tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64229597259312750442024-02-22T11:40:00.847-05:00Robin Gets a LifeRobin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.comBlogger298125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-43414184006599772942023-03-07T11:17:00.021-05:002023-03-07T17:53:02.656-05:00One Long River of Song<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhzbrKFzmITFR6nz2LsgMpxr5fRxOgrLZGi9A0U0B8x4a2sVLuvbIwY3YfFIkPT4wUbPG3Elo4vInan3Ccxgwl6W7d9T6fWWMhtgg1B3B8dLHeiAlPPTN8azbN1NRJnlgUOLL_X3_3b68sSAgnszHXruLx7VqQ-_OyJXfv6WqQBE_ppIu0hROvYcKmA/s500/BrianDoyle.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="330" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhzbrKFzmITFR6nz2LsgMpxr5fRxOgrLZGi9A0U0B8x4a2sVLuvbIwY3YfFIkPT4wUbPG3Elo4vInan3Ccxgwl6W7d9T6fWWMhtgg1B3B8dLHeiAlPPTN8azbN1NRJnlgUOLL_X3_3b68sSAgnszHXruLx7VqQ-_OyJXfv6WqQBE_ppIu0hROvYcKmA/w132-h200/BrianDoyle.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>I recently finished a book of essays by Brian Doyle, <u>One Long River of Song</u>. I love his writing. He conveys a sense of wonder, a sense of delight in the world around him that I find contagious.<p></p><p>Doyle died of brain cancer in 2017, and this collection of essays was published in 2019. Let me share several passages.</p><p>In the essay <i>A Prayer for You and Yours</i>, he writes about growing up in the Catholic Church, then turning away, and then turning back (when he was a father and "needed a language with which to speak to my children of holiness and prayer and miracle and witness and hope and faith"). In my own faith, I've similarly contrasted gospel & doctrine against policy & procedure:</p><blockquote><p>"I saw for the first time in my life that there were two Catholic Churches, one a noun and the other a verb, one a corporation and the other a wild idea held in the hearts of millions of people who are utterly uninterested in authority and power and rules and regulations, and very interested indeed in finding ways to walk through the bruises of life with grace and humility."</p></blockquote><p>The essay <i>His Listening</i> describes his father's skill as a listener, and leaves me wishing I had such a skill:</p><blockquote><p>"Among the many things that my father was very good at was this: when you said something to him, anything at all, anything in the range from surpassingly subtle to stunningly stupid, he would listen carefully and attentively and silently, without interrupting, without waiting with increasing impatience for you to finish so he could correct or top or razz you, and he would even wait a few beats after you finished your remarks, on the off chance that you had something else you wanted to add, and then he would ponder what you had said, and then, without fail, he would say something encouraging first, before he got around to commenting on what it was you said with such breathtaking subtlety or stupidity."</p></blockquote><p>One last passage, this from <i>The Final Frontier</i>, an essay that begins with the scripture <i>blessed are the poor in spirit</i>:</p><blockquote><p>". . . I got the general idea, that the word <i>poor</i> there is better understood as <i>humble,</i> but <i>humble</i> never really registered for me because I was <i>not</i> humble, and had no real concept of humble, until my wife married me, which taught me a shocking amount about humility, and then we were graced by children, which taught me a <i>stunning</i> amount about humility, and then friends of mine began to wither and shrivel and die in all sorts of ways . . . and I began, slowly and dimly, to realize that humble was the only finally truly honest way to be in this life. Anything else is ultimately cocky, which is either foolish or a deliberate disguise you refuse to remove, for complicated reasons perhaps not known even to you.</p></blockquote><blockquote><p> ". . . All you can do is face the world with quiet grace and hope you make a sliver of difference. Humility does not mean self-abnegation, lassitude, detachment; it's more a calm recognition that you must trust in that which does not make sense, that which is unreasonable, illogical, silly, ridiculous, crazy by the measure of most of our culture. You must trust that you being the best possible you matters somehow. That trying to be an honest and tender parent will echo for centuries through your tribe. That doing your chosen work with creativity and diligence will shiver people far beyond your ken. That being an attentive and generous friend and citizen will prevent a thread or two of the social fabric from unraveling. And you must do all of this with the certain knowledge that you will never get proper credit for it, and in fact the vast majority of things you do right will go utterly unremarked. <i>Humility, the final frontier,</i> as my brother Kevin used to say."</p></blockquote><p>Okay, let me share one more snippet, just because it tickles my funny bone. One essay is titled <i>20 Things the Dog Ate</i>, and it is just that: a list of twenty items that were not intended for consumption, but which the dog nevertheless consumed. Number 15 is "Most of a paperback copy of <i>Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix</i>."</p><p>I find number 15 to be very relatable. Our Homer (beagle number 2) loved books, and destroyed them with great relish. Somewhere I have a picture of Jim's scriptures, after Homer had "feasted" on them; if I find it, I'll insert it here. (Edited: Found it!)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv_0cJlqvnYa8oNeS3VTlRfO4hH10HjFHIAL9fdaoeJj3oiwmASV9lMo9x4JoPHTZgJ5_sF7VSfRZJuQVrJ1opdRdbO-MCKmn4oZG8eDMPAwkDwodN-YQwf3Fy0yL_wawY_YOO6IRX0w4vxk3n3sVMPKq3qJym-1ecZp_KlnPAGsh1DxAwaubAklpc1g/s2048/Homer%20Feasts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv_0cJlqvnYa8oNeS3VTlRfO4hH10HjFHIAL9fdaoeJj3oiwmASV9lMo9x4JoPHTZgJ5_sF7VSfRZJuQVrJ1opdRdbO-MCKmn4oZG8eDMPAwkDwodN-YQwf3Fy0yL_wawY_YOO6IRX0w4vxk3n3sVMPKq3qJym-1ecZp_KlnPAGsh1DxAwaubAklpc1g/s320/Homer%20Feasts.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Homer and his handiwork</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our Bernie (beagle number 4) has not shown the same affection for books, but he did tackle one. While on a work call one day, I heard a horrible thumping. As soon as I was able to end the conversation, I investigated and found Bernie chewing on - and here is the part that tickles me - Brian Doyle's novel <u>Chicago</u>. I wish I could write to Doyle, to tell him how much Bernie and I both enjoyed that book. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_LTRN2CR5A5pQXYQQgcylPF6VA8Q-iyWehUX0u10dPIJGjBeP2k4W4LI16Hq-ksWBoY42hARyefcYlizeBCq3iu_CirOK3py_8zuo-1-Gasf2kjfxPyUruFkJQuxyvvrwlxh-1JyiQm-xrrGMI4ApjYNt-RSIBLgD75MXpNZ4nGAA-50HKAIg_SBdw/s4032/IMG_1644.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_LTRN2CR5A5pQXYQQgcylPF6VA8Q-iyWehUX0u10dPIJGjBeP2k4W4LI16Hq-ksWBoY42hARyefcYlizeBCq3iu_CirOK3py_8zuo-1-Gasf2kjfxPyUruFkJQuxyvvrwlxh-1JyiQm-xrrGMI4ApjYNt-RSIBLgD75MXpNZ4nGAA-50HKAIg_SBdw/w240-h320/IMG_1644.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh Bernie!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><blockquote><p> </p></blockquote><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-21211004313426720382023-01-31T20:23:00.000-05:002023-01-31T20:23:23.945-05:00New Year's Non-Resolutions<p>Here I am again, trying to actually finish and publish a post. I have several in draft mode, but I'm struggling to get to the point where I'm ready to hit "publish." (Clearly, "perfect" is the enemy of "done.")</p><p>Let me ramble a bit about new year's resolutions. (It's still January, so...) I decided this year to focus on a theme, rather than particular goals. I settled on <i>organization</i> and <i>priorities</i>. </p><p><i>Organization</i> because? Well, sometimes my world is a bit chaotic. I have things I'd like to accomplish, but I seem to be always busy catching up in some other area of my life. And my office? Bringing order there has been on my to-do list since before I retired... </p><p><i>Priorities</i> because? As I try to get organized, and accomplish things, I want to be sure I'm accomplishing things I actually care about, things that are meaningful. </p><p>I have a two-pronged approach to this. First, I have a list of items on my phone. This is my perpetual to-do list. There are a few items that just make life easier if I stay on top of them (make the bed; start the laundry; tidy the kitchen). There are some items that I want to be priorities (scripture study; walk Bernie). There are some items that I simply want to make time for (piano; knitting; reading), so they are on my list as well. Some items get added and deleted, depending on life (schedule Bernie's vet appointment; make a grocery shopping list; download tax software). </p><p>I've never gotten through the whole list, but I do find satisfaction in checking off the tasks I do manage to get to each day. So that's something!</p><p>The second prong to all this is cutting way back on social media. I don't want to give it up completely - I do maintain some connections through social media, and I often learn things I wouldn't hear about otherwise. Plus: cute little kid pictures! But honestly, it is scary how much time I can waste scrolling through Instagram or Facebook or Twitter. I know that I'm better off just picking up a book.</p><p>I should mention one more theme that I'm focusing on this year: Heel-toe. Early in the year, we had dinner with friends, and were lamenting the risk of falling that we're all facing (Jim fell last October, and one of these friends fell over the holidays, plus we each know of other friends who've had bad falls). Our dinner companion said that we need to walk heel first, then toe, to avoid catching our toe on something and falling. </p><p>So, my themes for the year: Organization, Priorities, Heel-toe!</p><p>And - of course - cute beagle pictures.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NMoo5ZHGlOp4uJfUdERPJwouGRHsQ6LwqfmY63BJXLOw3gwxStGu01fXK6XVwOz2kL7e1IJcM8V8VSzcbCinrH6pNZDSEw496nmt9q9vdlU9z-q72LBOrOWms6UMTFXvDU74nzF_BIXnzA4RUcnDBvPnxVsjq6BGq8X_4PVuOrXgvsDi-6iDrx3Haw/s3228/IMG_5053%20Cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2421" data-original-width="3228" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NMoo5ZHGlOp4uJfUdERPJwouGRHsQ6LwqfmY63BJXLOw3gwxStGu01fXK6XVwOz2kL7e1IJcM8V8VSzcbCinrH6pNZDSEw496nmt9q9vdlU9z-q72LBOrOWms6UMTFXvDU74nzF_BIXnzA4RUcnDBvPnxVsjq6BGq8X_4PVuOrXgvsDi-6iDrx3Haw/s320/IMG_5053%20Cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bernie, on the Kal-Haven Trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-86212763627507796272022-07-08T12:50:00.000-04:002022-07-08T12:50:29.207-04:00Miss Mary Bennet<p>If you're a fan of Jane Austen's <u>Pride and Prejudice</u>, then you'll know who Mary Bennet is: the rather dull and pedantic third daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. </p><p>Thanks to Katherine Cowley, we have a new look at Mary Bennet, one that sees her come into her own as a clever and observant spy, and a maturing young woman. In the Austen book, Mary was only 18 or 19; Kathy's series sees her growing into herself, and into a character that we can be quite fond of.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGExrKLAXnsXKZmwezi195hdY5gajTtdh4HYVfKIfwiWSukgH-QRpP83R_duq51iKIPz-TvR5UZ0CYgF0NDKkPmxAhw78c8b_SKlAoWS9Xt4R9vV2oX_XGoiykz-8peiZvMDlb7yseJeYkr_6Itjfr8E-X3BRXAlwyp3GOWh657Dcs0g4MbiJUUNkajA/s1120/169E393E-8E51-4E91-A1EE-E8625FE0DE7F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="1120" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGExrKLAXnsXKZmwezi195hdY5gajTtdh4HYVfKIfwiWSukgH-QRpP83R_duq51iKIPz-TvR5UZ0CYgF0NDKkPmxAhw78c8b_SKlAoWS9Xt4R9vV2oX_XGoiykz-8peiZvMDlb7yseJeYkr_6Itjfr8E-X3BRXAlwyp3GOWh657Dcs0g4MbiJUUNkajA/w400-h198/169E393E-8E51-4E91-A1EE-E8625FE0DE7F.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>Kathy's first novel, <u><a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781953647443" target="_blank">The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet</a></u>, was published in April, 2021. It was nominated for all sorts of awards (the Edgar Awards's <i>Simon & Schuster Mary Higgins Clark Award</i>; the Whitney Awards's <i>Best Mystery/Thriller</i>; and the Whitney Awards's <i>Best Novel by a Debut Author</i>), and rightly so! This book was a delight to read. The story honored the character created by Jane Austen, but imagined her life after Longbourn. This is the Mary we rolled our eyes at in <u>Pride and Prejudice;</u> now we get to see her on her own, and watch her begin to (very slowly) blossom. I appreciated seeing this new side of Mary Bennet, as she examined herself and her situation and tried to take charge of her life. </p><p>The second of the series, <u><a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781956387230" target="_blank">The True Confessions of a London Spy</a></u>, was published in April, 2022. Mary is still blundering a bit, but we see her much more confident in her role as a spy. Mary in action is becoming a woman who is clever and intelligent, observant and thoughtful (and handy with a teapot). Set against the well-researched history of the period, the book is fascinating and compelling. </p><p>The third of the books, <u><a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781957748566" target="_blank">The Lady's Guide to Death and Deception</a></u>, will be published in September, 2022. I am looking forward to Mary's further adventures, and have eagerly placed my preorder with our local bookseller. </p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-29070543784656001452022-07-04T12:50:00.000-04:002022-07-04T12:50:07.832-04:00Life Does Go On<p>Some days, I feel depressed. This is generally triggered by doing something that I almost immediately regret. Maybe something major, that impacts a relationship; maybe something minor, that is easily resolved; maybe just something dumb, that really doesn't matter at all; maybe something I said that came out wrong. Sometimes my actions in a dream are enough to trigger the heavy despair.</p><p>I maintain a mental list of these failings. Whenever there's something new, I pull up the list, review it, and add the new offense. Sometimes I manage to drop an item from the list, but there are some that have been there for years, always lurking at the back of my mind, ready to appear and taunt.</p><p>Pulling out the list and rehashing my faults is, of course, a truly bad idea. It tends to throw me into that depressive funk, and it's hard to climb back out. My good hubby treads softly whenever this happens, and I do my best not to blame him for my own negative self-talk.</p><p>I went through this a few weeks ago. I don't need to relate what triggered it, but I was feeling pretty low. Finally, I hopped into the car with Bernie, and drove over to Kleinstuck Preserve. Walking there, I at last found some peace, and could believe that most things can be fixed; life does go on; and I can keep trying to be the person I hope to be.</p><p>A haiku for that day:</p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I rehearse my faults,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But the woods calm and remind:
