tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70418343690940122412024-03-13T00:14:50.727-06:00Retired English TeacherA retired English teacher, I reflect on the many facets of my life: retirement, reading, writing, gardening, faith, parenting adult children, grandchildren, loss, grief, healing from grief, surviving the loss of a loved one by suicide, hair loss, alopecia, aging, and living life at the foot of the Rocky mountains.
Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.comBlogger369125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-44108954483927521322019-05-31T15:49:00.004-06:002019-05-31T15:49:56.483-06:00A Big Announcement ~ This Blog Has Moved!<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Retired English Teacher</i></b>, the blog, is being retired for good.<br />
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That does not mean that I, the writer of this blog, am retiring.</div>
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I will continue to blog, but I will be blogging on a new website.</div>
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Starting May 31, 2019, you will be able to find me at my new website address:</div>
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<a href="https://www.sallywessely.com/"><span style="color: purple;">https://www.sallywessely.com</span></a><br />
On that website, you can read my new blog which is named:</div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><b><i>Strands of Silver</i></b></span>.</div>
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Please come over and visit me at my new blogging home.</div>
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While you are there, </div>
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please sign up to subscribe to my blog so that I can keep in touch with you.</div>
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A Farewell to Blogger</h4>
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Blogger, you have been a good host.</div>
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Thank you for the many happy blogging days that you have provided for me.</div>
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I will forever hold dear the many friendships I have made in this place,</div>
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but the day has come to say good-bye to this site.</div>
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<b>A Thank You to My Loyal Readers</b><br />
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Thank you for your loyal readership over the past nine years.</div>
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I will forever treasure the friendships I have made here.</div>
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Each of you have touched my life in unique and special ways either by your words to me </div>
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or by the words that you have written on your own blogs about the interesting lives that you live and write about in the blogosphere.</div>
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Blogging friends are the best friends.</div>
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Thank you for all the ways you have enriched my life.</div>
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See you at my new digs.</div>
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<a href="https://www.sallywessely.com/">https://www.sallywessely.com</a><br />
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When you drop by the new website, click on my first blog post entitled<br />
<b><i>Welcome to Strands of Silver.</i></b><br />
Also, while you are remember to subscribe to my site so we can keep in touch.<br />
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-37018363839273609172019-04-29T17:45:00.000-06:002019-04-30T09:12:26.408-06:00Blogging ~ Who Is My Audience?<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Of course that is the question...In the early days of my blog, sometimes I wondered why I continued to write it. One of the first questions I had as I began to write was: Do I write for an audience? I concluded that this was a question that did not have just one answer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">As I sorted through why I started this blog, I came up with reasons. Here are some of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Writing for Writing’s Sake<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I have always enjoyed writing and have kept various types of journals over the years. I kept sporadic journals when my children were small as an attempt to just try and keep some sort of record of what life was like during that period of my life. I didn't really have an audience in mind when I kept those journals, but they were often more than just some sort of daily log of experiences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I wish I had been more disciplined in my journal attempts during those days because now, I do have an audience for what I wrote during those busy, hectic times: myself and possibly my children.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Many young moms began blogging when I began blogging. They created fabulous blogs full of wonderful pictures of their children. They were pretty blogs filled with flowers and flowing designs. They represented the technological gifts that this generation of moms have developed. I envied these young moms and their blogs because they will have a precious record of their lives with their children. What a gift and a blessing. What I wouldn't give to have the same type of archive of my children’s' activities when they were young. I often wondered if these moms were clear on the audience they were writing for. Were they writing to leave a record? Were they writing for other moms? Were they writing for parents living far from where they lived?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Writing for An Audience<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When one writes, the audience does not always present itself immediately. We write because we have a need to record our lives. We write to express our dreams, our needs, our disappointments, our heartbreak, our insights, or even as a means of trying to make sense out of what is going on around us. Writing is intensely personal, and for that reason, we are sometimes hesitant to put down our most intimate thoughts and emotions on paper because we fear an unknown or known audience. Audience can intimidate us and cause us not to write or not to write well.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I reflect back on the time I was teaching high school English, I now see I might have confused my students when I taught about audience and writing. I would tell my students that they did not need to consider audience when they wrote in their journals.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>In fact, I encouraged them not to think about the reader while writing. I told them that they were just to write. They did not have to worry about punctuation or spelling or any other grammatical rules as they wrote in their journals. I just wanted them to feel free to write without being intimidated by feeling that they must write perfectly if they were to write at all. I told them to focus on developing voice.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Many of my students would write stunning journal entries. They would amaze me with the uniqueness of their individual voices. I would get glimpses into their true selves through their journal writing. Sometimes, I would be heartbroken by what they had to share. Sometimes I would be alarmed. Always, I was grateful that they trusted me enough to write transparently and honestly when they knew I would read what they wrote. I was their audience, and they trusted me enough to write honestly.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Other times, when the students had a writing assignment, I would teach about audience. I would remind them that they should consider their audience when they wrote. Unfortunately, many times, these formal writings lacked an ability to touch any type of audience. They became stilted, boring, and seemed to only represent some sort of stylized writing that came about from trying to follow the form style writing that they had been taught in previous years of schooling. This writing would lack life. It might be perfectly representative of a five-paragraph essay, but it lacked true meaning. The concept of writing for an audience was difficult for many students to grasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Can We Ever Fully Anticipate How Our Writing Will Impact Our Readers When We Sit Down to Write?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I was teaching, my father became very ill and was hospitalized just days before he died. He was hospitalized just as my teaching quarter was ending before Spring Break. Just before I left to drive to his bedside, my students took a quarterly essay test that had to be graded before I could leave town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">On that test, my students had to respond to Li-Young Lee's poem, "The Grandfather." Their audience was: me - their teacher. Their purpose was: they wrote to get a grade. They clearly understood their audience and purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Interestingly, after all the responses were read, the grades were assigned, and I had left my role as teacher to drive to my father's bedside to become a daughter who only had a few more days to spend with her father, I found that my focus as an audience who had read assigned poetry responses shifted. I found myself recalling the poem, and even more importantly, I recalled the responses my students had shared with me about the poem in their responses on the test. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Their words began to comfort me. They gave me strength. They allowed me to peacefully surrender myself to the moment I found myself in at my father’s bedside. I saw these last moments with him in a new way as I reflected on all my students said about “The Grandfather,” and about the poem itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> I realized the power of the written word in a unique way. The freshness of my students' youthful responses that spoke of the value of caring for the elderly grandfather while treasuring his final stories spoke to me. I will never forget how comforting my students’ words about the last days with a grandfather were to me. Neither my students nor myself had any idea how those words would be remembered by the reader who first read them as a teacher and remembered them later as a grieving daughter sitting by her father’s bedside as he lived his last few days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Why I Chose to Write A Blog Even When I Was Unsure of An Audience<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Blogs that are successful, seems to require audience. One would not continue to blog very long if one did not have some sort of audience. In the beginning days of blogging when I first began this blog, one of the beauties of the blogging was the ability to have a place where one could post something that could generate an immediate response if it was read by anyone at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I first began the blog, for months it seemed the jury was still out on how long the blog would last. I was not sure of the benefit of the blog except for serving as a place where I could create a bit of a history of what was going on in my life at the moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I was newly retired. I struggled with my new status at times. I missed the academic life, and yet I was also happy to leave the daily demands of it behind. I missed my students. I missed the interaction. I missed my audience. That is one thing a teacher always has - an audience. As I used to say, "Just give me a stage!" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">But, I also thought that my classroom was a place where we were all learning together. I liked to think that I created a more generative, constructivist type of classroom. It wasn't just like the classrooms where I went to school. I always hoped to create a classroom that was interactive and interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Certainly, if a blog is going to be successful, it must be all of those things too. I have loved blogging. I have decided to make a shift in my blogging experience. This shift will occur next month when a new blog is launched. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">In the meantime, I am gathering ideas to inform my blogging experience. This is new territory for me, but so was blogging when I first began writing. One thing is for sure, I am learning all kinds of new things about writing, about audience, and about what goes into blogging in 2019. Things have changed since 2008! That is for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-73139388260238488782019-04-09T13:16:00.000-06:002019-04-09T13:16:23.454-06:00Grief ~ I Know Your Name<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In Memory of my daughter<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Julie Ann Christiansen</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">April 8, 1976 - May 29, 2010</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Name It</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Grief<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">You come and visit again on days like this.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">You know the date well because you always show up on this day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Always.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know your name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know all the thoughts and feelings that bring with you when you visit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes you enter the door of my heart in bursts. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, Grief, your short, unexpected visits are named<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>‘Grief bursts.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Other times you come and visit and stay for days, longer than I would like you to stay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But let me tell you something, Grief.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While I am well acquainted with you and your visits, I have learned something about another visitor that makes you seem like a rather simple emotion. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The name of that other visitor to my life is<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bereavement. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bereavement is more complex than you are Grief.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bereavement speaks of the tearing apart that was left in my soul, in my heart, in my body, in my family circle when my dear Julie left me. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bereavement left me unable to function, to get out of bed, to cook a meal, to pick up one foot and put it in front of the other. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bereavement left me feeling robbed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Yes,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>robbed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When I wonder just what my beautiful daughter would like like today on what would have been her forty-third birthday, I feel robbed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I feel robbed when she isn’t here for family holidays, for special occasions, for memorable event. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I feel robbed when I can’t call her up and hear her voice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When I can’t hear her speak of her take on events, politics, movies, books, family matters, work, life, and love, I feel robbed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And, more than that, I think of how she was robbed of a life that, “woulda, coulda, shoulda” been her's to live. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-1244449150275247542019-04-01T21:06:00.001-06:002019-04-03T12:30:35.673-06:00Don’t be Fooled by April<div style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 18px;">
In March and in April, the daffodil heralds the coming of spring. For some, spring is a difficult season.</div>
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For some, April truly can be the “cruelest month.”</div>
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As I look back over the springtimes of my life, I associate this season of life with daffodils. Today, I’d like to use this flower, this motif for my life, to remind us all not to be fooled by April. It has long been known that the coming of spring also increases the risk of suicide. This is a difficult topic to write about, and to read about, but today, I think as we look forward to warmer days ahead, we also should be vigilant and watch for an increase in suicidal thoughts and behavior. </div>
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Daffodils</div>
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As a child, I once picked daffodils and pretended they were the mouthpieces mounted at the top of a candlestick telephone. I called them “telephone flowers.” They became a favorite very early in my life. </div>
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Yes, I am old. Many of you might not even know what a candlestick telephone is. Google it. You might then see why my imaginative mind saw the bright jonquils blooming in the front yard of my childhood home as play telephones. </div>
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Daffodils.</div>
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As a very young person, I began to think of them as my flower, the one that symbolized my optimism about life. They reminded me that there was always new life that would spring forth no matter how dark, cold, and bitter the winter had been. I lived in the mountains of Colorado as a teen. The snow was deep, and cold, and some years did not melt until spring itself was nearly over. Bundled in winter clothes, leaving the cold mountain hilltops behind, we would sometimes travel to the land of springtime found at lower elevations for a short visit to see my grandmother. I still remember the joy I would feel when I saw daffodils blooming because I knew that surely spring would find us soon, even in the mountains.</div>
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When I think back to my first years of adulthood, in my mind’s eye, I see the driveway leading to my parent’s home lined with blooming daffodils when I first met and fell in love with the man I would marry over fifty years ago. Perhaps, that showy burst of bright color was partly to blame for the optimism and excitement I felt that spring when love was new and I unable to see anything but happy possibilities. </div>
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Daffodils.</div>
