uimk7wSA_goiqE9yKnGZMspK5kKOOZbRIgl0mtaruKxTP237_BTk93yFVGWy1lYa1jhfTm44PBbWWcWafWkCdU-rRH86Drskamnhan0Jos_P4iTScL5nGDNPIsTRE_88/s1600/after+house+colors.JPG" height="370" width="640" /></a></div>
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When it was all said and done, we (that would be mostly<span style="font-size: large;"> I)</span> decided that the old wicker<span style="font-size: large;"> porch furniture</span> just wasn't going to cut it on the new front porch. It was 25 years old, after all, and apparently, no matter how hard you try to paint green wicker furniture white, it really just doesn't want to cooperate.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Now, I'm on the hunt for the perfect <span style="font-size: large;">porch rockers.</span></div>
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And then, a<span style="font-size: large;"> swing</span>, I think.<br />
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<i>I don't know whyyyyyy, she swallowed the fly.</i></div>
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<i>Perhaps she'll die...</i></div>
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<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-40429648353081289772014-08-03T12:38:00.000-04:002020-07-27T18:10:09.569-04:00Just For The Record...<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>... it's very difficult to Philippians 4:8 your way through Walmart. </i></div>
<br />
So said your friendly neighborhood <strike>blogger</strike> <i>non</i>blogger recently. At the risk of stating the obvious, I was referring to <span style="font-size: large;">this passage</span> of scripture:<br />
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<i>Finally, brothers, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are right, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, </i></div>
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<i>if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, <b>think on those things. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
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At the risk of stating yet more of the <b>obvious</b>, I'll go ahead and spill it that I've been in a bit of a <span style="font-size: large;">funk</span> lately. Maybe you figured that out. It has been quite a while since I posted regularly, and most of my recent posts don't exactly call to mind the words, <i>Rejoice in the Lord always. </i>(Also found in Philippians 4, by the way.)</div>
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The reasons for my recent trip to funky town can remain unyakked for now. As reasons go, they look a little bit more like<span style="font-size: large;"> excuses, </span>anyway.</div>
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The truth? Things haven't been <i>completely bad </i>around here. Yes, we've had some major hurdles. The Duchess had her final surgery, and the hospital is just not fun. She's home, though, and getting stronger every day. A mom on the mend qualifies as <span style="font-size: large;">good stuff,</span> not <span style="font-size: large;">bad stuff, </span>doesn't it?<br />
<br />
Yeah, I think so too.<br />
<br />
There has been other good stuff as well. We're basically finished with not one, not two, but <i>three</i> big <span style="font-size: large;">house projects,</span> projects for which we have waited a <i>long, long, time</i>. On top of that, Sir Lotsa Hair and I enjoyed an epic anniversary adventure <span style="font-size: large;">thirty years </span>in the making. </div>
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So no. I don't really have a<span style="font-size: large;"> stuff </span>problem. <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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What I have is a <span style="font-size: large;">fluff </span>problem. </div>
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As in the fluff between my ears. My problem, you see, is that I <span style="font-size: large;">think</span> way too much. </div>
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Don't let the hair color fool you, folks, I'm actually quite the<span style="font-size: large;"> thinker.</span> My thoughts are my constant companions. I wake up in the morning ready to think, and when I try to fall asleep at night, it's the <span style="font-size: large;">thinking </span>that gets in the way. </div>
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You wouldn't believe the thinks I can think. </div>
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(Then again, maybe you would.) </div>
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Maybe you believe me because you're a thinker too. Maybe you're even more than a thinker. Maybe you're a fellow <span style="font-size: large;">ruminant</span>. <br />
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Maybe you understand this scenario:</div>
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It's morning. The birds are singing, and the sun is shining. You <strike>jump</strike> crawl out of bed ready to face the day. It's is a brand new morning, you say. Today is the day to start something different. Today, I'm climbing out of this stupid Think Tank.<br />
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<i>And then</i>, you turn on the news.</div>
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Or maybe you sit down at the computer.</div>
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Or get a phone call from just the<strike> right</strike> <i> wrong</i> person.</div>
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Or you take a trip to Walmart...<i> </i></div>
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The next thing you know, up comes the cud, and you start to chew.<br />
And you chew. And you <span style="font-size: large;">chew. </span>And. You. <span style="font-size: x-large;">Chew.</span><br />
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Until you have chewed yourself into a hot mess. </div>
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Can anyone relate? </div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Please say yes. I really don't want to be the only cow in Blogland. </i></div>