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You can try again.</span></p></blockquote><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjox80UfPSgJxNzcMnx9XZeDWciPV89ff5HFIkHwWbzYL71Hu2_rpGI8MAx-BITtqYk4Bq7EI3rjHMGSJyxEp5LQ9OnM7lf9KLAym021HWJ5BkhqeKV39O-QFW_0CIIASxBCd5bVsMIQDGKJk8cNJ85LOMFxDeiZYxCLTl69swm3oJVOFJ2RjvC5OTC4Q/s6000/IMG_3733.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjox80UfPSgJxNzcMnx9XZeDWciPV89ff5HFIkHwWbzYL71Hu2_rpGI8MAx-BITtqYk4Bq7EI3rjHMGSJyxEp5LQ9OnM7lf9KLAym021HWJ5BkhqeKV39O-QFW_0CIIASxBCd5bVsMIQDGKJk8cNJ85LOMFxDeiZYxCLTl69swm3oJVOFJ2RjvC5OTC4Q/s320/IMG_3733.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That day in Kleinstuck Preserve</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-73809326658268064282022-06-15T11:16:00.000-04:002022-06-15T11:16:02.648-04:00Knowing Our LGBTQ Brothers and Sisters<p>I want to share several books I've read. These are written by members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The authors are gay, and write to explain how they reconcile this orientation with their commitment to the Church. </p><p>I read these in an effort to understand more clearly what this commitment requires. Each book offered its own perspective, and I found them helpful in my effort to be an ally for my fellow saints, and to recognize the challenges faced by gay members of my church.</p><p>Please keep these caveats in mind:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Each of these books was written at a point in time, and the author shared their story as of that moment. Their life did not stop at that point. Their perspective and viewpoint may well have changed since then, and it may change in the future. </li><li>Each of these books presents the author's approach to living life as a gay member of the church. They each emphasize that they are sharing <i>their</i> story, and that their story shouldn't be held up as "the" answer for all gay members of the Church. </li></ol><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyVIZPIhosFDEXzxrfdTtdKxqjrVpkqSoDGmr7LjLCClG7Xpx0HrP2wP1zepl8ubTqKsAVY6bBOxvvMA4qH8r0Ds_f1j9XNMWVIwukn9Fl228o6RxK7lf1f4SFhgLpmVpBspmO7cCGtullR875OXsMSPtQVJ0sXVIUbmgnZ5mZBBBIgOsLDbIqUrapA/s475/That%20We%20May%20Be%20One.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyVIZPIhosFDEXzxrfdTtdKxqjrVpkqSoDGmr7LjLCClG7Xpx0HrP2wP1zepl8ubTqKsAVY6bBOxvvMA4qH8r0Ds_f1j9XNMWVIwukn9Fl228o6RxK7lf1f4SFhgLpmVpBspmO7cCGtullR875OXsMSPtQVJ0sXVIUbmgnZ5mZBBBIgOsLDbIqUrapA/w213-h320/That%20We%20May%20Be%20One.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p>Several years ago, I read Tom Christofferson's book, <a href="https://deseretbook.com/p/cd-that-we-may-be-one?variant_id=155907-paperback" target="_blank">That We May Be One: A Gay Mormon’s Perspective on Faith & Family</a>, published by Deseret Book in 2017. The thing that most impressed me in Tom's story was the way his family supported him. He wrote of a time when he had left the Church, and was dating. His family was planning a reunion, and some of Tom's brothers were uncomfortable with Tom's bringing his boyfriend, to the extent that one family thought they might not bring their children if Tom's boyfriend came. </p><blockquote><p>My mother said [talking to Tom and his siblings and their spouses] . . . "I thought we really had it all figured out, that we were the perfect Mormon family. But then life happens, and I realized that there is no perfect Mormon family. The only thing we can really be perfect at is loving each other." The she addressed my brothers and sisters-in-law and said, "The most important lesson your children will learn from how our family treats their Uncle Tom is that nothing they can ever do will take them outside the circle of our family's love."</p></blockquote><p>Tom described how, after twenty years away, he began his return to the Church. His is a remarkable story of the love and acceptance he felt from others, and I encourage you to read it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13N79MTbcGgTW1jAESRylupg1psDWe2Qn5s_xoVUxuTUuu-HUkpdWiV5o50RmepugXvcUXvpvfYWhFpVYrguX9-RipdHp-ii56qpNg2qFIWvxPQIlI-z2PZ2On7om7JceLOy5qd3zf3SsCqotM3B9mZeLa0GaTSJjbfRQq-EaCX2Rs4D7qEZGnGYjww/s475/A%20Walk%20in%20My%20Shoes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="307" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13N79MTbcGgTW1jAESRylupg1psDWe2Qn5s_xoVUxuTUuu-HUkpdWiV5o50RmepugXvcUXvpvfYWhFpVYrguX9-RipdHp-ii56qpNg2qFIWvxPQIlI-z2PZ2On7om7JceLOy5qd3zf3SsCqotM3B9mZeLa0GaTSJjbfRQq-EaCX2Rs4D7qEZGnGYjww/s320/A%20Walk%20in%20My%20Shoes.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><p>A few years ago, I started reading Ben Schilaty's blog, <a href="http://benschilaty.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><i>Ben There, Done That</i></a>. Later, I listened to the podcast he cohosts with Charlie Bird, <a href="https://questionsfromthecloset.com/" target="_blank"><i>Questions From the Closet</i></a>. Both are terrific resources, and I encourage you to check them out. </p><p>In 2021, Deseret Book published Ben's book, <a href="https://deseretbook.com/p/walk-in-my-shoes-questions-im-often-asked-as-a-gay-latterday-saint?variant_id=190022-paperback" target="_blank">A Walk in my Shoes: Questions I’m Often Asked as a Gay Latter-day Saint</a>. He writes about navigating life as a gay man in a very conservative and family-oriented church. As the title suggests, he responds to questions people ask, but the overarching question he addresses is, "why would a gay person stay in this church?" </p><p>This book is full of stories from Ben's life, and those stories are readable and relatable. He closes with this plea:</p><p></p><blockquote>There are people knocking [reaching out] right now, and not just LGBTQ people. People who are married or single. People with children and people without children. People who are overwhelmed with all they have to do and people who are at home alone wishing they had more to do. People who have doubts about their beliefs. People of different ethnic backgrounds and cultures. So many people who just want to be heard and understood. If we are to build Zion, we must create a place where hearts and minds come together and where everyone belongs. This happens as we respond to the knocking we hear, as we throw open the door and welcome people in.</blockquote><p></p><p>I recommend folks read Ben's book for understanding and insight, and then follow his example of responding to the knocking, of reaching out to others.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUvw8VLTXr0w11uPQ8l_el_nopMauLy6Q4TAvYmYRAuWH0ycaluVd1QFaSFC7id-xQOITZTpX3izAkSsN-fgXl3y2l4ZoCMzQ89fxU-CH1fvZ37KLIRPxz5s_WuxPT4BdL3JwGC0R60_lI11bZh4gTSbUh4BzhOPXFL-Tnr0WoCovGBpQrRNMg4grog/s475/Tender%20Leaves%20of%20Hope.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUvw8VLTXr0w11uPQ8l_el_nopMauLy6Q4TAvYmYRAuWH0ycaluVd1QFaSFC7id-xQOITZTpX3izAkSsN-fgXl3y2l4ZoCMzQ89fxU-CH1fvZ37KLIRPxz5s_WuxPT4BdL3JwGC0R60_lI11bZh4gTSbUh4BzhOPXFL-Tnr0WoCovGBpQrRNMg4grog/s320/Tender%20Leaves%20of%20Hope.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><p>Meghan Decker's book, <a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781462143283" target="_blank">Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women</a>, was published this past April, by Cedar Fort, Inc. I've known Meghan for years, through church, but she came out as gay just last year. In her book, she shares her story of hiding her orientation throughout her life, until finally coming out to herself, later to her husband, and finally to her family. She includes insights from other LGBTQ women as well. The result is a frank discussion of what it looks like to be both LGBTQ and a committed member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.</p><p>I would describe Meghan as very introspective, and her book reflects this. Where Ben teaches through story, Meghan shares not only her story, but also her thought process, as she tries to figure out what life will look like as a gay Latter-day Saint. Her insights are a gift to the reader who is trying to learn how to support gay members of the Church.</p><p>Meghan's perspective is presented here:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>I have heard Church members express their belief in the healing power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ for all afflictions and their subsequent confusion over the lack of "healing" for members who experience same-sex attraction. They are mistaken about what needs to be healed. I experience the healing power of the Savior as He takes away my shame, my fear, and my sorrow over my orientation. But as I stop viewing my orientation as an affliction, He is able to open my eyes to see the power and blessing and gift of it.</p><p>I know many people who are LGBTQ and devoted members of the Church. If faithfulness was a condition for becoming straight, they would qualify. I don't think God is intending to change my orientation. Instead, He is changing my understanding of who I am and the glorious future He has for me as a gay Latter-day Saint.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>Meghan's website, with her blog posts and other writings, is <a href="https://meghandecker.com/" target="_blank">Meghan Decker</a>. </p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p style="text-align: left;">These books, and others, are important, because they help us see our gay brothers and sisters as real people, with multiple dimensions, and not as some caricature portrayed by the media or by culture. Meghan wrote, </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: left;">Elizabeth says she would like to be open and honest because "people in church don't have much empathy for us, but they'll never develop it if they don't know about us."</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;">As Brené Brown said, "People are hard to hate close up." These books help us to get closer to our brothers and sisters; to know them; and to love them as God does.</p></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-57674892687364429902022-06-03T17:08:00.001-04:002022-06-03T17:08:54.032-04:00It's All Very Bleak<p>It's been ten days since the murder of nineteen children and two teachers, and the wounding of seventeen others, in Uvalde, Texas. Since then, there have been twenty more mass shootings (according to the <a href="https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting" target="_blank">Gun Violence Archive</a>). In these additional shootings, seventeen persons were killed, and eighty-eight were injured. (In those ten days, if you count all shootings, and not just mass shootings, 499 persons have died, and 115 have been injured). </p><p>That's a lot of people. Once again, I ask myself: why do people need guns? I understand that some are used for hunting. Some are used for target shooting. And maybe some are for self-defense (although having those guns in your home is more likely to <a href="https://www.thetrace.org/2020/04/gun-safety-research-coronavirus-gun-sales/" target="_blank">increase the chance for accidental injury, homicide, and suicide</a> than to protect you.)</p><p>Guns are really good at killing people - especially guns developed for the military, and guns modeled after them. Why does anyone need a weapon like that? I just can't wrap my head around it. </p><p>I've realized that calling for "common sense gun legislation" is a non-starter. The immediate reaction seems to be "don't touch my guns" - even after the deaths of all those children in Uvalde, and the children who die from accidental shootings, and the children who die from domestic violence, and the children who die of suicide because a gun was handy. Accordingly, I'm trying to reframe my requests to be more specific, such as these from <a href="https://momsdemandaction.org/" target="_blank">Moms Demand Action</a>: background checks on all gun sales; red flag laws; safe storage laws.</p><div>Another outcome of this shooting is that I've lost confidence that we can rely on the police. It is painful to write those words; I've always had respect for police officers, and my own experiences with them have only been positive. But the officers in Uvalde appear to have done little to stop the gunman. It appears that they waited outside the classroom, doing nothing, for an hour. Meanwhile, children were calling 911, begging for help. I don't understand how these officers could just stand there, seemingly doing nothing. It breaks my heart. I find myself rehearsing in my mind all the stories of police (mis)behavior that I've heard, and I wonder: are bad cops actually the rule, and good cops the exception?