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One April morning 43 years ago, I was awakened by labor pains. As my husband and I pulled out of our own driveway to head to the hospital, I took note of the daffodils blooming in my yard. Later, in my journal I recorded the events of the day when my fourth child and third daughter was born by writing, “The daffodils blooming as I headed off to the hospital to give birth to this beautiful daughter seemed to say, “You are having a spring baby and all is right with the world.”</div>
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Daffodils.</div>
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Their message to me has always been a message of joy, renewal, rebirth, life after death.</div>
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That love affair that began so many years ago when the daffodils were blooming led to marriage, the birth of five children, and a bitter divorce. </div>
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My love for daffodils did not change.</div>
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Dishes, bowls, vases, picture frames, tablecloths, I have many that are decorated with the daffodil motif. They are brought out every spring to brighten my days and my home.</div>
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Once when that springtime baby born in April was grown, she went to Dublin, Ireland, in the spring. While there, she came across a field of daffodils and had herself photographed sitting among them so she could send the photo to me. </div>
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There she is dressed in green, her favorite color, a color she wore so well, sitting among the daffodils, and thinking of me as she smiled for the camera so that the moment could be recorded and sent to mom as a keepsake of her trip to Ireland.</div>
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I think that for some of us, some symbols, some motifs, some flowers carry powerful messages for us throughout our lives. I think of the happy memories that are created as we collect pictures in our minds of times when those symbols bring us great joy, peace, hope, or comfort. Daffodils have always been that symbol for me.</div>
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The symbol, the flower, does not in and of itself hold power in my life, but rather, the power lies in meaning I have assigned to it.</div>
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Daffodils always make me think of: newness of life, rebirth, hope, springtime, beauty, Easter, the resurrection. </div>
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Indeed, daffodils are often called the Lent Lily. </div>
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When, that April baby, the one born when the daffodils were blooming, my beautiful daughter Julie Ann, took her life, it was in May of her thirty-fourth year. She had been with me when the daffodils were blooming for one last Easter celebration just weeks before her death. The family had come together to hunt for eggs filled with candy, color Easter eggs, and celebrate her birthday. The last one she would ever celebrate.</div>
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She sat on the grass that was just beginning to turn green and posed for one last photo with her sisters. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DOZjhEzW4_eMczE7EwWf_kTtoc6MIDEOi1awSuWKQhWyjLyiYPPxzUwS24VUAL9DT6ChpyJ8TWlEfIKF-Hm3kCfDyGybeENgWGFROssNhIEoiGhhK9YWAFJqu_wKUC_p7OF4_SHNlNEJ/s1600/DSCN1142.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DOZjhEzW4_eMczE7EwWf_kTtoc6MIDEOi1awSuWKQhWyjLyiYPPxzUwS24VUAL9DT6ChpyJ8TWlEfIKF-Hm3kCfDyGybeENgWGFROssNhIEoiGhhK9YWAFJqu_wKUC_p7OF4_SHNlNEJ/s640/DSCN1142.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keicha, Julie, Amy<br />
April 2010</td></tr>
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I did not know that I would never see her alive again when I snapped another photo, the one I took later in the day of just her with her dog Phoenix. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5i7syDxugQRTpHsbiOrwxSiegCx41q6cpLQXPctFhhDjCKAjmmUbKU_zthidUKyOUm_PE0Kl8clI6n8uA6mlZ8bZs9pYNZTuN7UsqvBE5esrhrF0nQNXBoxNnDc-xveizPVNWnFqwW2PK/s1600/DSCN1146.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5i7syDxugQRTpHsbiOrwxSiegCx41q6cpLQXPctFhhDjCKAjmmUbKU_zthidUKyOUm_PE0Kl8clI6n8uA6mlZ8bZs9pYNZTuN7UsqvBE5esrhrF0nQNXBoxNnDc-xveizPVNWnFqwW2PK/s640/DSCN1146.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julie with Phoenix<br />
April 2010</td></tr>
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I snapped that photo, never dreaming that within a very short amount of time, I would have to pick out a headstone for her final resting place and wonder just what I would put on that stone. Her name. Her birth date. Her death date. All of that was hard enough. Still, I wanted something else there on that stone, something that spoke to me. A flower? Would a flower be nice on that stone? Sadly, none of us could remember just what her favorite flower had been. Had she ever said? If we had known, I guess I could have had that flower engraved upon that stone, but I honestly didn’t know what her favorite flower was, and so I had a daffodil carved next to her name. </div>
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Daffodils are supposed to have bright color, and they are supposed to “flutter and dance in the breeze” as they are characterized by Wordsworth. They are not supposed to be carved in stone, but I needed some sort of reminder that my beautiful girl had been bright and beautiful and youthful and had always reminded me of spring when I looked at that cold stone that marked her death. I needed something to remind me that there was life after death.</div>
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Yet, when I saw a daffodil on her tombstone, it seemed as incongruent with that jocular flower as thinking of my daughter as dead seemed incongruent with everything I knew about her and about life itself. Yes, when my daughter took her life, everything I thought I knew about life no longer fit. </div>
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The season of grief is one where flowers do not bloom in one’s heart and soul except when one remembers times when flowers bloomed when the one we grieve was with us. </div>
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I am now entering the ninth spring since Julie left us. Daffodils again cheer my heart and bring me comfort. They speak to me joy, and renewal, and hope, and the beauty that comes after a long, dark, cold, winter. They speak to me of life, life for now, and life after death.</div>
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I am not the same woman I was when I first became acquainted with unspeakable loss. </div>
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One of the first things I wrote after Julie’s death was that I hoped to integrate her life and death into my life in a way that was healthy, honest, and truthful. I did not want to wall of that part of my life which brought me deep pain. I did not want to compartmentalize anything about my life. I wanted to integrate all of the parts into a whole that had meaning and healing and purpose. Julie would want that for me. </div>
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Last Easter, I gave a small pot of miniature daffodils as a gift to someone I loved. When I left to return home after my Easter visit, I was told, “Take the flowers with you. I don’t want them.” And so, trying not to be hurt, I did just that. I took the flowers with me. </div>
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They didn’t last long. </div>
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Soon the blooms were dead and began to dry out. For some reason, I could not throw that plant away. Instead, I marveled at the beauty of the shell of the bloom that was left behind. The color was lighter yellow than the color had been when the plant was in full bloom. The shapes were reminiscent of the blooms when they were in their most beautiful state. I thought they were still beautiful in this altered condition. </div>
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I carefully took the spent blossoms from the dried stems, collected the dried flowers, and put them in a glass basket. When spring was over, I left the dried flowers in basket as I put it away.</div>
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I took this basket out again this spring. It sat among the fresh daffodil bouquets for several weeks. I kept asking myself why I kept those dried flowers and what meaning I could find in them.</div>
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Finally, it came to me. </div>
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Spring is hard for so many. If one is suicidal, or depressed, or suffering from mental illness, one just might not see daffodils and the coming of spring the way I do. The depressed, the one struggling, might not see hope, optimism, and happy sunny days ahead when spring arrives.</div>
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I knew from my study of depression, mental illness, and because of the knowledge I had learned about suicide, that many are at risk for suicide more in the springtime of the year than at any other time of the year. </div>
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Where I see possibilities for happier days ahead where the flowers will again bloom, others see dried out dreams and memories from yesterday and a future that seems fruitless and not worth living.</div>
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If I could change one thing, it would be to have been aware of my daughter’s true state of mind in that last spring of her life. I would ask her those hard questions that I had asked her before in times when she expressed suicidal thoughts. I would ask how she was really doing. I would ask if she were thinking of harming herself. I would do anything I could to get her the help she needed in her darkest hour. </div>
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This spring, in her memory, I ask you to think of those you love whom might be at risk of suicide. Know the risks. Know the signs. Ask the hard question. Make that phone call. Get help for them and for you so you can best help them. </div>
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Please visit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and educate yourself about the risk factors and warning signs that someone you know, or someone you love, might need your help. </div>
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Don't be fooled by April. Not everyone will experience spring the same way. </div>
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<a href="https://afsp.org/about-suicide/risk-factors-and-warning-signs/">https://afsp.org/about-suicide/risk-factors-and-warning-signs/</a></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-66185097221111487312019-03-23T18:47:00.000-06:002019-03-23T21:10:02.224-06:00Saturday Summary<h4 style="text-align: center;">
Saturday Summary</h4>
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What a week it has been!</div>
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<b>Saturday, March 16</b></div>
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I hosted my high school girl friends for lunch. We meet every three or four months for lunch. This time, it was my turn to host at my house. Thankfully, my dear friend Dove, here from Vermont for the party, co-hosted with me. We had so much fun decorating the table, ordering the food, and rearranging the house to accommodate everyone. </div>
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The group follows a few routines. First things first. Margaritas are made so we can toast one of our classmates that started the group. She is no longer with us, but we remember her and all the others whom have passed with a toast. As we get older, I notice we also toast that we are all still able to get together to make a toast to the past, the present, and future. </div>
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We then take a photo of the group. We do this right after the toast so we don’t forget to take a photo. </div>
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<b>New Learning and A Word About These Photos:</b> </div>
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I took them using my Nikon DSL3200 on the timer setting. Woot woot! That took some doing. I had to find the tripod. I then had to find the “how to” guidebook for my camera. I then had to find the do-jiggy or whatchamacallit to attach the camera to the tripod. The camera guidebook. was found, but was of no help. Friend Donna came to my rescue. We read the camera guidebook together after I found my glasses. Then, I said, “Let’s consult Google.” Thanks to Google, and Donna, and me finally following the directions correctly, we got a couple of photos. </div>
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This folks is why it takes me so long to get anything done. I am trying to keep track of where I put things while also trying to keep up with technology. No wonder I am get so little done.</div>
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Before the day was done, I took a photo of my dear Dove whom had helped me put this party together. I guess you could say we were deconstructing the day when I took the photo. This girl, one of my dearest friends, had her birthday the next day. Of course, I could not help but remember that she is the one whom introduced my husband to me by having him invite me to her sixteenth birthday party. We have a long and precious history and connection with each other. She remains a woman who personifies youth, vitality, and friendship. I am so grateful I have her in my life. </div>
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<b>Sunday, March 17</b></div>
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Friend Donna and I made plans for brunch so that we could get a bit more visiting done. We brought our husbands along. She wanted to tap into a memory that she hoped my husband would have of a car accident they both survived over fifty years ago. She asked him for details. He had no real memories of it. She asked who was sitting on his lap when the car flipped and gave him a couple of names to see if he could remember. In true Jim fashion, he said, “I don’t remember, but I hope it was ___(the cutest one with the best personality)_______.” We laughed at that. </div>
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After brunch, we went for a walk in Garden of the Gods. Winter has been long, and it has been even longer since I had walked in one of my favorite places. Jim reminded me that Sundays are crowed at the Garden of the Gods, but I insisted we go anyway. It was crazy crowded with people, dogs off leash, and babies in strollers, and small children running and nearly tripping us. I said, “This is not a nature walk. This feels like the mall.” Jim said, “No it doesn’t; the malls are dead.”</div>
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Just look at that blue sky! Blue skies, red rocks, make magnificent combinations. </div>
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My other favorite sight to behold is this old girl, Pikes Peak. I love the view of her from Garden of the Gods. Some call her America’s Mountain, but she is my mountain. I grew up in her shadow and have felt that her arms have embraced me throughout my life.</div>
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<b>Lessons Learned:</b></div>
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Beloved friends and places conjure up powerful memories that have an almost spiritual aspect to them. Somehow, when one is with those beloved friends, or in beloved places, the memories made in youth and beyond meld into the memories being made in the present creating an alloy of memories with a transcendent quality. </div>
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<b>Monday, March 18</b></div>
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8:30 a.m., I report to the hospital for a 9:00 treadmill stress test. I pass with flying colors. I am grateful. </div>
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Afterwards, I treat myself to breakfast at Wooglins, a favorite place of mine where I always get the very best quiche I have ever had. They will be closing at some point in the near future and that makes me sad. I love the quirkiness and down home feel of this place. It is usually buzzing with college students, but I am there between the breakfast lunch rush and nearly have the place to myself. I leisurely ate my breakfast, sipped my coffee, and read the paper.</div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 18px;">It is reassuring to pass stress tests when one is in the eighth decade of life.</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 18px;">I feel stronger and more healthy after doing so well on the test.</span><span style="text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times";"> The old ticker is working just like it should despite the arrhythmias I experience that sometimes make me worry that something isn’t working right. I am better at trusting the pacemaker to correct the rhythms of my heart. Knowing that my exercised heart recovers quickly builds great confidence as I pursue walking and exercising as a more regular practice.</span></span></li>
<li style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Things never stay the same. The hospital where I had the test is built on the site where the hospital where I was born once stood. Thankfully, the old one is gone, and we now have a state of the art hospital in its place. </li>
<li style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Progress happens. So sometimes one's favorite places, like Wooglins, must make room for progress as Colorado College expands its campus.</li>
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<b>Tuesday, March 19</b></div>
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More doctor appointments. One with a skin doctor, the other with the breast doctor. Mammogram and ultra sound are scheduled because of problems I am having. </div>
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<b>Wednesday, March 20</b></div>
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Pilates at the YMCA at 9:00 in the morning means I have to get up and going earlier than usual. This is a good thing. I am doing Pilates on the reformer again. I love Pilates because it helps me so much with my chronic pain in the sciatica, and in my shoulders. Making a commitment to be there exercising each week by paying money for classes keeps me focused on making this a regular practice. </div>
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I love the Y where I go because it was built when my children were young and we were charter members. It always makes me feel like I am home when I am there. On the way in, I say “hello” and exchange pleasantries with a friend whom I have known all my life. He is probably at least eight years older than I. His mother was my grandmother’s best friend. Now, crippled and bent over from arthritis, he can no longer stand upright, but he is at the Y three for four times a week riding the bike. We usually meet as he comes in while I am leaving. He inspires me.</div>