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A week or so ago, I decided that I had had a <span style="font-size: large;">bellyful. </span>.Life is just too short to waste on rumination, and besides, it wasn't making anything <span style="font-size: large;">better.</span> It was making everything <span style="font-size: large;">worse</span>. It was around this time that I got the same piece of advice from both a visible and an invisible blog friend. </div>
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<i>Focus on <span style="font-size: large;">Philippians 4:8, </span></i><br />
they said<i>. </i></div>
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Now folks, that is really sound advice for a more sound-minded person. Need I remind you, though, that I am a <span style="font-size: large;">hot</span> thinking<span style="font-size: large;"> mess </span>these days? Frankly, I needed something more<span style="font-size: large;"> concrete</span> than that, something a bit blonder maybe.. something cut into bite-sized pieces. </div>
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So that's exactly what I did. </div>
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I cut it into <span style="font-size: large;">bite-sized pieces</span>.</div>
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I took that passage and diced it into individual<span style="font-size: large;"> words, </span>words like<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: red;">finally</span>...</span> which more rightly means<i> from now on.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><b>From now on</b>, folks,... <b>think</b> on these things. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
See? It's getting better already.<br />
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And then, there's the word<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: red;">think</span>.</span> Some versions translate it <i>meditate</i>, which is better I suppose. Still, it's not as good as the tasty Greek morsel that Paul used. <i>That word </i>means to reckon, to calculate, to <span style="font-size: large;">count up.</span> It carries the notion of adding things together. You know, almost like a building a collection<span style="font-size: large;">. </span></div>
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Kind of puts a whole new spin on the phrase <span style="font-size: large;">collecting your thoughts</span>, doesn't it? </div>
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It did for me, anyway. Reading it that way turned Paul's good advice into a concrete, <b>thought collecting mission.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b> Why, you might even go so far as to call it an <span style="font-size: large;">adventure. </span></div>
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So that's exactly what I called it. </div>
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I dubbed it <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Debbie's Word- Of -The- Day Thought Collecting Adventure. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then<b style="font-style: italic;">,</b></span> since everybody knows that an adventure is more fun when you share it with others, I invited friends and family to come along with me.<br />
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Every day for <span style="font-size: large;">eight days</span>, we focused on just<span style="font-size: large;"> one</span> of the remaining <span style="font-size: large;">words</span> in Philippians 4:8. Then, we collected thoughts to go along with that one word <i>only.</i><br />
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We started at the beginning of course. </div>
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<i>Whatsoever things are <span style="font-size: large;">true...</span></i></div>
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Sir Lotsa Hair collected his thoughts from the road. The Farm Sister collected hers at the farm. The Duchess collected them too, even though her she can't go anywhere at all. Miss Whimsy and I collected them together. <br />
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And throughout the day, we <span style="font-size: large;">shared</span> those collected thoughts, one with another. We sent texts. We sent emails. Some thoughts were so good they deserved an entire conversation. <br />
<br />
Over coffee.<br />
<br />
Because it's a well known fact that good thoughts are made even better when shared over coffee.<br />
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By the end of the week, I had a pretty impressive collection of positive thoughts living inside this head of mine, thoughts that were <span style="font-size: large;">true</span>, and <span style="font-size: large;">honorable</span>, and <span style="font-size: large;">right,</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">lovely. </span><br />
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You wouldn't believe the thinks I could think. </div>
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(But then again, maybe you would.) </div>
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Maybe you're a Philippians 4:8 thinker too. Maybe you're something <i>even better</i>. Maybe you're a Philippians 4:8 <span style="font-size: large;">thought collector.</span><br />
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But maybe, you're not, not right now anyway. Maybe you're a struggling ruminant like me just trying to make it through the day, one troubling thought at a time. If so, may I suggest that you grab some friends and family and give the Word-A-Day Thought Collecting Adventure a whirl? <br />
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What do you have to lose?<br />
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Just take it <span style="font-size: large;">one day</span> at a time, <span style="font-size: large;">one word</span> at a time, and you, too, can be a Philippians 4:8 thought collector. <span style="text-align: center;">One word of caution, though: </span><span style="text-align: center;"> You might find it goes a little </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">easier</span><span style="text-align: center;"> to collect positive thoughts if you just steer clear of Walmart.</span><br />
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*****</div>
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comments off </div>