</div><div><br /></div><div>It is all very bleak, so here's a bleak haiku:</div><div></div><p></p><blockquote><p></p><div>His anger aims the<br />gun. Children fall to the floor;<br />good guys wait outside.</div><p></p></blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNUyDiXURr9utKLU-Nv5lpGVlDaw2WrNrbD1r4Nn4vMrlGizPYJQSTJppTeNxyYXOAx1suPZd5otSnZXgztlmbzzFPwgmFdzWJgCbmujIXZjLRYbWFxFxZd6tBgfFf8tWqGLbHa-jmLkk0yV0OyXW8LGzPd0unHioaVi2LEkELRcHEW6HPFMpIvJPqQ/s1087/Uvalde%20Composite.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="1087" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNUyDiXURr9utKLU-Nv5lpGVlDaw2WrNrbD1r4Nn4vMrlGizPYJQSTJppTeNxyYXOAx1suPZd5otSnZXgztlmbzzFPwgmFdzWJgCbmujIXZjLRYbWFxFxZd6tBgfFf8tWqGLbHa-jmLkk0yV0OyXW8LGzPd0unHioaVi2LEkELRcHEW6HPFMpIvJPqQ/w400-h226/Uvalde%20Composite.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Composite illustration of the 21 victims (Family handouts/Reuters)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-3145969540609197772022-05-25T10:25:00.000-04:002022-05-25T10:25:55.504-04:00The Remorseful Day<p>Checking my email this morning, I see that PBS has a video about the final season of <i>Endeavour.</i> The video, it turns out, is simply Shaun Evans (who plays Endeavour Morse) <a href="https://youtu.be/wh43aATynTs" target="_blank">reading A.E. Housman's poem, <i>How Clear, How Lovely Bright.</i></a></p><p>I guess that the poem is meant to describe the stages of one's life, from youthful hope to regrets in old age. But yesterday's events - the shooting deaths of 19 children and 2 teachers in Uvalde, Texas - lay heavy on my mind, and I heard the poem in that mindset. A child's day should indeed begin lovely bright, with glee - but it ought not to end in such remorse.</p><p></p><blockquote><p><i>How Clear, How Lovely Bright</i><br />by A.E. Housman</p><p>How clear, how lovely bright,<br />How beautiful to sight<br />Those beams of morning play;<br />How heaven laughs out with glee<br />Where, like a bird set free,<br />Up from the eastern sea<br />Soars the delightful day.</p><p>To-day I shall be strong,<br />No more shall yield to wrong,<br />Shall squander life no more;<br />Days lost, I know not how,<br />I shall retrieve them now;<br />Now I shall keep the vow<br />I never kept before.</p><p>Ensanguining the skies<br />How heavily it dies<br />Into the west away;<br />Past touch and sight and sound<br />Not further to be found,<br />How hopeless under ground<br />Falls the remorseful day.</p></blockquote><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdtTRmNGuRYPThyvBpEP_lllNxzaCCh952QdfgmdK-tt3y0BSwLfz903B2UmrLljAb7JNe_V8bAxzg2ay4GSGvfCaYzJ3_hYU-xuZmpqK3Emr5jMh0BLzDPuL7V_mHxvXwneZPVAGChlAHFS8TmcWQI1Saezpdbgl4oEZC0sLHFS_Bj8_fZSmMpgRpA/s6000/IMG_2920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdtTRmNGuRYPThyvBpEP_lllNxzaCCh952QdfgmdK-tt3y0BSwLfz903B2UmrLljAb7JNe_V8bAxzg2ay4GSGvfCaYzJ3_hYU-xuZmpqK3Emr5jMh0BLzDPuL7V_mHxvXwneZPVAGChlAHFS8TmcWQI1Saezpdbgl4oEZC0sLHFS_Bj8_fZSmMpgRpA/s320/IMG_2920.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-2012811808921798292022-05-19T20:51:00.000-04:002022-05-19T20:51:27.657-04:00Michigan's Spring Green<p>Spring in Michigan comes slowly. For a while, the trees wear just a hint of green, their leaves just starting to appear. Gradually they relax and open, until one day, we're out walking and discover a canopy of green.</p><p>Here's a haiku celebrating this annual miracle:</p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Softly, quietly,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">leaves unfurl, and we see trees
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">waving their new green.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNebsphoJ-lyuLE10kkehpC0GceMfW2TTgpxcmav_3wGJO4bOZayutdRDNHnLqt5fd1TeQEzURqyRp6S4JX1N_U59oEmuZ_Ccw1b9XY2q7SYEe1K2nrfM94YbUCSvXqaY1CipGhYKf4aNxaqNGUl5PTNUhELaAYb_kuQ6Z_qp0e_HmknGpz1K_1q2nw/s6000/IMG_3132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNebsphoJ-lyuLE10kkehpC0GceMfW2TTgpxcmav_3wGJO4bOZayutdRDNHnLqt5fd1TeQEzURqyRp6S4JX1N_U59oEmuZ_Ccw1b9XY2q7SYEe1K2nrfM94YbUCSvXqaY1CipGhYKf4aNxaqNGUl5PTNUhELaAYb_kuQ6Z_qp0e_HmknGpz1K_1q2nw/s320/IMG_3132.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kleinstuck Preserve</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-68178883549693383052022-05-10T17:28:00.000-04:002022-05-10T17:28:02.617-04:00Let's Listen and Hear Each Other<p> I recently read a quote by David Augsburger:</p><blockquote><p>Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable. [fn1]</p></blockquote><p>Such good advice. This requires that I set down my phone, my book, my knitting, my camera - whatever is claiming my attention - so that I can properly listen to and hear another person.</p><p>I wrote a haiku using this quote as a prompt:</p><p></p><blockquote>Will you listen when<br />I tell my story? Will you<br />hear my joy and pain?</blockquote><p></p><p>Just listen. Just hear. That's all.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFo_vH037ul01Ut0gV9Ys5yIPAK0ZDiWfZTkAExw3msUMtzUR4MuvRDAvrKgk3IwTmcZwdgyVRbkEm3bsVgB0j7iXacCFk5QV5KT4j8Rl3maL6RkorgeD4hKnJ6DekEmshfa-QWFnRlM6Lg90nmZoUc_z-jexLbR7TRF5_xEUkt3FFkyHWXEUIam3OQ/s1745/IMG_2924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1745" data-original-width="1745" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFo_vH037ul01Ut0gV9Ys5yIPAK0ZDiWfZTkAExw3msUMtzUR4MuvRDAvrKgk3IwTmcZwdgyVRbkEm3bsVgB0j7iXacCFk5QV5KT4j8Rl3maL6RkorgeD4hKnJ6DekEmshfa-QWFnRlM6Lg90nmZoUc_z-jexLbR7TRF5_xEUkt3FFkyHWXEUIam3OQ/w320-h320/IMG_2924.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Even beagle ears are for hearing</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>fn1: From his book, <u>Caring Enough to Hear and Be Heard</u> (Ventura, CA: Regal Books, 1983<u>)</u></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-14839624255177149452022-05-06T17:24:00.000-04:002022-05-06T17:24:14.126-04:00Knitting from Stash / Yarn Chicken<p>Over the years, I've acquired a good bit of yarn. I won't get into specifics; let's just say it's A Lot. Accordingly, I'm trying to ignore all the enticing yarn that I see on social media, and instead knit from my stash. My latest effort involved some beautiful yarn from Studio June Yarns, <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/yarns/library/studio-june-yarn-squishy-soft-worsted" target="_blank">Squishy Soft Worsted</a>:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/609134026/upload_medium2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="640" height="223" src="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/609134026/upload_medium2" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Honey Mustard</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://images4-g.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/418735773/u_iigd8u7bj-p3jhmhubpgduq-s9l1m_0hgiun9fdhun5p-7uy7slh6sgcmpkot85lszpx_ezddq8hcwzq3gaqmm0lwou-t3n9bp_medium2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="491" height="320" src="https://images4-g.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/418735773/u_iigd8u7bj-p3jhmhubpgduq-s9l1m_0hgiun9fdhun5p-7uy7slh6sgcmpkot85lszpx_ezddq8hcwzq3gaqmm0lwou-t3n9bp_medium2.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>National Forest</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I used this to knit a baby blanket, using the <i><a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/drifting-stripes-8-hour-baby-blanket" target="_blank">Drifting Stripes 8-Hour Baby Blanket</a></i> pattern by JoAnne Turcotte. This is a great pattern; it knits up fairly quickly, and creates a yummy blanket - thick and squishy, perfect for snuggling a fall baby.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/850347076/IMG_1636_medium2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/850347076/IMG_1636_medium2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>I weighed the leftover yarn, and thought there'd be enough to knit the <i><a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/pittsburgh-steelers-hat" target="_blank">Pittsburgh Steelers Hat</a></i> by Lorna Miser - although it might be close. I shortened the green ribbing, and still had to stop the colorwork early, because I'd run out of green yarn. But I think it turned out well in spite of losing yarn chicken:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/852382801/IMG_2201_medium2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://images4-f.ravelrycache.com/uploads/RobinV/852382801/IMG_2201_medium2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Next up: another <a href="https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/musselburgh" target="_blank">Musselburgh</a> hat.</div>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-43855016107833239962022-05-01T11:22:00.001-04:002022-05-01T11:22:39.243-04:00Haiku Challenge, Part Three<p>Here are the last of my haiku for this April challenge. <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">With that, the thirty-day challenge is complete. Maybe I'll continue with weekly haiku, but no promises!</span></p><p><b>April 23 - a weakness</b></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A leaning tree will
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">someday fall. Without support,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">you will break as well.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 24 - a hope you have for your life
</b><i>I changed one word in this, from what I posted on Instagram, where "might" was "will." I also decided to capitalize "She." Big changes, I know.</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>@HumanHaiku shared this one (the original version, of course).</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t expect great
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">things, but hope people might say,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">“She was always kind.”</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 25 - something you miss
</b></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>In the summer, we kids would gather at the Banks’s, to play roundsies in their front yard. This was a version of kickball, in which players rotated through the fielding positions and the kicking position. It was ideal since we never could muster enough players to field two teams. It was also disorganized and chaotic, and was, according to Mom, the reason Gene Banks gave up on trying to grow a decent lawn. </i></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>The evening game was for fathers, and our older brothers. In reality, this probably happened just once, but it looms large in my memory. I remember cheers for a good hit, and discussions of the latest Pirates game. I remember my father drinking from a bottle of beer, a rarity. I remember showing my mom, and Marge Banks, that I’d figured out how to tie my shoes. It's all a fond memory, a small bit of neighborhood community.</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Summer days were for
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">kickball. Nights were for baseball,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">for watching our dads.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 26 - anger</b></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>This is the version I submitted:</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I soon regret my
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">angry words. Can I instead
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">learn to practice peace?</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>But I prefer this version, with its slight modification; the words (intonation? emphasis?) sound better to my ears.</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I soon regret my
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">angry words. Can I learn to
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">practice peace instead?</span></blockquote><p><b>April 27 - something that delights you</b></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The trees are spring green
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">with buds, tiny promises
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">of splendor and joy.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWQiwAxDPanuSbVYrNi_Q2AykpdieAJWErtpfufivd25RPBtIusFQmW0wHCl_Gnv65_8T--ElJP4Oi3LjionPZbNCumWQmvZxAoKc5r9jIUkPIViqS0IId3bOX4HliN9rYkwzvp7BSAs2yi0lkg9xRy3nnJwDmYHEMFU3b7gikpAjyBCqxjygmUWAuzQ/s4374/IMG_2185%20Cropped.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2916" data-original-width="4374" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWQiwAxDPanuSbVYrNi_Q2AykpdieAJWErtpfufivd25RPBtIusFQmW0wHCl_Gnv65_8T--ElJP4Oi3LjionPZbNCumWQmvZxAoKc5r9jIUkPIViqS0IId3bOX4HliN9rYkwzvp7BSAs2yi0lkg9xRy3nnJwDmYHEMFU3b7gikpAjyBCqxjygmUWAuzQ/s320/IMG_2185%20Cropped.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Spring green in one of our trees</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>April 28 - a hard thing you're going through</b><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I weigh my struggles;
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">against the world’s challenges,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">mine appear so small.</span></p></blockquote><p><b>April 29 - peace</b><br /><i>I was not happy with this, but it was late in the day, so I called it done, even though I cringe every time I read it.</i></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The world can’t promise
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">peace; for that, we must turn to