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In the afternoon, I join my dear prayer partners for prayer. We join our hearts together in prayer every two weeks. I love these ladies. We’ve been prayer partners for years now, and we’ve seen prayers answered in amazing and powerful ways. We are changed by praying as we learn to trust God more and ourselves less.</div>
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<b>Lessons Learned:</b></div>
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Exercise your body and your faith. Both will become stronger when you exercise them.</div>
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<b>Thursday, March 21</b></div>
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I attended Pilates at 10:00 at the Y so I could make up a session I missed last week because of the snow storm. At 11:30, I had a massage. I then wanted to just take a long nap for the rest of the day. I didn’t though. I rested. Drank a cup of tea. And then I got my chores done.</div>
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In the evening, my husband and I attended a workshop presented by a local ministry which we support called Mercy’s Gate to help us understand poverty in our community among our working poor. It was informative and sobering.</div>
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<b>Lessons Learned:</b></div>
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<li>Self care can take place in different ways. Exercise and massage are so important to me at this stage of life. I am grateful that I am able to give myself the gift of both exercise and massage. I am also grateful to know self care is not indulgent. It is necessary to good physical, mental, and spiritual health. It took me a lifetime to learn this.</li>
<li>The memory of living below the poverty line when I was a single mother is very vivid. I hope to become more involved in helping others whom are working full-time jobs and yet are considered the “working poor.”</li>
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<b>Friday, March 22</b></div>
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Jim was off work. We had a slow morning. Then we took a long, slow walk through the neighborhood. It felt so good to walk together with the dog in the neighborhood. Cloudy skies threatened rain, but it didn’t arrive until later in the day. </div>
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In the afternoon, after our morning walk, I had a follow-up appointment with cardiology to get the test results I had already read in my patient portal. I love seeing the PA. She is always so sweet, and informative, and supportive. She tells me to send in a home reading from my pacemaker so she can check my arrhythmias. She wants to make sure that recent incidents aren’t showing new findings. </div>
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While I was doctoring, Jim ran errands and picked up things at the store for me. We then went to dinner at one of our favorite Mexican food places which is closing tomorrow night. I am sad. I love their cheese enchiladas with green chili. I love the ambiance. Where will I go now to get my Friday night Mexican food fix? We’ve spent many Friday night date nights here.</div>
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<b>Lessons Learned:</b></div>
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See Monday’s lesson. Nothing stays the same. Enjoy each day as it comes. When old things or places go away, find new ones. Life remains something to be explored.</div>
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The week was filled with a lot of pain from my autoimmune condition that is of yet not fully diagnosed. One doctor diagnoses fibromyalgia. Another says Inflammatory Bowel Disease. Testing continues. In the meantime, I carry on as best I can. </div>
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During the week, I also spent one evening reading Sarah Bessey’s Field Notes. How does that woman do all she does in a month? How does she read so many books and articles and keep up with her writing too? She is my hero. I read some of the articles that she referenced in her monthly field notes. I felt myself realizing how much I missed my daughter Julie. She would have loved discussing with me what I was reading from Sarah Bessey. She would have got it. She was one I always had the most interesting conversations with regarding reading, writing, thinking about life, and exploring new ideas. She had such a bright mind. She was so well read. She could synthesize what she read and relate it to other things she was learning. </div>
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<b>I am reading:</b></div>
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The Bible (I’m reading the Bible in a year by following a plan narrated by Daily Audio Bible.) </div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Women Rowing North </span>by Mary Pipher.</div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;">I Was Anastasia </span>by Ariel Lawhon</div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;">A Million Little Ways </span>by Emily P. Freeman</div>
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<b>I finished reading:</b></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Mrs. Osmond </span>by John Banville.</div>
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<b>Major Lessons Learned This Week:</b></div>
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Grief is ever present.</div>
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The loss of a loved one creates a hole that is never filled in one’s heart. </div>
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Despite that, I continue to live day by day in the most healthy way I can, but sometimes I remember just how much I miss that dear sweet daughter I lost nearly nine years ago, and I weep. </div>
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I hope she would be proud of me if I told her about my week because she would see that I am still living as well as I can. </div>
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I guess that this Saturday summary was really written for her. I think I can almost hear her say, “Good job, Mamacita.” </div>
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And it was written for me too. It was written to show myself that I am making progress in trying to live a more physically healthy lifestyle while working to maintain the health I that I currently have in the best way that I can. </div>
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<b>The great lesson of the week is: keep on keeping on. Live life as well as you can every day that you can.</b></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-10470926344420147382019-02-28T16:03:00.003-07:002019-02-28T16:03:59.209-07:00Rare Disease Day 2019 ~ My Story<div style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(116, 116, 116); color: #747474; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; margin-bottom: 20px;">
Today is Rare Disease Day. After years of seeing multiple doctors for strange and confusing symptoms, I was diagnosed with a rare disease in 2013. I have an autoimmune disease called Cicatricial Alopecia. It is a scarring alopecia which in my case has presented as Frontal Fibrosing Alopecia. This disease brings both physical and emotional pain. When hair dies, it hurts. There is itching, burning, and a sense that the scalp is crawling. Emotionally, it hurts to lose one’s hair because as women, our identity is often tied to our hair. Some of you have read my story before. Others have not. Here is my story. <br />
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The completely innocuous beginning of my journey into hair loss cannot be pinpointed. There were early signposts. Inoffensive and unobjectionable, they were not noted. One day, I did notice I no longer had hair on my arms. It certainly didn’t seem like a big deal. Then, I noticed I didn’t have hair on my legs. I surmised the loss of hair on my limbs was a natural part of aging.</div>
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Next, as I innocently proceeded on a journey I didn’t know I was on, I noticed that I had a small red inflamed spot on the left side of my front hair line. It didn’t itch. It just looked odd. The spot spread, and it looked as if pustules were forming. I tried several home remedies for treating the area. Then, I noticed that hair would fall out when these strange looking spots healed.</div>
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On April 6, 2006, I consulted a dermatologist. I somewhat sheepishly told him about the home remedy I had been using: Listerine. Seriously, I applied Listerine to these inflamed areas of my scalp! I did this because I had concluded that putting an antiseptic on the weird looking sores would be better than doing nothing at all. I think the doctor thought I was a nut job. I can forgive him for that. I’m sure he hadn’t seen anyone else that day using Listerine to treat skin problems. He asked me if I had tried Windex. Funny.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28HUIkY30wQjW9YRsoIBY9Fscbh9t0VUhvyRvBaDf6fk3scnl3fMlH_tUBUOl9dOT1em3L5WrbzxqwO0kU5kcbAzq8QtTfmABLEOTplBiaVtUIGwnPF6QcDQ64QfSA4ILXGI4pjV7UcY2/s1600/Boston_July+2006+001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1477" data-original-width="989" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28HUIkY30wQjW9YRsoIBY9Fscbh9t0VUhvyRvBaDf6fk3scnl3fMlH_tUBUOl9dOT1em3L5WrbzxqwO0kU5kcbAzq8QtTfmABLEOTplBiaVtUIGwnPF6QcDQ64QfSA4ILXGI4pjV7UcY2/s320/Boston_July+2006+001.jpeg" width="214" /></a></div>
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The doctor said he didn’t know what the problem on my scalp was because he’d never seen it before. He thought it might be psoriasis. I have a history of psoriasis. I didn’t think it presented like psoriasis. He didn’t disagree with me. He concluded that he didn’t know what else those sores could be. He gave me a prescription for a topical and sent me on my way. He never suggested that I schedule a follow-up to see if my problem was resolved by using the treatment he prescribed. I felt dismissed but also felt that my symptoms did not merit a legitimate medical concern.</div>
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The topical cleared up the worst of the inflammation. This made me happy. I did notice the hair continued to fall out when the area was healed, and that it did not regrow where the pustules had been. My hair continued to thin. I fretted, but again I surmised it was a part of the aging process. I noticed the front part of my hairline did not have the volume that it once had, and I found my old hairstyle no longer worked with the thinner frontal hair.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUP-pxDs23M6c6i7Pc8GC2Tur23AMZtnuAOe8gbIcs5c5PJjHW2T00X1kzjh9QIXU60GZHo7aFl7pCZI0Hb8epiYBn-epJq1nyd8iu_pQfjYeIa1GvghjlS61T4QVxhPohJZ_rg97-Eul/s1600/DSCN1212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUP-pxDs23M6c6i7Pc8GC2Tur23AMZtnuAOe8gbIcs5c5PJjHW2T00X1kzjh9QIXU60GZHo7aFl7pCZI0Hb8epiYBn-epJq1nyd8iu_pQfjYeIa1GvghjlS61T4QVxhPohJZ_rg97-Eul/s320/DSCN1212.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2010</td></tr>
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In May of 2010, my youngest daughter died unexpectedly. Just months after her death, my hair fell out enough that fine strands of silver hair covered my clothing. I called it tinsel and joked, “The tinsel is falling off the old tree.” According to my doctors, the loss was temporary and caused by shock and stress. “Your hair will come back,” they said. The hair loss was significant, but not noticeable to others.</div>
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One morning in July of 2011, as I was putting on my makeup, I noticed my eyebrows were completely gone. They’d been there the day before. Now, the loss of hair I had been experiencing for the last five years seemed anything but innocuous. I saw my doctor and told her about continued thinning of hair and sudden loss of eyebrows. She asked, “Have you been plucking them?” It was a legitimate question. Perhaps, she thought my stress had manifested itself with trichotillomania, a hair-pulling disorder. I decided it was time to visit a new dermatologist.</div>
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A compassionate and supportive doctor, she was also a friend. She thought I had a form of alopecia triggered by stress. She’d never seen alopecia that presented like the symptoms she saw on my scalp. The sudden loss of eyebrows was a mystery to her. She thought we should take a wait and see approach. I went home from the appointment and consulted Dr. Google. Alopecia, a word I couldn’t even pronounce, was not new to me. I’d heard it before, but it was a word I could never remember. I wrote this term down on a yellow sticky note and placed it by my computer. I practiced saying it. I didn’t want to forget the name of the condition nor how to pronounce it. Believe me, since that day, there has been no forgetting!</div>
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Not long after that appointment, I saw my endocrinologist for a routine appointment and asked her for an opinion. She said that my thyroid was not causing my hair loss but concurred that stress could have triggered problem. She advised me to get the scalp biopsied. Heaven only knows why it took me a year to get a scalp biopsy. I was in denial about my hair loss. I believed it was temporary. I believed the loss would stop. I believed my hair would grow back.</div>
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Meanwhile, my hair continued to fall out. Finally, in March of 2013, a full seven years after my first visit to a dermatologist for hair loss, I saw another dermatologist. After his initial examination of my scalp, he diagnosed me with frontal fibrosing alopecia. He added that he would have to biopsy my scalp for a solid diagnosis. I had never heard of FFA before. The biopsy came back confirming FFA and lichen planopilaris.</div>
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He sat me down and painted a grim future for me and my hair. He showed me pictures he had downloaded from the internet. All I could think of was, “Surely this won’t happen to me.” The new doctor said that there was really no treatment to cure the condition. He said that the treatments that might slow it down were not effective and had side effects I may not wish to experience. I chose not to take the oral medications but used the topical Clobetasol prescribed to help with the itching, pain, and soreness.</div>
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In 2013 when I was finally diagnosed with FFA, I realized that I had suffered from terrible itching on my scalp for several years. Dealing with loss and grief, health problems of another nature, I did not pay much attention to what was going on with my scalp. I had lamented my thinning hair, but I still believed it was a temporary situation. The trajectory of my journey changed the day I learned about the disease that was not only taking my hair, but also leaving scars behind. I had to determine out a way to accept and cope with the diagnosis and the changes it brought to my journey through life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2013</td></tr>
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The devastating emotional and psychological components of hair loss are not often addressed by the medical profession. My own personal journey with hair loss has been made easier by the support and knowledge I have gained from the Cicatricial Alopecia Research Foundation and from www. AlopeciaWorld.com.</div>
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In June of 2016, I attended the 7th International Patient-Doctor Conference sponsored by CARF in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was probably one of the most important things I have done for myself since I began this journey. There, I learned I was not alone. I met some of the most amazing, supportive, and smart men and women I have ever known. Like me, they too are learning to live with scarring alopecia. At the conference, we armed ourselves with information to help fight the battle against hair loss. We learned from those doctors whom have dedicated themselves in helping us on this journey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHxItXfQEurt-ew369x_CrpoaMlLSdlkZlRkBwqEZ6bvq43nrAHP8Yf7srNyMTVexe05-vRmj_X2N3kiK5qfiUx5KOIO2VVYJSKoS5wkT9O5nb0986ME88yODKDfZ8v2HrdKV-eqdfufU/s1600/Photo+on+7-8-16+at+3.41+PM+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHxItXfQEurt-ew369x_CrpoaMlLSdlkZlRkBwqEZ6bvq43nrAHP8Yf7srNyMTVexe05-vRmj_X2N3kiK5qfiUx5KOIO2VVYJSKoS5wkT9O5nb0986ME88yODKDfZ8v2HrdKV-eqdfufU/s320/Photo+on+7-8-16+at+3.41+PM+%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 2016</td></tr>
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United, we are joining the battle to win the war on scarring alopecia. Our stories give strength to each other as we journey down this road together. Our stories unite us and make us feel less alone. Our stories validate our experience. At times I think we all feel very alone in a world where it seems every head around us is covered with hair. I hope my story helps someone else feel less alone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm4uRpJzLmjReejHwPDh2HkHKbDcS0p-8ymqMqD1xeCfheOb6UQJ0iJ8baRQzHXhvzBBD1LLHuFwJY2JLYDlXB7LsuZncjmrLU1VIBYVET8hegxjDLs_U76-ZQlusNu2wWbGzo-eTv6XI/s1600/IMG_7040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm4uRpJzLmjReejHwPDh2HkHKbDcS0p-8ymqMqD1xeCfheOb6UQJ0iJ8baRQzHXhvzBBD1LLHuFwJY2JLYDlXB7LsuZncjmrLU1VIBYVET8hegxjDLs_U76-ZQlusNu2wWbGzo-eTv6XI/s320/IMG_7040.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2018</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1WGTsNbUoIc2I4zCAfX837BNqkj6V5LDXMuss3zUf4gEFm7fi6Fki0mRbcdG0M1HIv2ZKv-6FQ8KepxEWdMqIUUMeLdGAanb5ed-qct-qCSeOvpF2TDt0_Um0yqFnlNWjygk0pVe0Wdz/s1600/IMG_1258.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1413" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1WGTsNbUoIc2I4zCAfX837BNqkj6V5LDXMuss3zUf4gEFm7fi6Fki0mRbcdG0M1HIv2ZKv-6FQ8KepxEWdMqIUUMeLdGAanb5ed-qct-qCSeOvpF2TDt0_Um0yqFnlNWjygk0pVe0Wdz/s400/IMG_1258.jpeg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With helper hair<br />
2018</td></tr>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-35960870091137444802019-01-28T16:46:00.000-07:002019-01-28T16:54:51.564-07:00Blogging ~ Looking Back on Ten Years of Writing My blog was created on July 25, 2008, in response to an assignment given when I was enrolled in a summer workshop that was offered by the Southern Colorado Writing Project at Colorado State University-Pueblo. On the day that this blog was created, those of us enrolled in the weeks long workshop went into the computer lab, signed on to the internet, created an account with Blogger, and then each of us set up our very own individual blogging site. Blogging was the future we were told. We needed to know how blogging worked because it could be a great tool in the classroom and in our professional lives. <br />