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Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-351627305483929402014-07-20T18:30:00.001-04:002014-07-20T19:09:48.880-04:00A Light at the End of the Tunnel<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Just stopping by the blog this afternoon with a little update</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> in the form of<span style="font-size: large;"> praise</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">thanksgiving</span>. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">After my previous two posts, some of you might be wondering if I've flown over the cuckoo's nest or something. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.200000762939453px; text-align: center;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Well, I <span style="font-size: large;">haven't. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not completely anyway.</span> </span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">I <i>have </i>been doing a lot of <span style="font-size: large;">flying </span> though. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Mostly, I've been flying back and forth to one of </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">these places. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
That's a hospital, in case you can't tell, and no, I was <i>not</i> the patient. That would be the<span style="font-size: large;"> Duchess, </span>who recently had what we hope will be her <span style="font-size: large;">final surgery</span> for a long time.<br />
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Wooo. Hoooo!<br />
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In full disclosure, that's <span style="font-size: large;">not</span> a photo of the hospital where we had our recent adventure. I just added that picture for a little blog bling. In all our coming and going, I never did get around to taking a picture of the place for posterity.<br />
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I <i>did</i>, however, whip out the shiny red Kodak just in time to get a pre- surgery portrait. You know... for posterity. She wasn't all that happy about the photo shoot, but she agreed to smile on <span style="font-size: large;">one condition:</span><br />
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<i>Deb-rah</i>, she said. </div>
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<i>I had better not see a picture of my face </i></div>
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<i>wearing a<span style="font-size: large;"> jiffy pop hat</span></i></div>
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<i>sprawled all over the world wide web. </i></div>
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Don't worry, Mom....</div>
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You <span style="font-size: large;">won't. </span></div>
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I'm nothing if not <span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">obedient</span>.<br />
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And that's all I have time for tonight. We're all hoping that sooner rather than later, she will be fully recovered and things will finally be back to normal in Mayberry.<br />
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*****</div>
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<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">.</span>Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-5702481164147187712014-06-10T08:48:00.003-04:002014-06-10T10:21:55.720-04:00Talk Back Tuesday: What Does It Take?<div style="text-align: center;">
Here's a quickie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_h552NzOw8YxBTKxawDGCgULxwnleLLVqk8KJDQHZHOvNdNd5_WJ_AlF16QAK7n6U4hE8QS2TrjWkb6M0kV9t3kNJ8jcK3S7ZbuwjLhEZiHh01K60QblAEcUyrYPX2vhWWGU9M77sBCA/s1600/jumpstart+your+engines.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_h552NzOw8YxBTKxawDGCgULxwnleLLVqk8KJDQHZHOvNdNd5_WJ_AlF16QAK7n6U4hE8QS2TrjWkb6M0kV9t3kNJ8jcK3S7ZbuwjLhEZiHh01K60QblAEcUyrYPX2vhWWGU9M77sBCA/s1600/jumpstart+your+engines.gif" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.mensxp.com/special-features/today/12441-how-to-jumpstart-a-car.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">source</span></a></div>
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I'm determined to jump start these engines of mine for one simple reason:</div>
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I like blogging.</div>
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I mean I really, really do like it. I like the part where I get to do the<span style="font-size: large;"> talking,</span> but I also like the part where I get to do the <span style="font-size: large;">listening.</span> I am edified and encouraged more than you know when I read your words. Simply put, the blog experience has not only made my<span style="font-size: large;"> home</span> prettier, it has made my <span style="font-size: large;">spirit</span> a little prettier too.<br />
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I like to read your blog thoughts. I like to read your comments, too...</div>
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So here's the thing:</div>
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Sunday, I posted a quote from one of my favorite quote-sters, Jesse Mercer.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz8Sc8LxyjkaoMgfXjV4sROVxJQUZKec7jOyQNPI4-3BmcMHdaKKhA6v-U9qTZxIAO2fpSBWpQzWrOua7_JOUciEcZHcstUSyL2JZfhth-fxrCFCYaAUHDkw5Bd-y4Pnat24GKYLHKQg/s1600/043+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz8Sc8LxyjkaoMgfXjV4sROVxJQUZKec7jOyQNPI4-3BmcMHdaKKhA6v-U9qTZxIAO2fpSBWpQzWrOua7_JOUciEcZHcstUSyL2JZfhth-fxrCFCYaAUHDkw5Bd-y4Pnat24GKYLHKQg/s1600/043+(1).JPG" height="488" width="640" /></a></div>
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And I took the comment function off, just like I always do on Sunday. </div>
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Today is <span style="font-size: large;">Tuesday</span>, though, so I thought I might do something a little different. I'm handing you the microphone.<br />