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">a higher power.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><b>April 30 - <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">who you are as a human, now</span></b> <br /><i>I wrote so many versions of this! I had woken in a bad mood, and the haiku reflected that, ha ha. I finally came up with this, which was not as dramatically dark as the others.</i></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Can an old dog learn
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">new tricks? I think so; with age
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">come new adventures</span></blockquote><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydDupMEWzu-S81PijBhRdrifw8yBvfLJNi93Bh_QIaddk1PPz1icS4MwaQpvx7nL8AyObgvgv9qwdmwVUz7w6RuKo8kyXlEaV6pOeA1ABZkNytNDKi_FJN3vCskCS7KXdrNUHoT0hByq80g4fUoZtiEHHvS4X8UbrEZJxPKGzwdV2U9DqsqnQeVs9lg/s2439/IMG_2238%20cropped.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2439" data-original-width="2438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydDupMEWzu-S81PijBhRdrifw8yBvfLJNi93Bh_QIaddk1PPz1icS4MwaQpvx7nL8AyObgvgv9qwdmwVUz7w6RuKo8kyXlEaV6pOeA1ABZkNytNDKi_FJN3vCskCS7KXdrNUHoT0hByq80g4fUoZtiEHHvS4X8UbrEZJxPKGzwdV2U9DqsqnQeVs9lg/s320/IMG_2238%20cropped.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Our Bernie, enjoying his adventures</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-43398612633818702512022-04-24T14:37:00.001-04:002022-04-24T16:13:44.500-04:00Beagle Number Four: Bernie<p>One big event that occurred during my blogging lapse was the addition of Bernie to our family. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL6VcsovbNbuBn4TAcc8eSs07mKU9nMFplS9WkxM2IhTsc8lleW9PJDc36c_znreTcOn_lQT4dpp74VL4dzmQsjqeneZakPF2oSMTCMKO1I1AnBRW2qyA0mnYuGWbZDcAbqJfaGygHlMb7s1vuvbS8RIa5qV-GYsq5JetEuGuJpfPa9s7k7FdQ0bBtw/s1184/P1120017.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="1184" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL6VcsovbNbuBn4TAcc8eSs07mKU9nMFplS9WkxM2IhTsc8lleW9PJDc36c_znreTcOn_lQT4dpp74VL4dzmQsjqeneZakPF2oSMTCMKO1I1AnBRW2qyA0mnYuGWbZDcAbqJfaGygHlMb7s1vuvbS8RIa5qV-GYsq5JetEuGuJpfPa9s7k7FdQ0bBtw/s320/P1120017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>March 2016</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Our Bonnie (Beagle Number Three) died in early January, 2016. Almost immediately, Jim started browsing Petfinder, in search of a new companion. He found Bernie, being held at the Eaton County Humane Society. He'd been picked up as a stray, and was estimated to be about four years old. Frankly, I didn't think the picture was very impressive, but Jim persuaded me that we should take a look. We drove there on the Martin Luther King holiday, January 18, 2016. </p><p>Bernie still needed to be neutered, so we couldn't adopt him yet. We took him home, though, as a "foster," with the agreement to bring him back for neutering on the 26th. We then formally adopted him on the 28th, and brought him home for good. For us, though, January 18th is his "gotcha" day.</p><p>Because of Bonnie's penchant for digging under the fence, we decided to reinforce the fence before allowing Bernie out back unsupervised. This meant a lot of standing out there with him on a leash, sometimes in snow, sometimes under an umbrella (it was several months before we got the fence sorted). As it turns out, Bernie seems to have no wanderlust at all; he has only wandered off once, and this was when he followed his nose out an open gate.</p><p>They say it takes three weeks for a rescue dog to start settling into his new home. This was certainly the case with Bernie! There were days when I wondered, "What have we done?!?" He wanted lots of attention, he beagled my knitting projects, and he barked— a lot! Happily, he did indeed start to settle down after several weeks. </p><p>As soon as possible, we enrolled Bernie in one of Gail's classes at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/briarwooddogtraining/" target="_blank">Briar Wood Dog Training</a>. He got along fine with the other dogs. He was smaller than most of them, and announced his arrival each week with riotous howling. It took a while before I could get him to sit, but Gail assured me I wasn't going to break him if I forced his little rump down. When the class ended, he had indeed graduated, and was given the "most improved" award.</p><p>We stuck with the classes for a while, attending an intermediate class, and then a hobby class. The socialization was good for him, and he turned out to be a smart little guy (in spite of being a typically stubborn hound). When he finally learned "by heel" and "bang," we felt like he'd arrived! </p><p>We've had Bernie six years now. He's a happy ten-year-old, and very much part of our family. Here are some things we've come to learn about our boy.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>He has some anxiety. He doesn't like his crate, but he'll go to it on command, and if we're gone, he's happier there. He knows when we're getting ready to leave, and tries to "hide" in the couch. If I go outside to work in the yard, he isn't interested in joining me, but prefers to simply stand by the door, howling.</li><li>He happily eats his dog food, but not until he's sure there's nothing better available. He eats a little after our walk, and leaves the rest until the evening. After he's finished begging (unsuccessfully) for our dinner, he tackles his own food in earnest.</li><li>He gets along well with other dogs. We've had dogs stay with us, and while Bernie doesn't play with them, or become best buddies, he is happy to let them share his couch.</li><li>Bernie's absolute favorite thing is going for a walk. He lives for his walks, and enjoys a good sniffari - there are so many good smells! He will pause in the park so little kids can pet him (although this is more successful at the end of a walk, when he has satisfied his urge to smell the world). He does like to bark at other dogs, but most people simply laugh and say, "he's a beagle!"</li><li>Speaking of which - Bernie is unusually small for a beagle, so we sent a test to Wisdom Panel to check his DNA. We learned that he is 100% beagle. According to the DNA analysis, seven of his great grandparents were field beagles (which I take to mean "hunting"), and one was a show beagle (which I take to mean "not hunting"). I've heard that beagles sometimes end up lost while out hunting; perhaps that was the case with Bernie.</li><li>Perhaps because of that hunting gene, he isn't bothered in the least by thunderstorms or by fireworks. This definitely makes our life easier!</li><li>If you leave a glass of water on the floor by your feet, Bernie will help himself to it. I sometimes have a jar of M&Ms on the floor, and Bernie has never been interested in them, until one evening, just last week. I looked down to discover him standing there with his nose in the jar, having a good old time!</li><li>Bernie likes to play with his treats, throwing them in the air and pouncing on them. Occasionally we hear a desperate howl, calling us to rescue his treat from under some piece of furniture.</li><li>As far as we know, he's never met a cat in person. But when he sees one from his perch on the couch, he explodes. There's a grey and white cat who regularly walks past our house (or even in our yard), and Bernie goes ballistic. One time there were baby skunks in the front yard; I thought they were adorable, and Bernie thought they were a danger to life as we know it. Happily, he only observed them through the window. (At this point, I made sure to pick up materials for a de-skunking bath, just in case.)</li></ol><div>Here are a few photos from the six years Bernie's been with us. Frankly, it was hard picking just a few; he's a very photogenic boy!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGc5GKqEw0yBhVsdPtJa-huYcfbZIuU1Co2m_u_00Mf714U1vJWK1p7zdnbtJKqmge8yAZpiiTHzIfMccI79t9yPQR2FMTG-TgfSi4pkLGWRyD6KsZknpPIK2VBA_bVLv-WxodbYzLacTtWeZw5z8-QZp37Zf4PzLwCfh5m895Q84-TgsNOFFhxi1FA/s632/1D49DC94-5565-4C1C-A250-6E80690C2C10.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="632" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGc5GKqEw0yBhVsdPtJa-huYcfbZIuU1Co2m_u_00Mf714U1vJWK1p7zdnbtJKqmge8yAZpiiTHzIfMccI79t9yPQR2FMTG-TgfSi4pkLGWRyD6KsZknpPIK2VBA_bVLv-WxodbYzLacTtWeZw5z8-QZp37Zf4PzLwCfh5m895Q84-TgsNOFFhxi1FA/s320/1D49DC94-5565-4C1C-A250-6E80690C2C10.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At the shelter in 2016 - a nervous pup</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9g0CkZQXSZI_fbhORXbxtUwfVVfAW4vjp3HDAPjhNN_q8E3b1bHVKHz0c38So-2NLd3nfecP7Rme07hHBarBc98VGlDrIddjPf_sSlC-SSD9EScu0GkeZMHDUfGKDHeETlgONsOTMaPoVcAg1DWuSEwyy66S7X5cbOmMZl6PfyDuGEP5GTOCJUk4iwg/s3716/P1120688.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3716" data-original-width="2483" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9g0CkZQXSZI_fbhORXbxtUwfVVfAW4vjp3HDAPjhNN_q8E3b1bHVKHz0c38So-2NLd3nfecP7Rme07hHBarBc98VGlDrIddjPf_sSlC-SSD9EScu0GkeZMHDUfGKDHeETlgONsOTMaPoVcAg1DWuSEwyy66S7X5cbOmMZl6PfyDuGEP5GTOCJUk4iwg/s320/P1120688.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Proof he graduated from his<br />obedience class</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRe3P3xiJgj5Fut3-kLEWA-1awMgjtzVAeAvsz7S0Dpr4P6WOnOKyWbFbTQyZwllKHv_FKQ-nFFz6YHpmNBka87uf2pHnOat7B3oQj4m9pINLjp3B7vrqAmPhaE2qVZ4mGt9ltttWRFSAmrngUIRgqzYv84dMt72QFVQAzo1dDlI5fNMnfJ7EygfnnA/s4000/P1150048.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2661" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRe3P3xiJgj5Fut3-kLEWA-1awMgjtzVAeAvsz7S0Dpr4P6WOnOKyWbFbTQyZwllKHv_FKQ-nFFz6YHpmNBka87uf2pHnOat7B3oQj4m9pINLjp3B7vrqAmPhaE2qVZ4mGt9ltttWRFSAmrngUIRgqzYv84dMt72QFVQAzo1dDlI5fNMnfJ7EygfnnA/s320/P1150048.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>July 2016, Robin & Bernie</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGaQYI9-CE-uLYZpPWm6_SEBHrIck1L9-3k7iykPmbDPgsGbpFa4ylcV8A8_ES6jtGhm6vUCl2mk-Dl0-LkPfQ7JZF5uZm9zvxRvSsVRs-nhtwSMv6ivv525anq-BlKnCMWB-3u-Ozgaj34G47mjfxUhJE19I6edb5YfH9jEhStgzHB5aSLeFiGwnYQ/s2634/P1160678.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1761" data-original-width="2634" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGaQYI9-CE-uLYZpPWm6_SEBHrIck1L9-3k7iykPmbDPgsGbpFa4ylcV8A8_ES6jtGhm6vUCl2mk-Dl0-LkPfQ7JZF5uZm9zvxRvSsVRs-nhtwSMv6ivv525anq-BlKnCMWB-3u-Ozgaj34G47mjfxUhJE19I6edb5YfH9jEhStgzHB5aSLeFiGwnYQ/s320/P1160678.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>October 2016, Bernie and Tonks</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySF96utlwR2WUfvLLxg9OKfyx2N6pcBa3lJ7OGinnrSlP-oCxsSl0Tg_2SBu4lqX-RTBKr1ZumFcEr0_q_pV8Ai0II9rmhPqqhUjGLSvtmw3-aYCbZJbQoTv6vPpILwnuq98FGJDFeFkZhedLJmVOLR5gZYLUHvOZAnTJr-PM6FNQCTXs6kGPmTBDQw/s4032/IMG_0443.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2687" data-original-width="4032" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySF96utlwR2WUfvLLxg9OKfyx2N6pcBa3lJ7OGinnrSlP-oCxsSl0Tg_2SBu4lqX-RTBKr1ZumFcEr0_q_pV8Ai0II9rmhPqqhUjGLSvtmw3-aYCbZJbQoTv6vPpILwnuq98FGJDFeFkZhedLJmVOLR5gZYLUHvOZAnTJr-PM6FNQCTXs6kGPmTBDQw/s320/IMG_0443.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanksgiving 2016, Jim and Bernie</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaZdP2gUr76qjlxOp-_orCPDRIkkTUtNWnoyYitTpWIqhxLljUEo-BEzQ7zNCnI77R4GhyXSLa91FwNQ09DhbGZTwp5nF8DF4fuPf13dJUKipd2sEc6LH5RoKGxw4Ue7prV7DePDjDSwHbp9XVy0hyX9CI-pZvy0Sopy_9NXeR7SJuVmvLn44xaspvQ/s2986/IMG_0584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1984" data-original-width="2986" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaZdP2gUr76qjlxOp-_orCPDRIkkTUtNWnoyYitTpWIqhxLljUEo-BEzQ7zNCnI77R4GhyXSLa91FwNQ09DhbGZTwp5nF8DF4fuPf13dJUKipd2sEc6LH5RoKGxw4Ue7prV7DePDjDSwHbp9XVy0hyX9CI-pZvy0Sopy_9NXeR7SJuVmvLn44xaspvQ/s320/IMG_0584.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>December 2016, Christmas Party with<br />Bernie's Briar Wood buddies</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwx4oi6GrmiQc3uUMCO3eWKt6qbFlMIv7GQqYgabn2ks-arWn5LvzI-GEEvyvzWry2L-xPNUR3vZhd4iFD7ITx5YqPA2ZmYZXrgZrVSaurysMWCHduGk4XuKbsm1HWiDqvLyDB9fy1eKyMX5sR3MxvhWx0B7iODa6drKuAyBHZnPonCkj07_is-z9ww/s3910/IMG_0737.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2602" data-original-width="3910" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwx4oi6GrmiQc3uUMCO3eWKt6qbFlMIv7GQqYgabn2ks-arWn5LvzI-GEEvyvzWry2L-xPNUR3vZhd4iFD7ITx5YqPA2ZmYZXrgZrVSaurysMWCHduGk4XuKbsm1HWiDqvLyDB9fy1eKyMX5sR3MxvhWx0B7iODa6drKuAyBHZnPonCkj07_is-z9ww/s320/IMG_0737.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"If I can't see you, then you can't see me."</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OChZziLfYk7d2KXKCm1HmQBy0q9MbIIp-KsOSqTgFffKj5CAyFug3F1pRx8YOyKMQtYnTD8xas5Twfcb5Y1AN1IHIn6WwZIGqVeNfgD_gc_bl67mggX2XtL-CDNEpD_fxOLMqeFtnDjlKO3eUNL_tduvh6dE-6kmNje4phuqEaCmN7V7bDUWRxwHzA/s4026/IMG_4611.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2681" data-original-width="4026" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OChZziLfYk7d2KXKCm1HmQBy0q9MbIIp-KsOSqTgFffKj5CAyFug3F1pRx8YOyKMQtYnTD8xas5Twfcb5Y1AN1IHIn6WwZIGqVeNfgD_gc_bl67mggX2XtL-CDNEpD_fxOLMqeFtnDjlKO3eUNL_tduvh6dE-6kmNje4phuqEaCmN7V7bDUWRxwHzA/s320/IMG_4611.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>January 2018, watching the world from<br />his perch on the couch</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBw9vGywLOPgj3Ox8ToAhSZOvprTZt7N4nBttszKht4cVW4sCRWy6Luw685KX7XfEokwlm35K4afG_CwfXeu15r2Fdn6mZzkCZncqBx3PbBZJZLWDQRH8QJmKV14iiSlOzqVJk4fwFXPuWKSoz-lSTsFdM7nAGpKjJDjpOmqlaDxLnaNoylUXWLC4DQ/s4000/P1250494.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBw9vGywLOPgj3Ox8ToAhSZOvprTZt7N4nBttszKht4cVW4sCRWy6Luw685KX7XfEokwlm35K4afG_CwfXeu15r2Fdn6mZzkCZncqBx3PbBZJZLWDQRH8QJmKV14iiSlOzqVJk4fwFXPuWKSoz-lSTsFdM7nAGpKjJDjpOmqlaDxLnaNoylUXWLC4DQ/s320/P1250494.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>September 2018, with his tall friend Tundra</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeF_IjAfCyWgf7UVw_vTe8FtWhIRx42UkS09HdSyBw9lGCZR_giCxOeMTYeTVyx0UsVRTqb02EWWsvj4XmTqp98uQgrTi7ymrmwhFOvfA4-WO_eQ9W9rqkBQmWBN8ZqvtGiSIC8amULCpafdaiXc2soh0EVeXqGkrfKqJGhwgF6g_0YPIvzhJK5sBhTQ/s2892/P1260610.