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I had absolutely no inspiration that day when it came to naming my blog, nor did I realize that it might have been a good idea to set up the address for finding my blog to correspond with the name that I finally came up with to give to my blog. I’d contributed to a closed, family only, blog my daughter had created prior to me creating my own blog, but I had no vision whatsoever for a personal blog. Our family blog had a great name, and it had been a fun exercise in informing each other of our various happenings before Facebook came along and changed all of that. <br />
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When it came time for me to create my own blog, I named it <i>Retired English Teacher</i> because that was the only title that came to mind when I sat down to fulfill the requirements of the assignment by creating a blog. I had recently retired. I had no idea where retirement would take me. In fact, in many ways, I was not even sure I wanted to be retired. I planned on working working part-time over the next few years and did not see myself becoming a blogger even though I did want to write and hoped to write a book during my retirement years.</div>
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I did see my blog as a place where I could write about my activities so that my children could keep up with what was going on in my life. (As if they would be interested.) My own father used to write wonderful long letters to his children and to his siblings. He would make carbon copies and send out the letters. I loved getting his long chatty letters about what he and Mother had been doing. He would sometimes tell stories in the letters. I loved his stories. Those letters were filed away and are now great treasures to me. Perhaps, I was channeling my father and his letter writing ways when I took up writing my early blog posts. </div>
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No one ever commented on my early posts. I don’t know that anyone even read them. Now, I look back at them and am grateful I wrote because the few posts do serve as a bit of a journal for what was going on in my life.</div>
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I wrote eleven posts that first year. Just before the end of the 2008, I contemplated the future of my blog, a blog that had never generated even one comment, by writing a post called, <i>To Blog or Not to Blog. </i>I ended the post by writing the following: </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.199999809265137px;">As of today, the jury is still out. I am not sure of the benefit of this blog except for serving as a place where I can create a bit of a history of what is going on in my life at the moment. I am newly retired. I struggle with my new status at times. I miss the academic life, and yet I am also happy to leave the daily demands of it behind. I miss my students. I miss the interaction. I miss my audience. That is one thing a teacher always has - an audience. As I used to say, "Just give me a stage!" But, I also like to think that my classroom was a place where we were all learning together. I like to think that I created a more generative, constructivist type of classroom. It wasn't just like the classrooms where I went to school. My classroom was interactive and interesting. Certainly, if a blog is going to be successful, it must be all of those things too. At the moment, I think my blog mostly serves as a place where I can contemplate and explore where I want to go with my life as as a retired teacher. I don't necessarily need an audience to do that. I only need a place where I can record my thoughts and activities so I don't get lost. So, for now the blog continues.</span></blockquote>
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I wrote even fewer posts in 2009. I did write a post in April of that year entitled, <i>My Life As An Educator.</i> In January of 2010, that post generated its first comment, in fact it was the first time any post had ever generated a comment. A woman, also a recently retired educator, had also just begun blogging, had found my blog, and something I wrote resonated with her, so she wrote a comment. We began communicating with each other, and I became an avid reader of her blog and some other blogs I found out there. </div>
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Quite honestly, I most likely never would have continued to blog if it had not been for Jann, #1Nana, my very first blogger commenter. Her encouragement was key in my blogging journey.</div>
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In February of 2010, I turned 65.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Retired English Teacher, AKA Sally, on her 65th birthday in February 2010</td></tr>
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I was still working part-time by teaching English as A Second Language. I needed to work in order to keep my insurance going until I turned 65. I seldom took the time to blog during those days, but I was looking forward to the end of the school year when my teaching obligations were over and I could spend more time writing and blogging. Jann, kept bugging me to write. (Thank you, Jann.)</div>
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My husband and I took a trip to Europe to celebrate our full retirement in May of 2010. I contemplated the direction of my life and blog while we traveled. I knew that the retirement years were going to finally open up for me, and I hoped to spend that time writing, gardening, and traveling. </div>
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Instead, just ten days after our return from Europe, my youngest daughter, Julie, took her life at the age of 34 on May 29, 2010. My life went into a tailspin. I had to rethink life so I could make sense of a new reality that made no sense whatsoever to me. </div>
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Thankfully, I had a journal and a blog where I could turn to try sense of the great loss that had come into my life. I wrote a blog post called <i><a href="https://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2010/06/life-altering-events.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Life Altering Events</span></a> </i>soon after Julie died. The blogging community reached out to me with love and support like no other support system I had in place at the time. I had family, and I had friends, wonderful, supportive, loving and caring friends and family, but it was through writing that I was able to sort out what was going on in my broken heart. I wrote about my private grief in a journal, and I shared much of my grief journey through blogging also. Writing helped to heal my heart. Blogging gave me a new community with which I could share my story of heartbreak and loss.</div>
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Blogging introduced me to an entirely new world. I never would have imagined where my blogging journey would take me when I wrote that first perfunctory post to complete a class assignment in July of 2008. Since that time, when I began blogging in earnest, I have so often been inspired by bloggers. I have learned new things from bloggers. I have traveled to places I will never go in person by reading blogs. I have learned insight about life. I’ve seen nifty ideas for decorating. I’ve found new recipes. I supported others through loss and heartbreak. I have laughed at blogger humor as I read their funny stories. I read accounts of fighting cancer. I have cried for blogger's losses of love, children, financial ruin, and even of days before loss of life. I have prayed for blogger in times of trial. I’ve celebrated their victories with them. Many bloggers have become my dear virtual friends. I have met some of them in person. </div>
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In fact, the core of my community of bloggers from back in 2011 and 2012 decided to meet in person in 2012. Jann, my very first reader, commenter, and blogging friend and I would meet when she and I and four other bloggers decided to rent a house on Vashon Island in Washington so we could meet in the flesh. We dubbed ourselves the Vashionistas, and Jann would joke about wondering which one of us would be the “ax murderer.” We did take a risk, I guess. None of us knew each other except through blogs before we met on Vashion. </div>
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These women, my Vashionistas, and I would meet more than once at Lavender Hill on Vashion Island. We would write, explore, share, laugh, eat, cook, and we created wonderful memories together. Some have stopped blogging; a few remain faithful blog writers. All represent to me the wonderful world of friendship that blogging opens up to all of us willing to send our words out into the world for others to read. They represent a very important chapter in my blogging life.</div>
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Blogging has changed so much in the past few years, and so have I.</div>
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I no longer think of myself as a retired English teacher, even though I am one. My journey through the last ten years has been one of loss, of heartbreak, of pain, of illness, of broken relationships, and it has also been one of great joy, of growth, of self-discovery. I have aged. I have slowed down. I dealt with heart issues, auto-immune issues, and hair loss. My faith has grown through this process in ways I never could have imagined. </div>
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I have a story to tell. It has been written over a lifetime of living one day at a time, and thankfully much of it has been recorded in diaries, letters, and notebooks. I hope to get it organized enough to leave a legacy of hope for my grandchildren. </div>
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For that reason, my blog will be taking a new direction. Yes, the time has come to retire Retired English Teacher. I have loved this space, this blog, for so many reasons, some of which I have recapped above, but just as the times have changed, so have I. I need a new focus. </div>
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I will be creating a new design and and new address for my blog. THAT IS SCARY! Writing down a goal makes it real, and that makes it scary to me because that means I must make strides towards reaching my new goal. </div>
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This is not good-bye. This is hello to something new. I hope you all will follow me as I continue on my journey of writing and blogging at a new address. </div>
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My husband I will be taking an extended vacation over the course of the next month. When I get back from that, I hope to get the work done to move on to creating my new blog address and blog name. </div>
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Thank you all, dear readers for your loyalty and support. I love you all. An announcement of where to find me next will be forthcoming. </div>
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Watch this space.</div>
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XO</div>
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Sally</div>
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Retired English Teacher</div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-65082375011313794952019-01-22T13:34:00.001-07:002019-01-22T13:34:48.689-07:00Are You Stuck? Or Do You Just Think You Are Stuck?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">A seed from a pine tree found itself eaten by a squirrel, or maybe a blue jay. The seed believed that this was a terrible way have its future ruined. Now, the seed, so full of potential, was stuck in the stomach of an animal or a bird. Soon, however, the seed was dispersed by the creature that ate the seed, and she found herself deposited in a crack in a huge rock.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">“Great.” The seed thought. “Now I am really stuck. I would like to have been dropped on tha<span class="textexposedshow">t beautiful valley floor below me. There I would have had room to plant myself, become established, and grow. Here I am stuck in this rock!”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">The seed had nowhere else to go. She was stuck where she was. She had no choice except to dig in a little deeper into the broken place around where she had found herself deposited in the rock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">Soon, she broke through her shell that surrounded her. From there, once her own shell was broken, she sprouted new growth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">Next, she put down some roots, and she grew upwards towards the sun.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">She now realized that she had not been stuck in this place, a hard and rocky place, that looked like a place where nothing could ever grow. She discovered she could grow where she was planted. In time, she grew into a beautiful pine tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">Passersby were amazed at her resilience. “How did that tree grow out of a rock?” they would ask as they walked by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-18105327670584759172019-01-19T11:12:00.000-07:002019-01-19T11:12:31.439-07:00Brainstorm Overload <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">BRAINSTORM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Too many days of brainstorming on too many topics have left me in a fog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">My body aches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">My body is in an inflammatory flare. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">My brain truly is in a fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Thursday, I saw one of my doctors, actually my doctor’s physician assistant, as a follow-up for health problems I don’t want to even think about, let alone discuss. I showed her my latest blood work, and I still see her face as she stared at my inflammatory markers. Yes, if she had been an emoticon, she’d have been the one with the great big eyes. Then, she composed herself and said, “We must get you into one of our rheumatologists.” “We need some more blood work. We need another _______ study for _______.” I walked out of her office with a fistful of papers for medical testing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I felt so grateful for her compassion and need to hear me and see me and for putting her best medical background to work to understand what is going on in my body. There is much hope that comes from finding a new partner in brainstorming about what is going on in my body. This body of mine that suffers from being attacked by autoimmune disease needs all the help it can get. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Brainstorming is where I live most days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I deal with a rare form of hair loss called Frontal Fribrosing Alopecia, so I am always brainstorming on ways to minimize, live with, afford the fixes for this devastating and disfiguring disease that has robbed me of my hair, my identity, my health.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">One autoimmune disease leads to another. It seems my body is out to acquire more than autoimmune diseases than it already has.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Brainstorming on ways to deal with health problems, healthier living, family problems, and life in general always seems to be going on around here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Who has time or energy for brainstorming about writing? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I brainstorm on ways to cope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I pray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I read my Bible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I write “to do” lists. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I brainstorm until my brain says, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">No more storms in the brain. Take a break.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Breaks are good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The fog will lift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The sun always comes through when one is in a storm, in a fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I will feel better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have to let the brainstorming go for a bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">My brain needs a rest, so does my body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-45292185174904920922019-01-18T09:26:00.000-07:002019-01-18T15:42:31.074-07:00Editing ~ What to Keep. What to Let Go.<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">EDIT <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A few weeks ago, I met a woman whom had been recently diagnosed with with the same rare autoimmune condition which I have. She said she was making herself crazy by “<i>editing</i>everything out of her life.” Everything in her life became a suspect. Could this food, shampoo, lotion, or make-up have triggered an inflammatory response? Could this person, activity, thought pattern have caused the stress in her life that triggered inflammation? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was struck by her use of the word <i>edit </i>as she described her response to a recent life altering diagnosis<i>. Edit </i>is a word that I associate with writers, teachers, English majors, editors. It is not a word I associate with the general public, and yet it seems that in these times, so many in my circle of friends, family, and acquaintances are working on <i>editing </i>something of the other out of our of living experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Everyone seems to be <i>tidying up. </i>Instagram and Facebook are filled with photos of folks cleaning out closets, or they post photos of newly folded clothes. It seems this act of <i>editing</i>unwanted or unloved “stuff” out of our lives is the new thing to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>In writing, and in life, the question is often created in our minds: What do I keep, and what do I let go? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Could it be that before we can become good writers, we must learn the art of letting go, or <i>editing</i>, all that impedes our ability to write? Writing requires good <i>editing, </i>but perhaps before we even begin to write, we must <i>edit </i>all that gets in the way of writing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Henry David Thoreau said, “Our life is frittered away by detail…simplify, simplify.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Are you working on editing something out of your life right now? If so what? Why did you decided you needed to make this change?</span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-45986208714295177422019-01-15T10:05:00.002-07:002019-01-15T10:08:54.718-07:00Morning ~ A Reflection <h4 style="text-align: center;">