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In my head, I look just like this guy...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIAsG8gM4bGvVvLuxBg1hYTFs31T5CGfxj_wXcxG8WNmwnvhOCMJIlleyhfckqUG381bg0Y1CU0bn-jIci5Yyw-My8aa8Fn4ZbXc9b6Ln0ms5EzgBvfICk_G2gNuLQofL8Ky9OkbAQA8/s1600/Phil+Donahue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIAsG8gM4bGvVvLuxBg1hYTFs31T5CGfxj_wXcxG8WNmwnvhOCMJIlleyhfckqUG381bg0Y1CU0bn-jIci5Yyw-My8aa8Fn4ZbXc9b6Ln0ms5EzgBvfICk_G2gNuLQofL8Ky9OkbAQA8/s1600/Phil+Donahue.jpg" height="273" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>In reality, I'm nothing whatsoever like that guy, but that's irrelevant.</i> </div>
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This morning, <span style="font-size: large;">Debbie Donahue</span> wants to know:</div>
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Is there anything in this world that makes you want to <span style="font-size: large;">stand up</span> and<span style="font-size: large;"> cry?</span></div>
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<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445819367576845715.post-53948106589320078882014-06-08T12:30:00.001-04:002014-06-10T10:23:07.737-04:00A Sign of the Times<br />
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I've yakked before about the circle of quotations at Mercer University by its namesake, Jesse Mercer. Lately, I have been reminded of <span style="font-size: large;">this one:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpEAUTZd_HpCIKA1QEAtfX7VhmRl6XX3TBAsKlWD_vYM8F4jQsOZ3Lb_0L2UgIPURExmFYS4PVmrZ6lhoyxmL6HcMtvXIUkv1ZbJi7O_AjqpIrVwum3mSQtWeN1u0KIjxEC1iXQ_KC6M/s1600/043+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpEAUTZd_HpCIKA1QEAtfX7VhmRl6XX3TBAsKlWD_vYM8F4jQsOZ3Lb_0L2UgIPURExmFYS4PVmrZ6lhoyxmL6HcMtvXIUkv1ZbJi7O_AjqpIrVwum3mSQtWeN1u0KIjxEC1iXQ_KC6M/s1600/043+(1).JPG" height="488" width="640" /></a></div>
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Can anyone relate?</div>
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I've been absent for a multitude of reasons and don't exactly know where to begin to catch up. Most of my reasons are of the physical variety. I am trying to complete not one but two major projects around here. For whatever reason, I'm just pitiful poor at yakking through a project these days. I'm blaming the hormones. I always blame the hormones.<br />
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When that fails, I blame the family. I happened to have <span style="font-size: large;">both</span> of my daughters this past week.<br />
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Woo.<br />
Hoo.<br />
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Wouldn't you think I would be<span style="font-size: large;"> giddy </span>beyond reason? I mean, <i>really...</i> Two big projects in House Land and two full beds in Mom Land. It doesn't get much better than that.<br />
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I <i>am</i> giddy. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And yet...</span></div>
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Even while I'm enjoying the <span style="font-size: large;">good stuff,</span> my mind keeps dragging me back to the <span style="font-size: large;">bad stuff. </span> I'm not talking about stuff going on around<span style="font-size: large;"> here.</span> I'm talking about the stuff going on <span style="font-size: large;">out there. </span> I'm talking about the stuff going on in this fallen world that breaks my heart and steals my <span style="font-size: large;">words. </span><br />
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<i>I'm sure you can imagine how much I hate for anything to steal my words. </i></div>
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To be honest, I <i>almost wish</i> I just didn't know stuff. I<i> almost wish</i> that I could be one of those ostrich people who stick their heads in the sand and give a full feathered moon to the rest of the world. After all,<i> ignorance is bliss,</i> right?<br />
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How's that bliss working out for us?<br />
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No matter how blissfully ignorant we choose to be, human beings are still being trafficked.<br />
Children are still being abused.<br />
Families are still starving.<br />
People are still dying without Jesus.<br />
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Our lack of interest doesn't change their reality.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile,</span> on the other side of the planet... </div>
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Professed Christians will whip out the checkbook this morning to advance the Kingdom of God.</div>
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With <i>important</i> expenditures like this. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnGjaH-0zRfaZrDfaLHrzJ8TlXbhTKSM4wL-Q1qZptKxtVEbWdZswPw85Y-YVxAvChir287czXFLUngd3R7loDiAhhnSccQWKcutFdY_tlYdUrEsWvfuQpu1NHr-_GszQw1_fDpQ5WNM/s1600/And+God+Gave+Us+a+sign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnGjaH-0zRfaZrDfaLHrzJ8TlXbhTKSM4wL-Q1qZptKxtVEbWdZswPw85Y-YVxAvChir287czXFLUngd3R7loDiAhhnSccQWKcutFdY_tlYdUrEsWvfuQpu1NHr-_GszQw1_fDpQ5WNM/s1600/And+God+Gave+Us+a+sign.JPG" height="336" width="400" /></a></div>
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'Cause nothing advances the Kingdom of God like a tripped-out electric sign belching Bible verses out of context. </div>
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Folks, I want to say more here. I really and truly have <i>tried</i> to say more here. I guess I'm having my own Jesse Mercer moment, though, because after days of sitting by my keyboard trying to put my thoughts together, I find that I still just don't have the <span style="font-size: large;">words.</span><br />
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So this morning, I'm just going to stand up and cry. </div>
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I'm crying for the world. </div>
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And I'm crying for the nation. </div>
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But more than anything, </div>
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I'm crying for the First United Ostrich Church.</div>
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*****</div>
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comments off</div>
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<br />Debbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05671482394424988047noreply@blogger.com0