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1923" data-original-width="2892" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeF_IjAfCyWgf7UVw_vTe8FtWhIRx42UkS09HdSyBw9lGCZR_giCxOeMTYeTVyx0UsVRTqb02EWWsvj4XmTqp98uQgrTi7ymrmwhFOvfA4-WO_eQ9W9rqkBQmWBN8ZqvtGiSIC8amULCpafdaiXc2soh0EVeXqGkrfKqJGhwgF6g_0YPIvzhJK5sBhTQ/s320/P1260610.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>November 2018, enjoying the snow</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchUMSGKbq_WBi0iAr8B_gQaihDFI4uGuX7jA0JOjoVX7nnZqB2ZbJdDuVNmUOPBZOmNTkrz1wEiXFFCKYx0oJD-Y8HVI1dlZDK3lNnhsNxQxO6XxhIHWnrqpQlgO4UXicQsoaPSfIOwdUF9DL5yJG6a2gwhL-58aFXVHIcJtpEKuGFKTH2Ek5qvmi1g/s4000/P1300857.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchUMSGKbq_WBi0iAr8B_gQaihDFI4uGuX7jA0JOjoVX7nnZqB2ZbJdDuVNmUOPBZOmNTkrz1wEiXFFCKYx0oJD-Y8HVI1dlZDK3lNnhsNxQxO6XxhIHWnrqpQlgO4UXicQsoaPSfIOwdUF9DL5yJG6a2gwhL-58aFXVHIcJtpEKuGFKTH2Ek5qvmi1g/s320/P1300857.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>November 2019, looking good in<br />the fall foliage</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80HyUELpe9Xb2nGAN0KZ6GcmqE4Rw-MCAOz9Yu_-V67AMlQbRU9MhUvpqIvG0DaSFIE2u9HT4pcnEjJdp___DTAqgxed4h4Sy9RY6SDbdQq4t83ZSRclX58U80IPWuUzQN39D_jZkbMdSKlX83SQssN_0ZLewNbOPqP8Nr73cZo-tFwHTNJ6Xq_Mfdg/s2048/IMG_0658.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80HyUELpe9Xb2nGAN0KZ6GcmqE4Rw-MCAOz9Yu_-V67AMlQbRU9MhUvpqIvG0DaSFIE2u9HT4pcnEjJdp___DTAqgxed4h4Sy9RY6SDbdQq4t83ZSRclX58U80IPWuUzQN39D_jZkbMdSKlX83SQssN_0ZLewNbOPqP8Nr73cZo-tFwHTNJ6Xq_Mfdg/s320/IMG_0658.JPEG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>April 2021, Bernie's friend Violetta</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMzc4KwmcQBs15HCmewfAxvsGlyi4quJHBCzmi91In4fg7DMYK-bpaFZuzFUS4iTfNzjFtdgt3fq3vKFXb3zfms4gFTxXs6u5he7uCx4SBDYJdseC8PliIPgQcKudCfYQ5KIW5jimxMIyVIEdBf4l4FXf07BhqCjpC1y7KKfB0GtXaLHhN40E9tnRZQ/s1993/IMG_1943%20Cropped.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1993" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMzc4KwmcQBs15HCmewfAxvsGlyi4quJHBCzmi91In4fg7DMYK-bpaFZuzFUS4iTfNzjFtdgt3fq3vKFXb3zfms4gFTxXs6u5he7uCx4SBDYJdseC8PliIPgQcKudCfYQ5KIW5jimxMIyVIEdBf4l4FXf07BhqCjpC1y7KKfB0GtXaLHhN40E9tnRZQ/s320/IMG_1943%20Cropped.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>April 2022</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsJxoUCfQH-Yr_oSDYQ8I_mBlsmeBA6SKnQQ7b_NTAKIcAcCVOYPwyFjp_jzvIBIDFuA__8s5Fu5xXzqarHD2SQRXuGH5UKuow2t4DTKClLhb1YM4zQOrTcDLwMoXewj9VqbesnWbk37QY84E7uaiGBsB1LzVzVhkMSRoOP3ek9ncY3DSOT1tJg77tA/s664/dog-chart-for-setting-them-in-2-1-510x664.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="510" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsJxoUCfQH-Yr_oSDYQ8I_mBlsmeBA6SKnQQ7b_NTAKIcAcCVOYPwyFjp_jzvIBIDFuA__8s5Fu5xXzqarHD2SQRXuGH5UKuow2t4DTKClLhb1YM4zQOrTcDLwMoXewj9VqbesnWbk37QY84E7uaiGBsB1LzVzVhkMSRoOP3ek9ncY3DSOT1tJg77tA/s320/dog-chart-for-setting-them-in-2-1-510x664.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In case you consider a rescue dog!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-75688379176688609382022-04-22T11:40:00.000-04:002022-04-22T11:40:37.878-04:00Haiku Challenge, Part Two<p>More of the April Haiku. I had planned to post this on the 20th (its being a round number), but life happens... Anyway, here are my latest and greatest (and not-so-greatest).</p><p><b>April 12 - an accomplishment</b><br /><i>This haiku describes a bit of music for trumpet. The music is the prelude to Domenico Zipoli's Suite in F Major. I first heard this in the early 1980s, on an LP I bought through a record-of-the-month club. The version I have now is on a CD, "Concertos pour trompette," and is played by Maurice André. </i></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That trumpeter’s song -
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">the notes climb high, higher, while
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">my heart holds its breath.</span></blockquote><p><i>Here's a recording of that Prelude - enjoy!</i> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wf8Zz1adcPs" width="320" youtube-src-id="Wf8Zz1adcPs"></iframe></div><br /><p><b>April 13 - when you feel most alive</b></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Simple food, cooked for
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">friends and family. We eat and
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">enjoy together.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 14 - grief</b></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I long to chat with
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom again, share that funny
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">story, fix the past.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 15 - a place you feel safe
</b><i>@HumanHaiku shared this one. It's one of my favorites, too.</i>
</span></p><p></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This home is kindness
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">and love, trust and acceptance.
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Here, come as you are.</span></blockquote><p><b>April 16 - <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">something you love about yourself</span></b> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve learned the folly
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">of impatience. Wait and watch
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">are better signposts.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><blockquote><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 17 - an emotion you've felt today
</b><i>Easter Sunday</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">His disciples shared
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Sorrow, Amazement, and Joy.
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, we sing Hope. </span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 18 - what's happening in the world
</b><i>Woke up to a news report of multiple shootings over the weekend</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">More shootings today.
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Ten people, nine, ten more— But
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">guns will protect us.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 19 - what inspires you
</b><i>@HumanHaiku shared this one, too.</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Some ideas don’t come
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">til you begin, til you just
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">put pen to paper.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 20 - fear</b></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Meeting the stranger,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">you’re cautious — but be assured:
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Love can displace fear.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 21 - where you want to escape to</b></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">In the woods, safe from
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">weather, a quiet spot to
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">read, paths to wander</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 22 - an influential person in your life
</b><i>I remember doing math homework with my dad. He kept observing that I needed to write my numbers more neatly, or I'd add the wrong columns and get invalid results. I recently was tutoring a student in math, and found myself encouraging him to write his numbers more neatly...</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">He put worms on hooks,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">wanted tidy math papers,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">loved with kind patience.</span></p></blockquote><p>Eight more days...! </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LfBRZUMVT7A3xvPFS8Sznpxzu_UisYErRu81ALzQd-vkioYdNN890_KXAxgdK6nBdK_uqu95CtkBz5j905KEszk9JdvhWrGzWOpbm8WEXAgDNmu-c5okHoE9jE0jf97k_3H_gteH_OH4kK5uRQ2pfSdQHDFlC-nrr9CKqjdkINDSWvfB52KRnC6azg/s6000/IMG_1826.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LfBRZUMVT7A3xvPFS8Sznpxzu_UisYErRu81ALzQd-vkioYdNN890_KXAxgdK6nBdK_uqu95CtkBz5j905KEszk9JdvhWrGzWOpbm8WEXAgDNmu-c5okHoE9jE0jf97k_3H_gteH_OH4kK5uRQ2pfSdQHDFlC-nrr9CKqjdkINDSWvfB52KRnC6azg/s320/IMG_1826.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bernie reminds you that it's<br />National Beagle Day</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-80837856305685186242022-04-11T17:13:00.001-04:002022-04-22T11:45:13.389-04:00Haiku Challenge<p>I am fond of haiku as a poetic form. The Encyclopedia Britannica describes haiku as the "art of expressing much and suggesting more in the fewest possible words" [fn1]. The ability to convey an idea or image in three brief lines, following a (fairly) strict format, seems magical. For instance, here is a haiku by Matsuo Bashō, who wrote in the 1600s:</p><p></p><blockquote>On a withered branch<br />A crow has alighted;<br />Nightfall in autumn.</blockquote><p></p><p>I've occasionally tried my hand at creating haiku, but have never shared my poems (and I'm not sure I could find them now - probably they're stuck on a hard drive somewhere). I follow <a href="https://www.instagram.com/humanhaiku/" target="_blank">@HumanHaiku</a> on Instagram, and for the month of April (National Poetry Month), they've created daily haiku prompts. I've committed to follow those prompts, and write a haiku each day.</p><p>So far, it's been an interesting process. I'm very happy with some of my haiku, and less than thrilled with others. I've never been good at <i>anything</i> that requires introspection, so that's been a real challenge. But, challenges notwithstanding, here are the haiku I've written so far.</p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 1 - who you are as a human now</b>
<i>Ugh. This is my least favorite of my haiku, but they do get better.</i></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Family and friends,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">yarn and books, writing, walks with
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">my thoughts and the dog.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 2 - your childhood</b>
<i>When I was twelve, my family was investigating a new church. On a Sunday in August, my mother and I attended our first service at this church. The chapel was simple - no stained glass windows here. In fact, with no air conditioning, the windows were probably open to the sounds of traffic outside.
</i><i>@HumanHaiku shared this one.</i><i>
</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A new church, with Mom.
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Summer light thru windows. Hymns,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">prayers, welcome. We’re home.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 3 - your teenage years</b>
<i>I wasn't brave enough to actually address my teens! Instead, I wrote about my perspective as an adult, looking back.</i></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Laughing in the food
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">aisle, as songs my teen self lived
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">by play overhead.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 4 - becoming an adult</b>
</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve finally learned
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">what should be said, and what ought
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">to be left unsaid.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 5 - your family</b>
<i>Mom was a skilled pianist, but felt that we kids should learn piano from someone else. So she taught other kids, after school, so that we four could take our lessons (piano and other instruments - trumpet, flute, clarinet, violin) elsewhere.</i></span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom taught piano,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">then turned around and paid for
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">our music lessons.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 6 - change</b>
</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Leaf-crunch yields to snow;
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">snow muds into daffodils.
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We trust the seasons.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 7 - your community
</b><i>I was pretty happy with this one.</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We break bread, share joy,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">bear each other’s grief, and so
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">build community.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 8 - your favorite nature spot</b>
</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The beagle and I,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">surrounded by trees, pause for
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">the spring peepers’ song</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 9 - failure </b>
<i>Mary Oliver's poem, "The Summer Day," includes the lines "</i></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?" [fn2] My haiku is a bit of a nod to her language there. I sometimes look at my friends - here a CFO, there a published scholar, this one a mother who started a new career when the little ones grew up - and wonder what they think of my small and quiet accomplishments. Perhaps they shake their heads, but I am content.
Among the haiku I've written so far, this is one of my favorites.