Morning</h4>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;"> That song, an old hymn made popular in the 70’s, is running through my mind, “Morning is Breaking.” <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">We do not often think of the words morning and breaking together, and yet the two do belong together. The sun comes up at dawn to create a division, a split, between two very different parts of the twenty-four hours each of us are given. We go from darkness to light in dramatic fashion at daybreak.<o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">This break, the division between darkness and daylight, speaks of the hope, the promise, the freshness that is ours each new day.<o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">The painting that I have included in this post is called “Dancing with Dawn.” I purchased this painting as a retirement gift to myself. Looking forward to all the days where I hoped to sleep in, I jokingly said this would be the only depiction of dawn that I would see after I retired. <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">There were those mornings where I leisurely read my newspapers while I sipped my coffee, or I frittered away the morning by scrolling through Facebook, or Instagram, or I read blogs. Then the morning would be gone, and I would feel as if the day were wasted. <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">Mornings are a gift not to be wasted. I think of the artist that created this glorious rendition of daybreak. He did not fritter away the morning. He had to have gotten up very early to go to this spot, a spot I know well, to set up his easel in preparation for painting. His time of creating a thing of beauty was best done in light of early morning. The name of the painting denotes how he approached morning. He said he was dancing with dawn. <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">The two artists I am thinking of today, the writer of the hymn “Morning is Breaking,” and the painter of my “Dancing with Dawn,” both saw morning as a time to be fully awake, a time not to be missed, a time to create. <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;"> Each morning is a first. It is a time of newness. There is a break between the old things of yesterday, and newness of the day before us each morning. Each morning brings us a reminder that God’s mercies are new every morning. <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;">There a sense of the holiness of each new day when one arises early in the morning to see the day break. As the song says, mornings are “God’s re-creation of the first day.” <o:p></o:p></span></sub></div>
Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-92048881766073313802019-01-14T10:46:00.000-07:002019-01-14T15:11:49.430-07:00Hibernation<br />
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Hibernation</h4>
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The sky is blue.</div>
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The snow is melting.</div>
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The paper whites are fading.</div>
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Winter.</div>
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Is is it over?</div>
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Colorado,</div>
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you confuse me at times.</div>
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The view from my window says come outside and play in the sun.</div>
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Are brumal days and nights over?</div>
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Is Mama Bear being tempted on this fine winter morning to emerge from her hibernaculum?</div>
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Her secret winter home,</div>
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dug within the hillside</div>
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covered with majestic Ponderosa pines</div>
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that I see outside my window,</div>
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may also be heating up in this weather.</div>
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Will she be out today?</div>
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Or will she, </div>
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like I,</div>
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prefer to stay tucked inside a cozy den </div>
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where one does not have to deal with the vicissitudes of weather and life?</div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-2226198398882462572018-12-29T19:57:00.002-07:002018-12-29T19:57:47.430-07:00Christmas 2018 ~ Part 1My husband just sent me a text from work letting me know that he has lunch from 1:00 to 2:00 today if I’d like to join him. I wrote the following back: “Ok. Thanks. I think I will spend the day at home catching up on myself and life in general. I may blog. I may write. I just need some down time to process the past month. I love you.” And so, that is what I am doing. I am blogging, writing, and processing. I am deconstructing Christmas in my mind before I tackle the deconstruction of the trappings of Christmas in the house. <br />
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If I don’t take the time to process events and interactions I have had, I begin to lose the importance of the time I took to participate in such encounters. Capturing snapshots in my mind of times I hope to carry in my mind’s memory bank are best done when I take the time to reflect.<br />
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Last night, I attended a party at a neighbor’s home. Jim was working, so I went alone to the party. I only knew the hostess and her husband and one other couple, but I had the opportunity to engage in wonderful conversation with new acquaintances. It is good to meet new people and to have the opportunity to mingle with others and hear their stories about life.<br />
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As I left the party and stepped outside the door, I was struck by the beauty of the world around me. Honestly, I felt as if I were either entering into a fantasy Christmas card photo, or life size snow globe.<br />
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Tiny glitter size snow flakes filled the air and covered the ground. Colored lights wound over the stair railing lit my way as I made my way down the path towards my car. I took a moment to take in the silent beauty of that corner of my neighborhood: tall ponderosa pines stood sentinel like along the perimeters of our little village where I live, soft flickering light from candles in windows of nearby houses spoke of warmth and comfort that could be found within the walls of those homes, and icicles made of lights that hung from the eaves of the home across the road seemed to have been perfectly placed to create a quintessential Christmas village scene. Such beauty. Such peace. I drank it all in as I walked to my car to head home. <br />
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Those moments of quiet when one sees perfect Christmas card like scenes are best captured in the mind. Perhaps, in our setting up of the trappings of Christmas, we hope to create those perfect settings for ourselves and our families and friends, but let’s face it, life, even at Christmas, is not perfect, nor are we, nor are our families, nor are our friends, yet, we do hope for peace and good will at Christmas, and we also hope for a bit jolly good fun too. <br />
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Here is a photo recap of some of the family time I enjoyed as we headed into Christmas.<br />
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My daughter Keicha and granddaughter Gillian made a special Christmastime visit to Colorado on December 20th. I met the girls at the <a href="https://mollybrown.org/" target="_blank">Molly Brown House</a> in Denver. This visit fulfilled a long-held desire we have had to visit this museum. <br />
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As a young girl, I lived in Leadville, Colorado, during the time that the movie<i> The Unsinkable Molly Brown </i>hit the box office. My roots run deep in the same place where Molly and J.J. Brown made their fortune. While I often have roamed the hills around the Little Johnny Mine in Leadville, and while I have read much about Molly Brown, somehow I had never visited her home in Denver. This visit was a Christmas gift to my daughter, granddaughter and myself. <br />
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From there, the three of us made our way over <a href="https://www.brownpalace.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">The Brown Palace</span></a> for lunch. We had hoped to have tea there, but reservations for tea this time of year must be made nearly a year in advance. Maybe next year we will make the tea. The Brown is one of my favorite places in Colorado, so I was excited to have lunch there with my girls. Daughter Amy worked across the street from the hotel and ran over for a quick visit while we had lunch. We made a short self-guided tour of the hotel after lunch.<br />
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I’d never seen the chandelier in the lobby done up for Christmas before. It truly took my breath away when I saw it. All I could do was stare and say, “Wow.” <br />
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Gillian helped me with a few tips on using the iPhone to capture a photo of the chandelier so that I might attempt to give the grandeur of it all a bit of justice. I love all the details found in the architecture throughout the building of this grand old hotel.<br />
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The next day, Keicha, Gillian, and I took a wreath to the cemetery to place on Julie’s grave. There was a recently placed poinsettia on the gravesite. It appeared to have been placed around Thanksgiving. I am always so grateful when I see that others have not forgotten my dear daughter and placed flowers on her grave. I always wonder who it was that visited. My father’s resting place in the row above where Julie’s grave is located. <br />
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That evening, the family gathered at my son Jonathan’s and his wife Samantha’s home for a Yule log party. It is the first Christmas in nearly a decade and a half that my son and family have lived in Colorado, so we have spent few Christmas Seasons together. <br />
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The host and hostess were most gracious in their hospitality even though we were nearly an hour late to the party as we were out shopping for last minute presents and groceries. <br />
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Leon, my youngest grandchild, helped in the cutting and serving of the Yule log by watching his father make that first cut for the first slice of cake. <br />
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I still can barely believe I have this beautiful boy in my life. What a joy he is. Seeing Christmas through the eyes of a toddler is such a blessing. <br />
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After the Yule party, it was the plan that the family would go to the zoo and see the lights and then visit the Broadmoor Hotel to see the gingerbread house. Communication wires were scrambled, the crowds were overwhelming, and parking was an issue, so some of us went to the zoo and others went to the Broadmoor. I ended up at the Broadmoor where I met daughter Amy and her family. <br />
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Quite honestly, there were so many people at the hotel that I must admit that I never walked over the gingerbread house. I had seen it a few weeks before when my friend and I visited the Broadmoor at a time when there were no crowd. <br />
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This spectacular gingerbread house is a replica of the <a href="https://www.broadmoor.com/" target="_blank">Broadmoor Hotel</a> that was created by the pastry staff to commemorate the 100th Anniversary of the hotel. It is a fascinating work of art that is made of gingerbread, candy, pastries, frosting, and other baked goods. <br />
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It just so happened that our visit to the hotel was on the night of the Winter Solstice. I don’t know when I’ve ever been walking around the hotel lake on a more beautiful evening, and over the past seventy years of my life, I have walked around that lake many a time. I wish I could have captured the beauty of the moonlit sky and the Christmas lights better, but I did manage to get one pretty good shot with my iPhone.<br />
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The Family Party at Mom’s</h4>
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Since the days when my children were quite young, there have few Christmas celebrations where I have had all of my children in one place. I am grateful for every time we manage to somehow celebrate the occasion as a family. This year, three of my children and their children were able to gather at my home just before Christmas Day.</div>
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An extra table was set up for the kiddos whom have somehow suddenly become adults,</div>
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while the “ older adults” sat together at the dining room table. My cousin and her husband joined us for dinner, but Jim had to work and missed the party.</div>
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The grandkids washed up the dishes.</div>
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Family shared stories and laughter.<br />
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A family photo of the kids was taken by mom (me).<br />
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Another photo was taken to include me. <br />
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I kept thinking I should have gotten out my real camera that has a tripod and a timer so we could take a proper family portrait, but I never did.<br />
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The paperwhites were a hit - NOT. While they were beautiful, the smell was overwhelming and the family begged me to get rid of them. Sam had a cold and insisted she could not smell anything. Jon brought the flowers up to her and said, “Now can you smell them?” <br />
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This one, my precious Leon, played happily on the floor with his toys before presents were opened.<br />
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Christmas traditions mean nothing to him yet. Just give him a few years to get the hang of it all.<br />
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He was assigned the task of passing out a few gifts but was more interested in the bows on the packages and began taking them all off and ended up putting them on his head.<br />
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Grandma Sally gave Leon a John Deere set. He loved it! And, I loved that he loved it.<br />
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As I reflect on this year’s Christmas at our house, I think we had a bit of all that goes into a family Christmas. Family fellowship, laughter, food, and fun were in abundance while drama was hopefully kept to a minimum.<br />
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I know that what I will most remember is the unspoiled joy of a child opening up a gift meant just for him when he really had no idea that Christmas means that gifts are given and received. He seemed surprised by the idea that such a wondrous thing as a set of new vehicles could be found inside that box covered with paper and bows. <br />
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His gift received all of his undivided attention. <br />
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He wanted nothing more than to discover the wonder of such a gift.<br />
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Oh that we all could see the wonders of Christmas through the eyes of a child. <br />
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-88462651355879631632018-12-06T21:01:00.000-07:002018-12-06T21:05:26.522-07:00Thoughts on The First Week of Advent ~ Thoughts on Hope<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hope<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">How does hope survive during days of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">broken </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">promises,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken dreams,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken lives?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">How does hope survive when all we see are<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">How do we hope to survive when we are the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken ones?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When we are the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In our brokenness,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">we promise ourselves that we will <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">do better, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">be better, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">make things better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We never do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We never can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We are broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">How can we make things better?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We hear the promises of others when they say they will<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">do better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">be better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">make things better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We hope for better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">health,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">friendships,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">relationships,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">family dynamics,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">places to live,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">jobs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">grades,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">educational opportunities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We hope for better outcomes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">in encounters with others,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">in sports events,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">medical tests,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">test scores in the classroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We long for things to be as they should be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We hope that one whom<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">upsets us, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">disappoints us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">ignores us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">won’t speak to us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">lies to us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">steals from us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">uses us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">hurts us,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">will see the error of his or her ways<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> and <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">do better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">be better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">make things better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Oh, hope can seem like such an empty word when promises are broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We want to scream to the promise breaker,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“That promise you made to me was broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Do I even dare to trust you again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">You broke my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">You broke my trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">You have left me broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We ask ourselves, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“How can I even begin to fix a broken dream?