</i></span><i style="white-space: pre-wrap;">@HumanHaiku shared this one.</i></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If I am content
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">with my small and quiet life,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">who’s to say that’s wrong?</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 10 - something you’re learning </b>
<i>As I was preparing to retire from my programming job, I imagined myself tidying our home, organizing this room, deep cleaning another. Hah! Why did I think I was suddenly going to morph into this new person?</i></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Before, I couldn’t find
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">time for chores. Now I’ve learned to
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">simply ignore them.</span></p><p></p></blockquote><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>April 11 - something you know to be true</b></span></p><p><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><blockquote><span data-tt="{"paragraphStyle":{"alignment":4,"writingDirection":1}}" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Winter has beauty,
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">but when the cold outlasts the
</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">snow, Spring will return.</span></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><p>Tomorrow's prompt is "an accomplishment." Yikes.</p><p>fn1: See <a href="https://www.britannica.com/art/haiku" target="_blank">https://www.britannica.com/art/haiku</a></p><p>fn2: See <a href="https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/" target="_blank">https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfSRZQuo9GLeif6cJEq8dkpJpZ6IX02c-hYJmwwqFbiC_GXF8AnWDikjWvgJJ4jv0_dLDidAFgZg1Mg_JtJrmrechYmPcDQmaYCFj2Tu1eXFqPJhSM4AQzJL0eD3VD90jONMabWxUNF7yrlt8wYJQvhldnc49THMfmrSwbWtholv2FO3b3gGaYkJEUQ/s870/Haiku1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="870" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfSRZQuo9GLeif6cJEq8dkpJpZ6IX02c-hYJmwwqFbiC_GXF8AnWDikjWvgJJ4jv0_dLDidAFgZg1Mg_JtJrmrechYmPcDQmaYCFj2Tu1eXFqPJhSM4AQzJL0eD3VD90jONMabWxUNF7yrlt8wYJQvhldnc49THMfmrSwbWtholv2FO3b3gGaYkJEUQ/s320/Haiku1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWq92fzc_AwU8ydNOUbJRDHiQbFkkWfhuRvQ2aBySwqD926Tge-GDY7waxn4_vRTpGzcR6Dw4sIDmCK4798pw8_LfM19PE7JLLqJ22BtWBKHrlqulAoy-EH8lvszo3VeaBqjGqUFN-15t4_km64i_qxeyXzEoee2GdBy1OYSN73Dzg9ol07AsTsUBow/s869/Haiku2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="869" data-original-width="869" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWq92fzc_AwU8ydNOUbJRDHiQbFkkWfhuRvQ2aBySwqD926Tge-GDY7waxn4_vRTpGzcR6Dw4sIDmCK4798pw8_LfM19PE7JLLqJ22BtWBKHrlqulAoy-EH8lvszo3VeaBqjGqUFN-15t4_km64i_qxeyXzEoee2GdBy1OYSN73Dzg9ol07AsTsUBow/s320/Haiku2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-70246332035860913762022-03-29T15:30:00.002-04:002022-03-29T15:31:54.193-04:00The Dream Women Called<p> In 2009, my sister Lori released a book of poems, <u>House Where a Woman</u>, which I reviewed in <a href="http://robingetsalife.blogspot.com/2012/05/house-where-woman.html" target="_blank">this post</a> from 2012.</p><p>Last year, she released her second collection, <u>The Dream Women Called</u>, published by Autumn House Press. You can order a copy at Lori's website, <a href="http://LoriWilsonPoet.com" target="_blank">LoriWilsonPoet.com</a>, or from your favorite bookseller.</p><p>Releasing a book during a pandemic is not ideal; Lori was invited to poetry readings, but they were virtual instead of in-person. One positive was that I could attend her readings no matter where they were held. One negative was that virtual readings don't lead to many sales (so, you should buy her book!).</p><p>As I did before, I want to share a few passages from some of Lori's poems, along with some very brief thoughts. Again, I will warn readers that Lori and I are sisters, and thus my viewpoint is anything but objective.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>When to Wake Is to Head down a Road</i> (page 5). This poem describes the potential found in brightly colored threads, potential that might lead somewhere, but then again, might not. A few words conjure up the sounds and sights of a family gathering:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>purple silk under my fingers calming in the chaos of smoke, loud talk, <br /> heady smells: turkey, butter, black coffee, olives—</p><p>the whole family crowding my grandparents' apartment on Peebles Street—<br /> silver spoon against china cup, ice in a glass, strike of a match.</p></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Canna Red and Orange </i>(page 8). A mother considers her daughter's cross-country travels, and asks herself:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>If what I feel is more envy than worry,<br />do I love her less?</p><p></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p></p><p><i>In Annapolis and the Dare</i> (page 9). This poem recounts a summer spent living and working with strangers, and conveys a hope and a longing that are left unsatisfied.</p><p></p><blockquote><p>I was twenty years old.<br />I wanted both to be invisible <br />and to be seen.</p></blockquote><p></p><blockquote>. . . </blockquote><p></p><blockquote><p>It was the summer of the bicentennial.<br />My boyfriend didn't visit<br />and back home the family dog died.<br />I dipped my cupped hand with the rest<br />into bright summer days;<br />their hands filled with sapphires,<br />mine with slippery silt, as if<br />I'd been tricked. I was <br />never alone, I was always alone<br />and that summer, a rough stone <br />began to rub raw a hollow inside me.</p><p></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Afterword: For the Circuit Court Deputy Clerk</i> (page 11). Here, the poet muses on the end of a marriage. <i>(Note: I've messed up the formatting of this poem, but I think this is the best I can do with this blogger tool. Find a copy of the book so you can see it properly formatted!)</i></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote>Dear Clerk: You take eighteen years of marriage, subtract isolation and cold, divide by a lover, again by a lie. Pack the remainder in a cardboard box and move out. I've been sifting through that box for seven years. You never stop asking how it happened. You never stop redoing the math.</blockquote></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Empty is Good</i> (page 18). In its first two lines, this poem succinctly describes two widely disparate scenarios:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Empty like a dishwasher ready for loading<br />or empty like a cupboard and the paycheck spent?</p><p></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>The Day He Struck the Dog</i> (page 22). This poem is painful to read, as the poet documents a moment that overflows with anguish and regret.</p><p></p><blockquote>She climbed out of the cab,<br />knelt in the road with two strangers, their dog,<br />offered to drive them to their car, pay the vet.<br />She wanted to erase the anguish on their faces,<br />the dog's pain,<br />her own silence.</blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Mother Accused of Abandoning Children Turns Herself In</i> (page 35). Some homes are filled with a relentless grind, and with a mother's despair and exhaustion.</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Eight years with my kids in that house—<br />read them books between thin plywood walls,<br />fed them under dangling wires,<br />bathed them with hauled water<br />in the blue plastic tub.<br />Why am I telling you this—<br />you've decided what I am.</p><p>. . . </p><p>And every winter, the snow came<br />and the same pipes froze<br />and the wood ran out.</p></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>North on the Caperton Trail</i> (page 39). The poet observes the instinctive focus of a turtle laying her eggs, and wishes for a similar sureness in her own life.</p><p></p><blockquote>She didn't retreat, and I tell you:<br />that day I wanted to be unevolved,<br />to know in the body, each cell affirming<br />what I should do.<br />Fear would be irrelevant,<br /><i>fault </i>and <i>failure </i>nothing but sound.<br />I wouldn't care who saw <br />and I wouldn't need praise or a prize at the end—<br />only my body's sure quiet </blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>My Mother Got a Lot of Things Wrong</i> (page 51). This is one of my favorite poems in Lori's collection. The passage of time allows us to add some good memories to the bad, and we find we can grant each other some grace.</p><p></p><blockquote><p><b>My Mother Got a Lot of Things Wrong</b></p><p>but when I was a kid<br />and afraid I'd swallow a straight pin,<br />she didn't laugh—<br />she helped me make a plan,<br />something to do with eating bread<br />(to coat the pin)<br />then visiting Dr. Hoffmeister.<br />So that's something.</p><p>I can't say I loved her.<br />But there was that straight pin thing<br />and the time she bought paint<br />so I could make a mural on my wall.<br />Also, the smocked christening dress<br />for the baby and a few other things<br />I've had fifteen years to remember.</p></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>I Wish I'd Loved the Bat</i> (page 54). A bat invades the home, and the poet observes the kindness offered during its capture.</p><p></p><blockquote>I wish I could've loved the bat<br />the way Mike loved it,<br />talking softly, crooning really,<br />to the bat he lifted slowly<br />and settled in the cage.</blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>The Horse at Dunkard Creek</i> (page 57). This poem is another of my favorites. After a bleak winter, the poet shares some small pleasures, some small victories.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;">I put the all-seasons back on the Corolla</div><div style="text-align: left;">and carried the snow tires</div><div style="text-align: left;">down to the basement the same day</div><div style="text-align: left;">instead of hauling them around</div><div style="text-align: left;">on the back seat for months.</div><div style="text-align: left;">What I worried was mice in the wall</div><div style="text-align: left;">turned out to be the refrigerator.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Today, I stood on the bank at Dunkard Creek</div><div style="text-align: left;">and the horse ate from my hand.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Iris swam for sticks as long as</div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't throw them too far,</div><div style="text-align: left;">and the longer I looked at the water,</div><div style="text-align: left;">the more colors I saw.</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Building the Spring House</i> (page 66). After a morning's hard work, the poet encounters an unexpected delight.</p><p></p><blockquote>It was midafternoon<br />when we stopped for lunch and I thought<br />to close the van, and I'd never seen a warbler<br />or any bird as perfect as the two—<br />yellow-green, black-hooded—<br />huddled in a sweatshirt on the seat.<br />I don't know why they let me lift them <br />in the nest of my cupped hands, or why<br />they made no sound, but rested in the ferns<br />before they flew.</blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p style="text-align: left;">I hope you will have the opportunity to hold this book in your hands, so that you can enjoy these poems, and others, in their entirety. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3m7Z44wIIxyBTPJNeYwoi5RLRs39qrkNPQdFUxrFd2EEp6M2okZA4PODmokTHiL9vNN58myqECd4zfWOSqOkd81z41wWPr_z1Vigfo8Qukj_Zv-_R9sOsIdstaicFzTaiMH-SnNiuQss-6SHhqolStYv0Wm7-6QaxjGH_2UaW8IVJh3-DkHGEuxNdQg/s1000/54394285.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="625" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3m7Z44wIIxyBTPJNeYwoi5RLRs39qrkNPQdFUxrFd2EEp6M2okZA4PODmokTHiL9vNN58myqECd4zfWOSqOkd81z41wWPr_z1Vigfo8Qukj_Zv-_R9sOsIdstaicFzTaiMH-SnNiuQss-6SHhqolStYv0Wm7-6QaxjGH_2UaW8IVJh3-DkHGEuxNdQg/s320/54394285.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-67645527380100923422022-03-19T14:09:00.004-04:002022-03-19T16:40:51.288-04:00War Poetry<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back on February 25 - right after Russia attacked Ukraine - I attended an online poetry workshop, hosted by Pádraig Ó Tuama. It was called "Poetry Lab: Exploring Conflict Intelligence Through the Lens of a Single Poem," but on this occasion, Pádraig focused instead on war poetry, as a way to put language around powerlessness.</span></p><p>In my notes, I have four items listed regarding war poetry (which probably sounded more coherent coming from Pádraig, but this is what I have to offer):</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>A lament</li><li>Clear-eyed about death</li><li>Bears witness - raises up a small voice</li><li>Holds out hope for anthropological change</li></ol><p></p><p>He shared three poems, which I've linked to here:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/91413/we-lived-happily-during-the-war" target="_blank">We Lived Happily During the War</a></i>, by Ilya Kaminsky, from his book <u>Deaf Republic</u>, published by Graywolf Press</li><li><i><a href="https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-asked-to-write-a-poem-against-the-war-i/" target="_blank">On Being Asked to Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam</a></i>, by Hayden Carruth</li><li><i><a href="https://www.poetryinternational.org/pi/poem/18974/auto/0/0/Ali-Cobby-Eckermann/Wild-Flowers/en/tile" target="_blank">Wild Flowers</a></i>, by Ali Cobby Eckermann, from her book <u>Love Dreaming and Other Poems</u>, published by Vagabond Press</li></ul><p></p><p>One of the participants observed that these three poems teach that we must speak up against war; that speaking up doesn't help; and that the earth will remember, regardless.</p><p>Kaminsky's poem circulated widely on social media, in the first days of the Ukraine war. A few lines:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>And when they bombed other people’s houses, we</p><p>protested<br />but not enough, we opposed them but not</p><p>enough. </p></blockquote><p></p><p>Carruth's poem declares that writing poems about war doesn't change a thing:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>but death went on and on<br />never looking aside</p><p>except now and then<br />with a furtive half-smile<br />to make sure I was noticing.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>Finally, Eckermann's poem bluntly states:</p><p></p><blockquote>Wildflowers will not grow<br />where the bone powder<br />lies</blockquote>I think that all the poems speak truth, but I hope that someday Carruth will be wrong, that we will recognize the futility of war, that it solves nothing.<p></p><p>(I've been reading <u>Proclaim Peace</u>, by Patrick Q Mason and J David Pulsipher, and find it informing my thinking on this.)</p><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aGya7k0kiFy2Xj3DXqvgnbdtGWyk0KkomMTW_arJ_Jed7BgoiaW5yuVqPJE_iwfNXn0pWwHvdXSeDmJyTYQdpMSrUmUnvnYuOtmD-F7siiWpAamm53WJALO0j0CACsD4_a7xDBB61zZqHjtMP3jd8iOED5gWYn7xjxkyg-Lcbh1NahT6f3FKuL5JMQ/s6000/IMG_1363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aGya7k0kiFy2Xj3DXqvgnbdtGWyk0KkomMTW_arJ_Jed7BgoiaW5yuVqPJE_iwfNXn0pWwHvdXSeDmJyTYQdpMSrUmUnvnYuOtmD-F7siiWpAamm53WJALO0j0CACsD4_a7xDBB61zZqHjtMP3jd8iOED5gWYn7xjxkyg-Lcbh1NahT6f3FKuL5JMQ/s320/IMG_1363.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Deer behaving peacefully</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-22772931780207118682022-03-08T12:22:00.000-05:002022-03-08T12:22:06.346-05:00Choose Kindness<p>I started this blog back in 2010, and posted regularly for a few years, until October 2014. I don't know what happened next - there was one post in 2015, and then nothing - complete silence for nearly seven years!</p><p>When I retired, I decided that I would resume blogging, even if I'm the only person who reads it. A few days ago, I spent time cleaning up broken widgets (so my blog no longer crashes) and remembering how to create posts (still vague on that, but at least I have a clue). I've been going through old pictures, trying to identify major events that happened during this period (we've had significant health issues, lots of family weddings, the arrival of new nieces and nephews, and the addition of Bernie to our pack, to name just a few).</p><p>For now, as I move forward with new posts, and try to figure out what I want this blog to be, I'll share a poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes (from his website <a href="https://unfoldinglight.net/2022/03/" target="_blank">https://unfoldinglight.net/2022/03/</a> ). I like its simple message: Christ chose healing and kindness; we can do the same.</p><blockquote><p><u>Mother hen</u></p><p> <i>Some Pharisees said to him, “Herod wants to kill you.”<br /> He said to them, “Go and tell that fox,<br /> ‘Today and tomorrow I am performing cures.’<br /> Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often have I desired<br /> to gather your children together<br /> as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…”</i><br /> —from Luke 13.31-34</p><p>Holy One, my Beloved, my Savior, my Chief,<br />you choose to be a hen in the realm of the fox.<br />You choose kindness in the face of evil.</p><p>Give me faith to do the same,<br />to heal instead of hurting,<br />to choose kindness even when threatened.</p><p>Give me courage to be a mother hen<br />in a world of foxes,<br />for always I am under your wings.</p></blockquote><p><br /></p>Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-49639192112627746322015-04-07T20:33:00.001-04:002015-04-07T22:16:36.727-04:00"Come to Redeem Us, Come to Deliver - Here is Hope!"I've gone too long without blogging. So much has gone un-noted: announcements and celebrations of weddings and new babies; fall and winter and the advent of spring; Thanksgiving and Christmas and the New Year and Easter; a dog's growing older; our growing older.<br />
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Maybe I'll go back and capture some of that, but for now, let me focus on a recent event: this year's performance of Lamb of God.<br />
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Jim and I sang in the chorus again this year. Weekly rehearsals started on February 8, culminating in three performances at Chenery Auditorium. There were evening performances on March 20 and 21, as well as a matinee performance on the 21st.<br />
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Our friend Meghan made a couple of brief recordings, from the back of the balcony, using her phone. (This is a hint as to the quality; be forewarned.) Here is one of her recordings, of the finale:<br />
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<iframe height="375" src="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1hTNbanZWgKSnJxVWdBQ3NzSTQ/preview" width="500"></iframe><br />
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I once shared with a friend that I must be broken in some way, because I so seldom "feel the spirit," as others do. She reminded me that we all learn differently, we all receive witnesses differently, and that one person's witness is no better or lesser than another's.<br />
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I've tried to remember her counsel, and have learned to trust my own insights and understanding.<br />
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But I've rejoiced to feel the witness of the spirit, again and again, during rehearsals and performances of Lamb of God. From the very first rehearsal, in February 2014, to this year's final performance, I felt, again and again, "This is true," "He is speaking to me," "this hope is for ALL of us." I hope that the audience felt as least a portion of that spirit!<br />
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Jen has already booked Chenery Auditorium for next year's performances, March 11 and 12. I hope many more people will be able to attend, and enjoy this Easter message, this story of the Hope that we have in Christ. <br />
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The ticket price - just $12 - was kept low, so that more people could attend and enjoy the performance. But, as Jen wrote, "Ticket revenues will cover less than half the cost of production. If we want to continue to present this in the same beautiful setting with the same level of excellence, and make it accessible to all those who wish to attend, we will need to raise funds from our community."<br />
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If you want to help in this effort, go to our Fundly site: <a href="https://fundly.com/lamb-of-god-kalamazoo" target="_blank">https://fundly.com/lamb-of-god-kalamazoo</a> (as of this moment, there are 23 days left to contribute - go do it!).<br />
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Why should you contribute? Here's my very selfish reason: so that I can sing it again, and feel that powerful witness again. (And you can, too!)<br />
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Thanks! Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-20843960622316273972014-10-13T18:49:00.000-04:002014-10-13T18:49:46.956-04:00Wedding Bells for John and Angela (<i>why is this still in my draft folder? i have no idea</i>) <br />
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On September 6, after spending the morning cleaning up our yard (I eventually finished our clean-up the following Monday afternoon), we cleaned up and headed to Howe, Indiana, for a wedding!<br />
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John VanderRoest (Vic's son) and Angela Yoder finally tied the knot, in a nice ceremony at St James Memorial Chapel, in Howe Indiana. It was a beautiful day:<br />
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Angela's son James was the first reader (Genesis 1:26-28), and Jim was the second (Corinthians 13:1-3).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>James - he could have used a smaller stand!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jim</i></td></tr>
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Here's a shot of the happy couple, during the toasts at the reception:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mr and Mrs VanderRoest!</i></td></tr>
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Although we have no photos to prove it, we enjoyed chatting with Karen and Richard, and with Angela's parents. It was a pleasant get-together, with good weather, food, and all that comes with a wedding. We didn't stay long (we missed the dancing), but wished the couple well and headed home as the sun was setting.<br />
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<br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-65590034038388738152014-09-26T16:46:00.000-04:002014-09-26T16:46:39.865-04:00Mother Nature Does Her Thing (Again)On Friday, September 5, Jim & I were planning to meet friends at the Kalamazoo Art Hop, browse a bit, and go out for pizza. Rain and storms were predicted, but it was holding off when we entered the Park Trade Center. We looked west - toward our home - and the sky was very very dark. We figured the rain had arrived there.<br />
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A few minutes later, we started getting texts from our friends. Power was out. Trees were down. And soon, we could look out the window and see pouring rain.<br />
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We headed home, and discovered that our neighborhood had been damaged as well. Amazingly, our trees suffered minimal damage, but we found branches from other trees in our yard. We later discovered that our maple had one branch that had split, but not fallen (we're still waiting for the tree service to come take care of that).<br />
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We were lucky - Karen and John's tree had taken out our AT&T line
back in August. That same tree was damaged in this storm, and two huge
limbs landed in our yard, but this time, our AT&T line remained intact. There were lots of power outages, however, including our neighborhood.<br />
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Jerry & Rose, our neighbors to the north, had a hole in their attic wall. They had retreated to the basement, and heard a horrible crack. A tree had come down on the power line to their house, and as the line came down, it pulled off a section of their wall. <br />
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Apparently the damage was caused not by a tornado, but rather by <a href="http://www.mlive.com/news/kalamazoo/index.ssf/2014/09/5_things_to_know_about_fridays.html" target="_blank">straight-line winds</a>. Jim and I commiserated with our neighbors, turned on our battery-powered radio, and settled in the front room with books and flashlights. Bonnie tried to figure out this new game plan.<br />
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The next day, we worked on dragging branches to the street, and cleaning up in general. The power company was out in force, including not just Consumers Power, but other companies as well. At one point, there were at least six trucks clustered around our intersection! Happily, our power came back around 1 pm on Saturday afternoon. Sometime the next week, city crews came by and cleaned up all the branches piled along the street. <br />
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Here are some photos. These first are from Friday night:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iQzu_3Q7ctQ/VAyCv4tCDxI/AAAAAAAAGx8/8HhB_VlD75Y/s1600/P1020901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iQzu_3Q7ctQ/VAyCv4tCDxI/AAAAAAAAGx8/8HhB_VlD75Y/s1600/P1020901.JPG" height="228" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kitty-corner to our house</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XhR4IUAlRlQ/VAyCyyoFpqI/AAAAAAAAGyE/XwnqdyToG1M/s1600/P1020902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XhR4IUAlRlQ/VAyCyyoFpqI/AAAAAAAAGyE/XwnqdyToG1M/s1600/P1020902.JPG" height="229" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rose & Jerry's house - you can just see<br />the hole in their attic</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This was at a house west of us;<br />the tree snapped below the ground!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6x7QP77Sty1XtkVodxcab0cHwEEL4JzNF6iuWv42oVd7sd_KvZuDqkAq5VYmGPXFJvNd-7y-YcT0MUZhQgRAWEXnA_glEhDKKR4aXZO0PsBIw_art_uZhNA0clawTjbIeFQ_BIMJmk-4d/s1600/P1020906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6x7QP77Sty1XtkVodxcab0cHwEEL4JzNF6iuWv42oVd7sd_KvZuDqkAq5VYmGPXFJvNd-7y-YcT0MUZhQgRAWEXnA_glEhDKKR4aXZO0PsBIw_art_uZhNA0clawTjbIeFQ_BIMJmk-4d/s1600/P1020906.JPG" height="228" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Limbs from John & Karen's tree.<br />They took out our obsolete cable line</i></td></tr>
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I saw this downed pole on Saturday morning, coming home from the Farmers Market:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At the corner of Drake and Sunnydale</i></td></tr>
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Bonnie and I walked through the park, and the Friendship Village Woods, on Sunday morning. Nothing had been cleaned up there yet:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Frey's Park</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchEeV0B91H7ZAMetRzoqhvPhg6BJV2ScHwQdrlCWOwbD_Cie8kFJGo7-AxibzpnY6lj_ILUxN1qqciqFb3W4xJWwkKavsPQ5ecqAaJzN1s5jvMz1JIGoeXHe7Vi-UXzRLeVHkhLUyUmN1/s1600/P1020963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchEeV0B91H7ZAMetRzoqhvPhg6BJV2ScHwQdrlCWOwbD_Cie8kFJGo7-AxibzpnY6lj_ILUxN1qqciqFb3W4xJWwkKavsPQ5ecqAaJzN1s5jvMz1JIGoeXHe7Vi-UXzRLeVHkhLUyUmN1/s1600/P1020963.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bonnie was amazed to find leaf smells at ground level</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_VeOhitj-vqbzO__5GyS7mwX0TLgHcJ97KMI6nb47AxnfedzpWsQ6QYiWYp3S0FwSqx4v1VmahDbZcdqJqhlbJcUHnGgYGCd62YtSlrL6ncOa2qEvzfIHQDOi0TQUCOw_DIvSYoQPppX/s1600/P1020966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_VeOhitj-vqbzO__5GyS7mwX0TLgHcJ97KMI6nb47AxnfedzpWsQ6QYiWYp3S0FwSqx4v1VmahDbZcdqJqhlbJcUHnGgYGCd62YtSlrL6ncOa2qEvzfIHQDOi0TQUCOw_DIvSYoQPppX/s1600/P1020966.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Frey's Park</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMk5q-sWfd_BCyTK9eHyaHvMdxOWvc6H_3b6kGdWRt-yCyJRY3C6Z3QUWiQDlFQsLe-RloPW429HB4Gxuyy4UW457cOGjZpsFVdJy7spx27-PJO4V3cH8r7ErGFpWGcljwt_-8dDLQDnyp/s1600/P1020977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMk5q-sWfd_BCyTK9eHyaHvMdxOWvc6H_3b6kGdWRt-yCyJRY3C6Z3QUWiQDlFQsLe-RloPW429HB4Gxuyy4UW457cOGjZpsFVdJy7spx27-PJO4V3cH8r7ErGFpWGcljwt_-8dDLQDnyp/s1600/P1020977.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This used to be a path in Friendship Village. Oops.</i></td></tr>
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<br />
Continuing our walk through the neighborhood, debris lined the streets:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYG9r0yaKoQPmpAwkhYCUI3P7HlXHlcTwHi4uCo5TDLF_ggCFZNcHbg1wcNjd9vyyB5Y2vxq4K69cLGS9FZud7FJ2VKVJwOcYyIMZKbJ-8kwJX1IjT1TZN_9xt4JFxbLP-wxI2PC0vAWA/s1600/P1020984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYG9r0yaKoQPmpAwkhYCUI3P7HlXHlcTwHi4uCo5TDLF_ggCFZNcHbg1wcNjd9vyyB5Y2vxq4K69cLGS9FZud7FJ2VKVJwOcYyIMZKbJ-8kwJX1IjT1TZN_9xt4JFxbLP-wxI2PC0vAWA/s1600/P1020984.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On Croyden, next to the school;<br />those roots were taller than me</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mHuMjDIclD4/VAyDmRsJ2zI/AAAAAAAAGzs/SF_6q9CyudE/s1600/P1020988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mHuMjDIclD4/VAyDmRsJ2zI/AAAAAAAAGzs/SF_6q9CyudE/s1600/P1020988.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Along Piccadilly</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8XSv6-Ivcc/VAyDpu_TE4I/AAAAAAAAGz0/CgJF8ixUgD4/s1600/P1020989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8XSv6-Ivcc/VAyDpu_TE4I/AAAAAAAAGz0/CgJF8ixUgD4/s1600/P1020989.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Along Piccadilly</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cxURkU3A8fk/VAyDs8BebVI/AAAAAAAAGz8/fV7wgBGENP0/s1600/P1020991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cxURkU3A8fk/VAyDs8BebVI/AAAAAAAAGz8/fV7wgBGENP0/s1600/P1020991.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Another shot of Rose & Jerry's house</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-leF05OI9yrk/VAyDwhMMIsI/AAAAAAAAG0E/2QDW7VKKD98/s1600/P1020993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-leF05OI9yrk/VAyDwhMMIsI/AAAAAAAAG0E/2QDW7VKKD98/s1600/P1020993.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Piccadilly</i></td></tr>
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<br />
This is the area where the phone pole was down - apparently there were two poles down in that area, since this is further in from Drake:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Emf-61eI8xs/VAyD35I87qI/AAAAAAAAG0U/AlyVKh57RA4/s1600/P1020999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Emf-61eI8xs/VAyD35I87qI/AAAAAAAAG0U/AlyVKh57RA4/s1600/P1020999.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On Sunnydale, looking toward Drake</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qks_mf5YH4I/VAyD75vHEBI/AAAAAAAAG0c/6txyh8EgXZg/s1600/P1030001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qks_mf5YH4I/VAyD75vHEBI/AAAAAAAAG0c/6txyh8EgXZg/s1600/P1030001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some lines still down here</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ebh72lzy3jw/VAyD_7TQT0I/AAAAAAAAG0k/QrYAl1C5HF0/s1600/P1030002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ebh72lzy3jw/VAyD_7TQT0I/AAAAAAAAG0k/QrYAl1C5HF0/s1600/P1030002.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What a mess!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In spite of the storm, some things continued to thrive:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nVf3Y9pe-mw/VAyDahw0CWI/AAAAAAAAGzU/mkQuSbhJHnc/s1600/P1020979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nVf3Y9pe-mw/VAyDahw0CWI/AAAAAAAAGzU/mkQuSbhJHnc/s1600/P1020979.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Friendship Village</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hzMT0b-J7DBKzWDhrOkFUQ3VHXfcVEm9M-GkGO5WzfLpbUG6uWyW2yqiKdekigNovechkf7QulDxnLIglyN6yLSX-8T6GeA-1yoB4Yms5qcdXPOyUmrf15OUBRD_lu2FiZf5x9QnmrGi/s1600/P1020980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hzMT0b-J7DBKzWDhrOkFUQ3VHXfcVEm9M-GkGO5WzfLpbUG6uWyW2yqiKdekigNovechkf7QulDxnLIglyN6yLSX-8T6GeA-1yoB4Yms5qcdXPOyUmrf15OUBRD_lu2FiZf5x9QnmrGi/s1600/P1020980.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Friendship Village</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_Dnw69_TAQ/VAyDzuBfdTI/AAAAAAAAG0M/6KR-jyCIelA/s1600/P1020998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_Dnw69_TAQ/VAyDzuBfdTI/AAAAAAAAG0M/6KR-jyCIelA/s1600/P1020998.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Along Piccadilly</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And of course, Bonnie thrives anytime there's a walk involved!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfamUIKKr60/VAyEEOCpmFI/AAAAAAAAG0s/GZ5rjo1kx-8/s1600/P1030004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfamUIKKr60/VAyEEOCpmFI/AAAAAAAAG0s/GZ5rjo1kx-8/s1600/P1030004.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trying out the new<br />sidewalk along Drake</i></td></tr>