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We ask others,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> the ones whom have shattered our hearts, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken our trust,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“How do you plan to fix my heart, the one you shattered?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“How will you fix the trust you have broken?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dreams have a quality about them that deems them unbreakable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Who would ever dream of broken dreams?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When one dreams, one dreams that the dream will never be broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Broken dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Broken lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We pass them on the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We see broken lives with outstretched hands as we walk pass them on the street<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">where they stand on street corners,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">with signs that say,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Hungry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Anything helps.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Broken people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">They sit with me at the Thanksgiving table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> They call me on the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">They are my people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I am one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I too am broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I am also a fixer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I want to fix every broken thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I do not want to toss anything aside that I think can be fixed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I want every relationship to be fixed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I want every heart to be mended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I want every heart repaired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I can fix nothing because<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">too<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">am <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Where does this leave me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Where do I go from here?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Like David, I cry out,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkONq7MmuL8d0ewnWogXuirvU0kanzsyW6d_gOrCoE65mCxkNGmJkIz94Ob8N4VNkjiBwOKh54o8MFURmpe84GmU6NGr43e_ChNAe7r8Q2lvP_IJ6tES-_w3mz4wP-Y7ZWl3ZAfEkQaeR/s1600/DSC_0307.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1150" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkONq7MmuL8d0ewnWogXuirvU0kanzsyW6d_gOrCoE65mCxkNGmJkIz94Ob8N4VNkjiBwOKh54o8MFURmpe84GmU6NGr43e_ChNAe7r8Q2lvP_IJ6tES-_w3mz4wP-Y7ZWl3ZAfEkQaeR/s400/DSC_0307.jpeg" width="287" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I am filled with longing for all things to be made right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I can’t make things right for myself or for others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I need a redeemer,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A savior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> I don’t want to lose hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hope, it cannot be placed in me or in others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I am hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I can’t be the one in whom you place your hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I too am broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">None of us can<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">do better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">be better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">make things better,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">because all of us are broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Where is that Rock whom is higher than I?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Where is the anchor for <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">my life,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">my soul?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdb9UWM5X03x2vE49TbKV7Sq3GKUy6tt4VPCiW4YLlJwmpkNst0iNV_9Y8oU12ZHP7SlJabvN4ErCh_E9BSUimNdxOJBRmzgq3LOFMgh_JZXh-ioZ4lsgRahefDHywHlX-mxTstmkuvjTY/s1600/DSC_0533.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="804" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdb9UWM5X03x2vE49TbKV7Sq3GKUy6tt4VPCiW4YLlJwmpkNst0iNV_9Y8oU12ZHP7SlJabvN4ErCh_E9BSUimNdxOJBRmzgq3LOFMgh_JZXh-ioZ4lsgRahefDHywHlX-mxTstmkuvjTY/s640/DSC_0533.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">To that Rock I want to cling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Without that Rock,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I too would be like those of old,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">those whom passed through the land distressed and hungry,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">and when they were hungry, they were enraged and spoke contemptuously against their king and their God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">They looked to the earth, but all they saw was distress, darkness and gloom of anguish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">They were thrust into thick darkness.*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">There was no hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">There is no hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The longing for hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The longing for One higher than I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The longing for a Rock to which I can cling is the longing of our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We groan inwardly with all creation waiting for redemption. **<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We long for hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">We long for Advent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Advent is now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">It is upon us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">On the first Sunday of Advent we are given hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">“The people who walked in darkness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Have seen a great light;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Those who dwelt in deep darkness,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">On them has light shone. ***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jesus,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The child is born,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The son is given to us. ****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He, this child, is our hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In my brokenness,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">my longing for all things to be made right,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">in my longing <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">for healing of <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">bodies,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">minds,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">relationships,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I know of no other<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Healer,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Restorer,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Giver of Peace,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Except the One called<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. *****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDUmmW3RDRrc_fXpYodJReprm0QX54ymPZq8FR1eIdYFECaip5GSvIbm4J6bfzC3pJ8G2tE-HAkyOMmHwHlFKDL1JY8wkkYZ2Gben3UjHO3x1zVkyJXKA4GbYAqyBRXji_DVaBmUIDLbM/s1600/DSC_0560.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="866" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDUmmW3RDRrc_fXpYodJReprm0QX54ymPZq8FR1eIdYFECaip5GSvIbm4J6bfzC3pJ8G2tE-HAkyOMmHwHlFKDL1JY8wkkYZ2Gben3UjHO3x1zVkyJXKA4GbYAqyBRXji_DVaBmUIDLbM/s400/DSC_0560.jpeg" width="216" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jesus,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Word made flesh dwelt among us. ******<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He restores our hope and renews our hearts and minds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He binds up our wounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I hope in Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He is my hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He is the Rock higher than I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I will look to Him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I will hold fast to my confession of hope without wavering,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">For he who promised is faithful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">In this season I don’t want to miss the greatest gift of all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He is my hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I don’t have to hope in others, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">in dreams, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">in hopes that I have created in my own mind, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">that I hope to achieve in my own strength.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have the hope the world long awaited,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The longing of every broken heart,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Yes, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He alone is my hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">*Isaiah 8:21-22<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">***Isaiah 9:2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">****Isaiah 9:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">*****Isaiah 9:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">******John 1:14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-79739910801997756842018-11-29T19:48:00.000-07:002018-11-29T21:07:48.210-07:00Seasonal Thoughts and Thanksgivings<div style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The seasons collide in the fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Halloween gives way to Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Thanksgiving bumps up against Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">November,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">I’m not done with you yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">I need to hang on the last vestiges of <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">fall and the Thanksgiving season<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;"> before I am hurled into the rush and bustle <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">of December and Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">*************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">My son called early in October and asked us to come out and spend Thanksgiving with them in Utah. I took him up on the offer. They have a new home we had not yet seen, so we were excited to spend the inaugural Thanksgiving with them making new memories in their new home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Jim and I flew out to Salt Lake City, Utah, and my son Ryan picked us up at the airport. We ran around town with him while he did Thanksgiving preparation errands, and he gave us a grand tour of his new neighborhood. I so seldom get to spend alone time with my son, that I couldn’t help but comment how wonderful it was just to be driving around town with him while we chatted. He always makes the best of times even better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: medium;">Fall is the perfect season to capture the beauty of my son and daughter-in-law’s new home. A branch adorned with golden leaves formed a perfect frame for this classic craftsman style home. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtvtYorCcy0fQdfd3hJVz8hTSKoS5JxPUWdsoktKPiFzLRT-ncopbtRlds2_9l3dBgDART_AeB2-hcC83e3GsUPojDurKPYguWyIolOql_tO6gIs8ismAzorb3bvdE5DtdBbQkDtILSSi/s1600/IMG_0013.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtvtYorCcy0fQdfd3hJVz8hTSKoS5JxPUWdsoktKPiFzLRT-ncopbtRlds2_9l3dBgDART_AeB2-hcC83e3GsUPojDurKPYguWyIolOql_tO6gIs8ismAzorb3bvdE5DtdBbQkDtILSSi/s400/IMG_0013.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">I love the neighborhood where my son and his wife now live. On a small porch at the corner house down the street from them, two college age guys dressed in wool coats and wool caps were sitting in lawn chairs listening to classical music and smoking cigars as they played chess. I said to my son, “I love where you live. It seems so civilized.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Jim and Ryan led the way as we walked past houses still adorned with fall decor and headed to our home away from home to spend a quiet evening together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: medium;">Our airbnb, which was just a block and a half from my son’s home, was so nice. We really enjoyed the experience of staying in this home and in this neighborhood. I kept telling my husband I was ready to move. I loved the area around Sugarhouse in Salt Lake City. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">This was just one of the cool houses between our house (home away from home) and son Ryan’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The next morning Jim and I walked back to Ryan and Sheridan's house and the four of us and Sheridan’s two boys headed out for the mile and a half walk to get breakfast at the best bakery ever. I had their steel cut oats with fruit. Seldom does one rave about steel cut oats, but I raved about theirs. Oh, and I had part of an orange cinnamon roll too. I wasn’t going to pass that up. I fear we would visit this place on daily walks if we lived nearby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">There are shops all around the bakery. Across the street is a wonderful bookstore called The King’s English. We visited it on the day after Thanksgiving. All of this makes the neighborhood a desired location for living a life where shopping, and restaurants, and grocery stores are just a short walk or bike ride away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The door to our apartment...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">leaves on the ground, they all became subjects for me to photograph. On this beautiful fall day, I so loved the experience of walking around taking in the sights found in a neighborhood filled with architectural delights. It was just what my soul needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">At home, fall had left us during a blistery and wet storm weeks before Thanksgiving. I had not been able to revel in the glory of fall and give her a proper farewell at home, so these last days of November in Utah were a special blessing to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Thanksgiving Eve, Jim and I walked over to my son’s house to participate in food preparation (ok, I watched while they worked) and to await the arrival of Amy and Jewett whom were driving from Colorado, and the arrival of grandson Bridger whom was coming down from Logan, Utah, where he attends Utah State. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPqb6kLdy4Do4zWlBEjc8z-5OfY51z9Mwk_8-zGsUgfZ3j_IQyRxqFrFfNFy5JgVpsSfjJ0hLbafVheuFI_usanJyLVoj0CJInBFnBEwPWbiM5c4dbPa1-0cxMndctCgx8M4N8H_K9ELA/s1600/Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPqb6kLdy4Do4zWlBEjc8z-5OfY51z9Mwk_8-zGsUgfZ3j_IQyRxqFrFfNFy5JgVpsSfjJ0hLbafVheuFI_usanJyLVoj0CJInBFnBEwPWbiM5c4dbPa1-0cxMndctCgx8M4N8H_K9ELA/s400/Moon.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The beauty of the day continued. I wish I could have captured the full effect of the moon at dusk, but this photo does give you an idea of how beautiful the evening was as we headed into my favorite holiday of the year: Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">We were worried about the travelers as a huge wreck had closed down the highway, but daughter and her love arrived safe and sound at a much later time than anticipated. Thank heavens for cell phones and Google maps. Bridger also arrived safe and sound from his drive down from Logan. I was struck by how thrilled we were when Bridger arrived. Does everyone always shout with joy when he enters a room? I think so. He is such a special kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The bounty for the planned feast was plentiful. I was struck by the beauty of the preparation of the meal itself. Part of Thanksgiving is the anticipation of what is about to transpire as family comes together. There is so much work in preparing the feast for a family the size of ours. I so appreciate all that Ryan and Sheridan did to make the occasion perfect. Thank you, Ryan and Sheridan!