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<br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-17068454378948352132014-09-15T21:56:00.000-04:002014-09-15T21:56:24.756-04:00Did I Miss Anything?In early September, I came across a poem and a TED talk that both illustrate the importance of thinking and learning and participating.<br />
<br />
The poem is delightful - two responses to the question that must drive teachers crazy: <i>Did I miss anything?</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/013.html" target="_blank">Did I Miss Anything?</a><br />
by Tom Wayman<br />
<br />
Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here<br />
we sat with our hands folded on our desks<br />
in silence, for the full two hours<br />
<br />
Everything. I gave an exam worth<br />
40 percent of the grade for this term<br />
and assigned some reading due today<br />
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz<br />
worth 50 percent<br />
<br />
Nothing. None of the content of this course<br />
has value or meaning<br />
Take as many days off as you like:<br />
any activities we undertake as a class<br />
I assure you will not matter either to you or me<br />
and are without purpose<br />
<br />
Everything. A few minutes after we began last time<br />
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel<br />
or other heavenly being appeared<br />
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do<br />
to attain divine wisdom in this life and<br />
the hereafter<br />
This is the last time the class will meet<br />
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people<br />
on earth.<br />
<br />
Nothing. When you are not present<br />
how could something significant occur?<br />
<br />
Everything. Contained in this classroom<br />
is a microcosm of human experience<br />
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder<br />
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been<br />
gathered<br />
<br />
but it was one place<br />
<br />
And you weren’t here </blockquote>
Jim and I watched a TED talk by Ken Jennings, of <i>Jeopardy</i> fame. He talked about his experience playing <i>Jeopardy</i> against a supercomputer, and how he felt that his skill - being a know-it-all - was being phased out. But then he talked about the advantages of just knowing things, and shared a remarkable story.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I always think of the story of a little girl named Tilly Smith. She was a 10-year-old girl from Surrey, England on vacation with her parents a few years ago in Phuket, Thailand. She runs up to them on the beach one morning and says, "Mom, Dad, we've got to get off the beach." And they say, "What do you mean? We just got here." And she said, "In Mr. Kearney's geography class last month, he told us that when the tide goes out abruptly out to sea and you see the waves churning way out there, that's the sign of a tsunami, and you need to clear the beach." What would you do if your 10-year-old daughter came up to you with this? Her parents thought about it, and they finally, to their credit, decided to believe her. They told the lifeguard, they went back to the hotel, and the lifeguard cleared over 100 people off the beach, luckily, because that was the day of the Boxing Day tsunami, the day after Christmas, 2004, that killed thousands of people in Southeast Asia and around the Indian Ocean. But not on that beach, not on Mai Khao Beach, because this little girl had remembered one fact from her geography teacher a month before.</blockquote>
Isn't that a great story? Who knows when some bit of knowledge is going to be handy. He talks about choosing to keep on learning, and offers this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We make that choice by being curious, inquisitive people who like to learn, who don't just say, "Well, as soon as the bell has rung and the class is over, I don't have to learn anymore," or "Thank goodness I have my diploma. I'm done learning for a lifetime. I don't have to learn new things anymore." No, every day we should be striving to learn something new. We should have this unquenchable curiosity for the world around us. That's where the people you see on "Jeopardy" come from. These know-it-alls, they're not Rainman-style savants sitting at home memorizing the phone book. I've met a lot of them. For the most part, they are just normal folks who are universally interested in the world around them, curious about everything, thirsty for this knowledge about whatever subject.</blockquote>
It's a interesting and entertaining talk - <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/ken_jennings_watson_jeopardy_and_me_the_obsolete_know_it_all?language=en" target="_blank">go watch it</a>! <br />
<br />
Of course, if Bonnie asks <i>did I miss anything?</i> she is talking about either food, or Good Smells:<br />
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Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-59988728773033418102014-09-13T22:34:00.002-04:002014-09-13T22:34:39.340-04:00Kali! Rain! Driving on Sidewalks!Our niece Kali had an interview in Chicago, and offered to come early, so that we could drive over for a visit. So back on the 23rd (that would be August; still trying to catch up here), Jim & I hopped in the car and drove over to Dave & Joyce's home in Chicago. (We did make a brief stop at the <a href="http://www.albanesecandy.com/" target="_blank">Albanese candy factory</a>. But you can't prove it - because we ate all the evidence - with help, of course).<br />
<br />
After some discussion, we decided that we could fit all of us in Jim's car, and so Dave drove to Midway, where Kali's plane arrived a smidge early (that really happens?). <br />
<br />
We had pizza at Giordano's, but they messed up our order, and offered to charge us only half the price of the problem pizza (Jim would just have to pick out the peppers). But when the bill came, they had reduced the $20.75 charge to $12.00. Apparently math is not their strong suit...!<br />
<br />
As we left the restaurant, it started to rain, and then to pour. I was glad we had squished into one car, so that I didn't have to drive in that storm.<br />
<br />
Here the water was standing very deep, so Dave followed the drivers ahead of him, who avoided the water by driving far to the right, on the sidewalk: <br />
<br />
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Dave thought this was not a good spot to get back on the road:<br />
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<br />
So he kept driving on the sidewalk a bit further. Jim was nonplussed. A man watching us was surprised. Kali and I were delighted. Joyce, I think, was horrified.<br />
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Safely back at their place, out of the storm, we chatted and played games (Farkle - Jim won; SkipBo - Jim won)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nuYLEePT_tI/U_lbdVAvLHI/AAAAAAAAGqE/tqFGwLWGyfw/s1600/P1020806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nuYLEePT_tI/U_lbdVAvLHI/AAAAAAAAGqE/tqFGwLWGyfw/s1600/P1020806.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dave and Joyce</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UOgPYv9H_Y/U_lbf1ZOXqI/AAAAAAAAGqM/zoW6d7WkXLE/s1600/P1020807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UOgPYv9H_Y/U_lbf1ZOXqI/AAAAAAAAGqM/zoW6d7WkXLE/s1600/P1020807.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kali</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gg1-ho1d4UE/U_lbiNwkswI/AAAAAAAAGqU/z_qebTE_wIM/s1600/P1020809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gg1-ho1d4UE/U_lbiNwkswI/AAAAAAAAGqU/z_qebTE_wIM/s1600/P1020809.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jim</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I_c39PCefCM/U_lbkjlF2aI/AAAAAAAAGqc/vYqU26UUlN0/s1600/P1020811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I_c39PCefCM/U_lbkjlF2aI/AAAAAAAAGqc/vYqU26UUlN0/s1600/P1020811.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dave and Robin</i></td></tr>
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On the way home, Jim & I stopped in Chesterton, to switch drivers and get a snack. Jim noted that this is where we had our first meal as a married couple, way back when. So we took a picture:<br />
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Fun times!Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-39270249078293073432014-09-13T13:00:00.000-04:002014-09-13T13:00:13.406-04:00School Starts and Life Gets HecticWith the start of school this fall, I've started teaching early morning <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/topic/seminary" target="_blank">seminary</a> for our church. Students in 9th thru 12th grade meet each school day, before school starts, for religious instruction. My class of five students includes students at three high schools (Portage Central, Kalamazoo Central, and Loy Norrix), as well as home schooled. To accommodate schedules, we meet at 5:55 am each morning. Yikes.<br />
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I am impressed with my students - they are there every morning, they are remarkably alert (given the hour), they seem happy to attend, they participate willingly. In spite of having to really scramble to stay on top of things, I am enjoying teaching these kids. I learned a lot about the gospel back in the day, when I attended seminary, and hope these youth will get a similar benefit.<br />
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Unfortunately, blogging has fallen to a very low spot on the totem pole, to the point of being pretty much neglected. I'm trying to catch up a bit today. This is a post that I started back in August, after our trip to Bronner's. <br />
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Bronner's, of course, put us in a Christmas mood. To help it along, I started knitting some ornaments. I have a number in pieces, still unassembled, but here is a finished ornament. This is knit using a pattern by <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/owl-ornaments" target="_blank">Emily Kintigh</a>:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VoJzjsNorsg/U_lPasjV42I/AAAAAAAAGo4/GrERXEbBPQA/s1600/P1020793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VoJzjsNorsg/U_lPasjV42I/AAAAAAAAGo4/GrERXEbBPQA/s1600/P1020793.JPG" height="274" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've been working on my linen stitch scarf, and another hat, but neither shows much progress, so I have no new photos.<br />
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I do, however, have new yarn:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofTckK7phds/VBRzHlt6IJI/AAAAAAAAG2E/zibEEaaUaqI/s1600/P1030029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofTckK7phds/VBRzHlt6IJI/AAAAAAAAG2E/zibEEaaUaqI/s1600/P1030029.JPG" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is the September installment of the Dream in Color club yarn. It is fingering weight, dyed in all the colors of fall foliage. Frankly, this was a complete impulse purchase. I'm not sure what I'll knit with this, but it is lovely to look at.<br />
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As we slide into fall, and think about Christmas, here are some summer photos, from August:<br />
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Bonnie thinks there are much more interesting things to look at when we're out and about:<br />
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<br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-31560730179566485682014-08-25T21:33:00.001-04:002014-08-25T21:33:35.375-04:00Tony and Antonia and FriendsA couple weekends ago, our friends John and Dominique drove over from Illinois and joined us for a quick trip to Sterling Heights, to see one of Jim's favorite performers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tony Bennett!</i></td></tr>
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Lately, it seemed that every time we traveled, we'd see a billboard promoting a Tony Bennett concert, but it was always sold out. Jim started keeping an eye on <a href="https://tonybennett.com/index.php" target="_blank">Tony's website</a> (yes, we're on a first name basis), and was finally able to purchase tickets to this show.<br />
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The show, with Tony Bennett and his daughter <a href="http://www.antoniabennett.com/" target="_blank">Antonia</a>, was at the <a href="http://freedomhill.net/" target="_blank">Freedom Hill Amphitheatre</a>. It was a beautiful evening, and we got there early enough to get food at the concession stand, and relax. (This is because our tickets listed the time as 6 pm. We thought we were late, but it turned out this is when the gates open, so we had time to spare.)<br />
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The sun was starting to set as everyone got settled in. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jim, Dominique, and John</i></td></tr>
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It was a delightful performance. Antonia sang first, and was a real showman, chatting with the audience, highlighting the band members, and singing great songs. Tony performed a few numbers with her, as well as on his own. He is really amazing. He turned 88 on August 3, but still has a great voice, and charms and delights the crowd. At one point he asked, "would you mind if I sing some old standards?" Would we mind?!? What a silly question...<br />
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We spent the night at the <a href="http://www.marriott.com/hotels/travel/dttwr-courtyard-detroit-warren/" target="_blank">Warren Courtyard Marriott</a>, on Van Dyke (once we finally got out of the Freedom Hill parking lot, the hotel was just a few minutes away). (Nice hotel, decent breakfast in the morning.) We enjoyed a late dinner at <a href="http://www.buddyspizza.com/index.asp" target="_blank">Buddy's Pizza</a>, nearby (Yum! Great pizza, and a charming waitress). <br />
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The next day, we drove up to Frankenmuth, since John and Dom' had never been to <a href="http://www.bronners.com/" target="_blank">Bronner's</a> Christmas store. We wandered around for a good while - they have every imaginable ornament, I swear. Showing great restraint, we bought just a couple ornaments (really, our tree has no room for more ornaments...!).<br />
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Bonnie was glad when we got home:<br />
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She got a walk, and we humans got some dinner, and then we talked and played Settlers of Catan (Dom' won on Saturday; Jim won Sunday's game).<br />
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With all the driving we did (and a late-night push), I finished knitting my <a href="http://ravel.me/RobinV/8osly" target="_blank">hat</a>:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's reversible; this is the "inside"</i></td></tr>
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<br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422959725931275044.post-55418596939430767362014-08-13T18:12:00.000-04:002014-08-13T18:12:59.898-04:00Shawl and Hat (Short and Sweet)I have two projects to share today. First is my <a href="http://ravel.me/RobinV/z6p83" target="_blank">Mushishi Shawl</a>, which I just finished this past weekend. The yarn, <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/yarns/library/plymouth-yarn-mushishi" target="_blank">Mushishi</a>, by Plymouth Yarns, was spun very loosely, which I think means that it will hold more air and make for a cozily warm shawl. It was also very pleasant to knit with.<br />
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This <a href="http://ravel.me/RobinV/8osly" target="_blank">hat</a> is one of several works-in-progress. I'm knitting it with a wonderful yarn, <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/yarns/library/farmhouse-yarns-winnifreds-washable" target="_blank">Winnifred's Washable</a>, by <a href="http://www.farmhouseyarns.com/joomla/index.php?option=com_frontpage&Itemid=1" target="_blank">Farmhouse Yarns</a>. It is a hand-dyed merino / acrylic blend. The color is not as bright as this photo would lead you to think, but is instead very rich. This will be a luscious and comfy hat, I think.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hat-in-progress</i></td></tr>
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<br />Robin Vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13762942736068477765noreply@blogger.com1