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9wTGPMymHkNe7bAJg0lC5YSQmfVfXAk5uRYC3LXZe4qGLxfXkUqpVjTgEVkLzmPYjzTmkcG_zqcfV-ta58T2KjCYvUKHbzP4PItnVefls244gQqJ-tL1vhrX3RE0vWNwnbCGmvooW9ua/s1600/harvest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="1600" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9wTGPMymHkNe7bAJg0lC5YSQmfVfXAk5uRYC3LXZe4qGLxfXkUqpVjTgEVkLzmPYjzTmkcG_zqcfV-ta58T2KjCYvUKHbzP4PItnVefls244gQqJ-tL1vhrX3RE0vWNwnbCGmvooW9ua/s640/harvest.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">While my family is large, the gathering itself was a bit smaller this year. Ryan’s two older children, Regan and Parker, are living and working in Montana where they will be attending college, so they did not come home for Thanksgiving. Amy and Jewett came from Colorado, but Amy’s two children stayed home with their father and had Thanksgiving with their other grandmother, and Samantha and Jonathan and their two children had been in Paris, France, the week before Thanksgiving and they were flying home to Colorado on Thanksgiving Day. As with most large families, we are scattered all over. That is why being together whenever possible is so special.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Thanksgiving morning, the house had been transformed in order to accommodate the expected guests. (Don’t you love Ryan and Sheridan’s home???)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bQymhCX65uFyLgo2Zp9GQbO4RyycHi0venBYAFSqIUZzqqUZciurGnOyadp-F-WlbwrRM_xPBw3AiRj0EVm9CKxaE5isA-k5Aw-tMs0iUbtxcXVxRua-ltdlYd6hVXjrRSHgmhoBn7LI/s1600/House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bQymhCX65uFyLgo2Zp9GQbO4RyycHi0venBYAFSqIUZzqqUZciurGnOyadp-F-WlbwrRM_xPBw3AiRj0EVm9CKxaE5isA-k5Aw-tMs0iUbtxcXVxRua-ltdlYd6hVXjrRSHgmhoBn7LI/s640/House.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The guests arrived, photos were taken,and soon we were ready to eat the scrumptious meal provided by our hosts. Really, they out did themselves. Everything was perfect!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "ms mincho"; font-size: 14pt;">Photos were taken,</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixt5dXWzD0qx3MKOqvrJ0wxNTFnY2p68o6UIcX2pqyIz57wWGaKrptpJpNE6tb7masBPujNt_REDfeVoKGVid6xSi5Xuepq831zsasOuMjmmwpy9dwfQx74FeVeTkkiEqNXeE0-MPKbT4v/s1600/K+%2526+G.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixt5dXWzD0qx3MKOqvrJ0wxNTFnY2p68o6UIcX2pqyIz57wWGaKrptpJpNE6tb7masBPujNt_REDfeVoKGVid6xSi5Xuepq831zsasOuMjmmwpy9dwfQx74FeVeTkkiEqNXeE0-MPKbT4v/s400/K+%2526+G.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughter Keicha with her daughter Gillian</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6hmmAoP6jzNiCVjB3GzpmOdLgmfBRXeMNtVdT9Qr1t5K7cvCf3-opbC2Z7626BnOltle7ErwGVOHQPBycYioucISR5sv2kjgofiPVXzMe13zCYYqQFYW_2b9E32QlfGqiVOc215GYQIZ/s1600/A+%2526+J.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1422" data-original-width="1600" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6hmmAoP6jzNiCVjB3GzpmOdLgmfBRXeMNtVdT9Qr1t5K7cvCf3-opbC2Z7626BnOltle7ErwGVOHQPBycYioucISR5sv2kjgofiPVXzMe13zCYYqQFYW_2b9E32QlfGqiVOc215GYQIZ/s400/A+%2526+J.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy & Jewett</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwJquHVew_Y_yCx5lmaQ6AyN8dBqcjKAZAmde2ASOjjipU0vuGUe5Bu_L8kYdP1lFiaF08ot82Yb2d7CB_bVQIiWAxde2f_ZnrC-WyWwJYYWkEG46HoGS9bZE3X791CVxv1jYBK6PL4BM/s1600/Me+%2526+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwJquHVew_Y_yCx5lmaQ6AyN8dBqcjKAZAmde2ASOjjipU0vuGUe5Bu_L8kYdP1lFiaF08ot82Yb2d7CB_bVQIiWAxde2f_ZnrC-WyWwJYYWkEG46HoGS9bZE3X791CVxv1jYBK6PL4BM/s400/Me+%2526+girls.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My girls on either side of me<br />
Keicha, Sally, Amy</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">the turkey was taken from the oven and carved,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVD7HDyu-o4JIfum-MN-J64jCiFCInH2XO67JQIei-osnACquV_Dn218iWq761hmfrv-_Fy1IvK9LSTixudE9V5SzKMcNx5ipmX12f5R42u-e2Ck0OFYg5m56Pi9zKnWbJGDo9_1H5R90j/s1600/IMG_0093.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVD7HDyu-o4JIfum-MN-J64jCiFCInH2XO67JQIei-osnACquV_Dn218iWq761hmfrv-_Fy1IvK9LSTixudE9V5SzKMcNx5ipmX12f5R42u-e2Ck0OFYg5m56Pi9zKnWbJGDo9_1H5R90j/s640/IMG_0093.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">the lentil loaf prepared for and by Sheridan for the vegetarians in the group was also taken from the oven,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAqOt6YvkABMb_rUnIoGarsljk_yS61anNXG7KZBdg4DLy2cOjr0wIOkzn1DO86rukUxYF_7y4tnPkeNnV0o95nJkM9SAseHOojS_zYI1zYX04MaDQEPfMDO2iSXvtsTuINxbeopJShW-/s1600/IMG_0102.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAqOt6YvkABMb_rUnIoGarsljk_yS61anNXG7KZBdg4DLy2cOjr0wIOkzn1DO86rukUxYF_7y4tnPkeNnV0o95nJkM9SAseHOojS_zYI1zYX04MaDQEPfMDO2iSXvtsTuINxbeopJShW-/s320/IMG_0102.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">the food was placed on the beautiful tables, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OqVLixE2rMKximYoG3YT3KfSXiHaiIRd3w18RNeMv5m5ZX8bYZdswazaXkg64jxYKEQ6RQeZqnfsp62jbTRz7QP2wff9najL2F04nC_pvVhFd0k9g3KUXgvj7ycMapSEKVBaWDlFLs_h/s1600/Tables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OqVLixE2rMKximYoG3YT3KfSXiHaiIRd3w18RNeMv5m5ZX8bYZdswazaXkg64jxYKEQ6RQeZqnfsp62jbTRz7QP2wff9najL2F04nC_pvVhFd0k9g3KUXgvj7ycMapSEKVBaWDlFLs_h/s640/Tables.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Holidays bring with them memories both happy and sad. Often, we are reminded of those no longer with us. Sheridan was my daughter Julie's dear friend, and it was at Julie's memorial service where my son Ryan met our lovely Sheridan. Blessings come from loss. I'm so grateful for the family that was created because of a lasting and long friendship between Julie and Sheridan. Julie's ashes are on the mantle and the empty chair reminds us of the one we miss and wish were with us to share in this joyous day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The empty chair reminds me that Julie would not be in it even if she were with us. She had way too much energy for that. She would be cooking and cleaning and arranging, and laughing, and joking, and loving on her nieces and nephews. I miss her arm on my shoulder as she would have stood beside me in a photo of me and my daughters, but her spirit is with us. I rejoice that we as a family remain strong and together and so appreciative of fall days at the end of November when we gather together to give thanks for all of our many blessings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">There was more! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">In the evening we followed the tradition started long ago by Sheridan's wonderful dad by playing a spirited and competitive game of bingo. The prizes were both great and not so great. That is part of the fun. Bingo and Thanksgiving pie now go together in my mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "ms mincho"; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcPw4UhktdEul1Qq8OkWyLPhjwtVCgiKe9JE3O6RfpN_ifLcoNuH_MGLSH8Zsz_DhdJZqeOH4C9v7UJzQ_EXViGNzXY3olNmiOYtbeITXhz9R-p6Skm7wWyAhczavN7C5W6xObEOkwQAb/s1600/bingo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcPw4UhktdEul1Qq8OkWyLPhjwtVCgiKe9JE3O6RfpN_ifLcoNuH_MGLSH8Zsz_DhdJZqeOH4C9v7UJzQ_EXViGNzXY3olNmiOYtbeITXhz9R-p6Skm7wWyAhczavN7C5W6xObEOkwQAb/s640/bingo.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;"> I love this tradition of more guests arriving in the evening with pies and gifts. Sheridan's sister and her family and her mom and dad and another couple whom are good friends came to the house to play bingo after their own Thanksgiving dinners. There was barely room to move around. Jim was schooled on how to be the Bingo game caller, and we ended the day by playing Bingo which led to much fun and a lot of laughter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "ms mincho"; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66C4Yshd5w9-27KOmRshoSJrIt7pE72A4YwGhSeP89k928mtlEdZHu9t1HMKiXWZv0crLrMFNhuWiBCVfijQWSj-7Wj-CUjoH7k6ipjoHPqJvJ8rqDRQO0pmHFGXEQH11b-lyBFu8dStG/s1600/IMG_0117.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66C4Yshd5w9-27KOmRshoSJrIt7pE72A4YwGhSeP89k928mtlEdZHu9t1HMKiXWZv0crLrMFNhuWiBCVfijQWSj-7Wj-CUjoH7k6ipjoHPqJvJ8rqDRQO0pmHFGXEQH11b-lyBFu8dStG/s400/IMG_0117.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">The memories of Thanksgiving 2018 are stored away in that place were all that is wonderful about this holiday live. I am so very blessed with such a dear and wonderful family. My children are so supportive of me and of each other. I do not take that gift of family unity lightly. Our bonds are strong and our devotion to each other is firm. That is one hope I have always had for myself and and my children: that we would celebrate and embrace the uniqueness that each of us bring to our family bond and they would seek to always build and affirm that bond and devotion to each other. I'm so very grateful that again I witnessed and partook in the fellowship of a family devoted to each other. My heart is full.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Perhaps, Thanksgiving comes at the perfect time of year because just as fall leaves us, we are given the chance to embrace her beauty one last time as we gather to spend a day giving thanks while eating delicious food with those we love best. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Thanksgiving 2018, I needed you to be just as you were. Now, I can let November days give way to the hustle and bustle that comes in December. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-46076846755307464562018-11-14T21:48:00.001-07:002018-11-15T08:53:50.798-07:00Do You Need A Body Reset? <div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Imagine getting the following text from one of your friends</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">How do you reset your body back to its original factory settings?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">Is it kale?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">It’s kale isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">Please don’t say it is kale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">As you read the text, you can almost feel the writer’s desperation.<span> </span>She wants four things:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">She wants to reset her body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">She does not want to eat kale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">She doesn’t want to eat (or do) what she doesn’t like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">She wants a simple fix that involves just one ingredient.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We’ve all been there, haven’t we?<span> </span>I know I have.<span> </span>Tell me I’m not alone.<span> </span>There have been times in my life when I desperately needed something that would reset my body so that I could feel like my body was being sent in for an overhaul.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">At those times, if kale were the answer to “reset my body back to its factory settings,” I’d eat kale for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.<span> </span>Or would I?<span> </span>I might for a few days; then, I’d become bored with eating all that kale and probably be on to next magic bullet.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">In truth, there have been times in my life, when I could have written such a text because my body was so out of balance that my mind and spirit followed the same downward spiral to the point where I probably would have tried any crazy fix just to feel better.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">For instance, in February of this year, my husband and I traveled to Sedona, Arizona, to celebrate my birthday.<span> </span>As we left home, I knew I should probably cancel the trip because of the pain I was experiencing in my gastrointestinal tract that came on with a vengeance seemingly out of nowhere.<span> </span>This was not a new phenomenon for me, as I suffer from chronic IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome).<span> </span>When the symptoms hit last February, I decided to ignore them as I was determined to make the long planned trip.<span> </span>So off we went from our home in Colorado and headed south to New Mexico.<span> </span>We planned to spend our first night in Albuquerque, New Mexico which was the halfway point to our destination.<span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">When in New Mexico, what does one eat?<span> </span>One eats spicy Mexican food of course.<span> </span>That was not a good plan for me, but I threw caution to the wind and ate yummy, fatty, and very spicy food.<span> </span>As I ate, I tried to convince myself that it really would not matter what I ate.<span> </span><span> </span>(I was wrong about that!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The next day was my birthday.<span> </span>We arrived at our destination and found a nice restaurant for dinner.<span> </span>My birthday was duly celebrated with some rich entrée, wine, and a decadent dessert.<span> </span>Just what I needed to make my poor tummy all the more upset.<span> </span>It was my birthday, and the stubborn self was going to celebrate it in style.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Do you ever do that?<span> </span>Or better yet, the question should be asked, WHO does that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The next day, we visited the Grand Canyon for the first time.<span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span> </span>I was in terrible shape.<span> </span>Pain from a full-blown IBS attack and exhaustion from the pain were making me miserable, but I kept on going.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">As we visited the rim of the Grand Canyon, we visited a visitor’s center to learn more about this marvel of nature.<span> </span><span> </span>The explanation of how that vast canyon was created rang true to me as I felt that I too was on the verge of collapse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The layered rocks of the Grand Canyon include hard resistant layers and soft crumbly layers.<span> </span>Softer layers erode faster, undercutting the harder layers above them.<span> </span>The hard layers become unstable overhangs that eventually collapse.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hard resistant layers?<span> </span>That would be me at that moment.<span> </span>I was not wanting to admit that:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">b.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">It probably would be best to rest and not follow the previously determined schedule.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">c.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I should make wise food choices when I know that my system can’t handle some of the food I really like to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">d.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I was in denial.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">e.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">All would not be well if I just carried on as usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Soft crumbly layers? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">That would be the body where I now live. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">b.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">My sensitive gastrointestinal system is fragile, and no amount of hard exterior is going to change its sensitivities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">While the crumbling layers of rock that formed the Grand Canyon created a natural wonder, after the third day of this trip to the Grand Canyon and Sedona area, I knew that if some changes in my thinking and in my choices were not made, the consequences of the crumbling going on inside would me would not create a beautiful natural wonder to behold.<span> </span>Instead, I would most likely create a disaster.<span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Finally, on that third day, I told my husband that our plans would have to change.<span> </span>We would have to take a day off from touring so I could get some medical help and so I could rest.<span> </span>My husband fully supported me in that decision.<span> </span>In fact, he’d been suggesting a change in plans since we had left home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Not wanting to admit that something is wrong is a big problem.<span> </span>For me, it meant that I would have to admit to my husband that I was foolish when I insisted on carrying on with plans when clearly, I was not well.<span> </span>It also meant that I had been foolish to think I could eat what I wanted when I knew I really couldn’t without paying the price.<span> </span>Denial is a very stubborn and resistant layer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Those soft layers inside of my gut were crumbling, the hard layer of my stubborn nature was quite unstable.<span> </span>Let’s just say I truly was on the verge of collapse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Kale was not the answer to resetting my body in the scenario that I just recounted, but a sensible diet that include the types of foods I knew my GI tract could handle was.<span> </span>I began to make wise food choices.<span> </span>Just because I was on vacation, it did not mean that I could indulge in those foods I knew I could not eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I listened to my body.<span> </span>I rested when I was tired. Together my husband and I restructured our plans so that we had activity that included walking and taking in the sights but did not include hiking that might have been more than my current condition could handle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">There was so much beauty to be enjoyed in Sedona.<span> </span>I often wonder if I would have even enjoyed any of it if I had not taken the time to have a serious talk with myself about practicing self-care whether I was not vacation or not.<span> </span>Do others of you ever let self-care go out the window when you are on vacation?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">In the end, I learned some valuable lessons about resetting my body.<span> </span>No, I did not set my back to its factory settings while we were on this vacation because that would mean I would have to come up with a way to wipe away decades of living.<span> Original factory settings are no longer possible. </span>My body has changed.<span> </span>New rules apply as I learn to live in a body which is different than the one I had in my forties, my fifties, or even in my sixties; however, small changes can do wonders when it comes to resetting a body that is begging for restoration to optimum health.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I began to listen to my body.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I made positive dietary choices.<span> </span>(Those choices did not include kale!)<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I rested when I need to do so.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I made sure I continued to exercise by walking and exploring the beautiful area where we were visiting.<span> </span><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I didn’t waste the experience by giving in to illness, but I let the illness instruct me on how to heal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">On our last day of the trip, I found these words written on a Coconino Forest Service sign in:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">Listen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;"><span> </span>Can you hear the stream?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">Touch<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;">Feel a soft leaf or a sycamore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;">Look closely</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 16pt;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;">Discover who lives here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> ********</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Answers to the questions such as the one asked by the sender of the text which I wrote about at the beginning of this post seldom have one answer.<span> </span>Kale, while it is a healthy food, and a food most of us wish to avoid, is not the answer to gaining a healthier lifestyle.<span> </span><span> </span>Instead, I think we have to slow down and do these last three things which I found printed on a forest service sign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We must listen to nature around us and to our bodies.<span> We need to t</span>ouch the positive and beautiful things in our lives.<span> Yes, it is so important when things are out of balance to take time to get</span> in touch with those things which are beautiful and positive in our lives.<span> That means we must c</span>hange our focus.<span> We can't</span> look on what ails us.<span> We must l</span>ook to what heals us.<span> </span>And finally, when we look closely, we can discover who it is that inhabits the body we now have.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Life is about change.<span> </span>Nothing stays the same.<span> </span>We will never live in the body that we were given when we left the factory.<span> </span>We must accept that and treat our bodies and minds and spirits with respect by giving all three what nourishes the body even if it sometimes includes, but is not limited to, kale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-12642408235121854472018-11-03T14:55:00.002-06:002018-11-03T14:57:39.845-06:00A Saturday in November<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I’ve spent a lazy Saturday morning sitting around reading with my husband at my side. I observe how lazy we are being. He says, “Speak for yourself. I’m enjoying not having anything to do.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyHQkv_BWqctyW7bese4ln5gKnSUKFhhfO4xvgBoVXPNetJnxkSRrVTmwz6F0m6igEjXf_VJ2VNbNr9epVPaveCPemk2-chVHP9GtOAAK8t2SUGfkmY8BlWWfhywILKQ0lwZwmcF5CAI1/s1600/IMG_2099.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyHQkv_BWqctyW7bese4ln5gKnSUKFhhfO4xvgBoVXPNetJnxkSRrVTmwz6F0m6igEjXf_VJ2VNbNr9epVPaveCPemk2-chVHP9GtOAAK8t2SUGfkmY8BlWWfhywILKQ0lwZwmcF5CAI1/s400/IMG_2099.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Whispering, so the dog won’t hear, I say, “Let’s get a walk in this morning.” At 11:00, I finish a lazy woman’s breakfast of granola and yogurt, finish off my now cold coffee, think I better get going if I’m to get a walk in, glance out of the window and say, “It looks blustery out there. I don’t think I want to walk in this.” A few minutes later, I look up again from what I am reading and observe there is moisture accompanying the wind. My husband checks his weather app and says there is 20% chance of rain today. A few minutes later, I say, “That is thick rain coming down.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Having decided we would not go for a walk, the man has gone to a part of the house where there are no windows. I called down to him that the rain was now coming in fluffy flakes. Now, just thirty minutes later, no one could characterize what is falling from the sky as rain. Thick, fluffy snowflakes are coating the ground, the rooftops, and the streets with enough snow to create the perfect kind of day for staying inside and reading all day long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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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/AVvXsEgP1MTgT0UC5MBCg0oCoWjP8b_IoQCqJuSmbFRSg9JMviMtnu7Eburzi7_7GuuRn1l6TK53C67roCRRN2EWJLvFVGC19Tk9QRy6tdKOEIBC8Du8ZfPh4jIy48Ug9IYt1ctn961cIFUMhqBC/s1600/IMG_2082.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1MTgT0UC5MBCg0oCoWjP8b_IoQCqJuSmbFRSg9JMviMtnu7Eburzi7_7GuuRn1l6TK53C67roCRRN2EWJLvFVGC19Tk9QRy6tdKOEIBC8Du8ZfPh4jIy48Ug9IYt1ctn961cIFUMhqBC/s640/IMG_2082.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from my window on a snowy morning: doe in the snow</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">This storm, (is it a storm?) was completely unexpected. We have plans. We are to travel out of town tonight to attend an alumni dinner at the school where my husband served as principal for many years. I don’t know if we will make the trip or not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">It is the third day of November. The year is coming to an end. This is the month where at the end of the month we have a day where we express our thanksgiving for those things in our lives that are blessings. November is a perfect month for reflection upon all the blessings in our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The first Saturday in November of 2018, I sit down and write down about just some of the activities, observations, challenges that have filled the past week. Each gives me cause to express great gratitude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ul style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: -webkit-standard; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Health concerns, sickness, and health create reasons to have gratitude for health coverage</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">It has been a week that brought some sickness into my life and into Jim’s. It has been a week of challenges because we both live in aging bodies that don’t seem to function like they did in their prime. During weeks like this, I am grateful for good doctors whom care for both of us, and that we have access to such doctors. I am grateful for good health care coverage. Yes, such good coverage comes at a great price, but the price far outweighs not having it. I think of those in fear of losing coverage, or of those, like Jim and me, whom have pre-existing conditions which might not be covered if there are drastic changes made to our healthcare system. These thoughts motivate me all the more to get out and vote.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">During the second week of November, during early voting, I am able to cast a vote in the mid-term elections in the United States of America. </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">At the beginning of the week, my husband and I took out our ballots and read through each proposition and amendment on the ballot. We discussed what we thought of each, read some of the pros and cons on each issue, and then marked our ballots. We discussed the candidates and cast our votes for the ones we wished to see in office. Voting is a sacred privilege and not one I have ever taken lightly. This year more than ever, I am grateful I can vote in a free democratic society. I am deeply concerned about the future of my country. I stay informed. I read about the issues of the day. I don’t just read news source stories on the topics of the day, I read opinion writers on both sides of the issues. I weigh the opinions of others against what I know about my own vast reading of history over the years. I synthesize what I hear from talking heads with what I’ve read from voices from the past. I analyze what I hear and read. I rarely take much of anything that I see or hear at face value. I’ve been like that my entire life. I am grateful that I was taught to be a critical thinker and that I practice critical thinking when it comes to making up my own mind about the times in which we live. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I am a member of a wonderful church and during the past week, I was able to worship freely the God I serve. </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Sunday morning, chills ran through me as I sang with others in my congregation the great hymn of the Church <i>A Mighty Fortress is Our God. </i>Bagpipes were playing, as was a brass band, as we stood as a body sing and to remember our roots in the Reformation on Reformation Sunday. Again, I am reminded how very blessed I am to have been able to worship freely in this great land. Again, I am reminded that others have been gunned down and lost their lives in the great land while they worshiped in a sacred place. As I rejoiced in my worship, I did so with a broken heart over what had happened in Pittsburg the day before. I pray anew that I will sow seeds of peace and continue to seek reconciliation in this time of such great division in our country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">On Wednesday, I had lunch with my prayer warrior moms. </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">One of the greatest blessing of my life over the past four or five years has been to meet every two weeks with an amazing group of women to pray for our loved ones. My life has been changed by meeting with these women and praying with them. It has been changed in ways I could never have believed when I first came into their midst. Our prayers and our conversations are confidential. The transparency of their hearts has helped to heal my own heart as we have prayed for each other. This week at time other than the time we set aside to pray and joined each for lunch in the love home of one our fellow praying moms. We talked and shared our stories about who we were we before we were moms. We talked about our professional lives. We shared life stories. I learned new stories about these amazing women that I never knew. These women are my heroes and my dearest prayer companions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">On Thursday, I gathered with women in my Bible study to study The Letter of Paul to the Philippians. </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">During the study, I became ill and had to leave the study. Women gathered around me and prayed for me and ministered to me. One, a nurse, drove me home and continued to give me kindness and words of encouragement and support. I am so very grateful for the many women in my church whom have been like sisters to me and shown me so much love and support. The fellowship we share is such a special bond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">These past few years, I have been blessed to serve<b> </b>on a committee that provides a reception after every memorial service or funeral at our church. These dear women on this committee are also some of the dearest women I know. We make the coffee, arrange the cookies on platters, visit with those attending the services, and try to provide comfort for the bereaved during a time that is so difficult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Next week, will be so difficult as we will be serving during the service of one our own, a dearly beloved member of our committee whom has gone from our midst to her home in heaven. She was such a spark of delight and joy in every setting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">As I help clean-up after the reception yesterday, as we were folding table cloths and putting away serving dishes, I remembered that the last time this dear departed one had served by my side, which was only a few months ago, she and I discovered we had a problem after the service because one of the cloths on the memorial table had been ruined by melted wax. This dear one knew just what to do. She began working on the wax with ice, and then she took the cloth home to get the rest of the wax out with a hot iron applied to layers of cloth over and under the ruined cloth. It was returned look better than brand new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I am so grateful for all the women in my life whom I have met over the years. My life is so very rich in friendship and in fellowship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The week has been a full one. It has truly provided so many reasons to feel gratitude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Now, the sun is out. The sky has large patches of blue. The snow is melting. We are going for a walk. I think we will be able to attend our out of town dinner meeting after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I’m back from my walk. This walk gives me another reason to rejoice in thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcLu8Dto9UftH7G6vhGboLeMu1XxfQGtrpJycgntdK7LyHP94mBDkkCDnzB_S2_C48yBdcLTcMyVNm0GLzBlGE_ouzxPUm7NtwjzuosRWRxVAN62xSKmU3vlmBw0Cp1cbFpUQD7rlFfuq/s1600/IMG_2083.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1526" data-original-width="1600" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcLu8Dto9UftH7G6vhGboLeMu1XxfQGtrpJycgntdK7LyHP94mBDkkCDnzB_S2_C48yBdcLTcMyVNm0GLzBlGE_ouzxPUm7NtwjzuosRWRxVAN62xSKmU3vlmBw0Cp1cbFpUQD7rlFfuq/s640/IMG_2083.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hubby and Boston lead the way on our walk.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">As I observe the quickly melting snow, Jim comments on how brisk and refreshing the air feels. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHB96Mhl4lUI2bYJ8BcaS5i6NYFTWVG6OxUs7sOemY_qOlJ1wH_2-3P1ZpzfHurwbDNbbhG01w1W9toVeLkVDJNuueG5oRnYm9m3L_9bbJSkjthhh4UWoSrQxSgcRpWmBO3pVsU-rcv_a/s1600/IMG_2091.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1248" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHB96Mhl4lUI2bYJ8BcaS5i6NYFTWVG6OxUs7sOemY_qOlJ1wH_2-3P1ZpzfHurwbDNbbhG01w1W9toVeLkVDJNuueG5oRnYm9m3L_9bbJSkjthhh4UWoSrQxSgcRpWmBO3pVsU-rcv_a/s640/IMG_2091.jpeg" width="498" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boston and I pose for our photo on this beautiful Saturday in November.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">I am so grateful for where I live. The beauty of this place continues to fill my heart with such joy. I love living in the foothills of the mountains again.</span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Living among the creatures is a mixed blessing. This big boy was watching me go for my walk as he sat sunning himself in my neighbor</span><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">’</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">s front yard. </span></span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p>His harem was nearby. </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p>How was your was your week? What did you do this Saturday? Are any of you taking time to record your gratitudes this month?</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-15579491848171274732018-10-22T20:17:00.001-06:002018-10-23T08:19:49.878-06:00Happy Birthday to The Love of My Life<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">On this day seventy-five years ago, my husband was born. Yesterday, we celebrated both the occasion of his birth and the man himself. Family and a few friends gathered at our home to eat a light lunch and some cake and ice cream while we shared laughs and stories with each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Just before our guests arrived, I placed the numbers 7 and 5 atop an orange chiffon cake, stepped back to see if I had placed them correctly on the cake, and then was struck by the realization that the love of my life, the man I first met when we were both teens, was turning 75! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Earlier in the day, I’d joked that he was just five years from entering his ninth decade.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">All joking aside, two other thoughts also entered my mind:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I’m right behind him in age by just a year and a half.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I hoped we both would continue to grow old together as we progress through the decades ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">In preparation for the party, I had gathered a few photos and portraits of Jim and placed them around the house. One, a photo taken in his childhood, perhaps when he was about three shows a shy boy not looking at the camera with just a hint of a smile on his face. He looks like he had already become quite a charmer. I know how much he was adored by his older sister, his parents, and his grandparents, all of whom were refugees from Europe. Jim represented all their hopes for the future. I only wish they were all alive today so I could tell them just how much he had fulfilled all their hopes and dreams for the future they envisioned for him. They would be so incredibly proud. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Now, he is surrounded not by his parents and his only sibling, but he has a wonderful legacy of children, step-children, and grandchildren who also adore him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I saw that same young boy shy smile on his face in his seventy-fifth birthday photo. Yes, the man with the gift of making friends, shaking hands, and making others feel like they belong, is a bit shy. Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that he does not like attention being paid to him, but he certain is able to command the stage and garner much respect and many accolades whenever he occupies it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">One photo on display yesterday, was the iconic photo of Jim standing by his Chevy when he was about eighteen or nineteen years old.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Yesterday, my cousin reminded me that she remembered him picking me up for a date in that car back in the day when were both teens. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I’ve had the joy of knowing this man since I was a very young girl filled with young girl’s dreams of what love and marriage would be like. I still have a few treasured love letters from those days, and there are the earliest records of our expressions of love for each other recorded in old high school yearbooks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Voted </span><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">“</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Most Ambitious</span><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">”</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> in his class, the yearbook also noted that he </span><span style="font-size: 21.33333396911621px;">“was twenty-fourth in the class and had applied for a scholarship. He won the scholarship, paid his way through college, worked forty-two years in education, and continues to work to this day. Ambitious? Yes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">To say that I was smitten with this young man when I first met him would be an understatement.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The words I wrote to him in his yearbook are words of a young woman experiencing the early days of the very first time of being in love.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">They were words gushing over the fun I’d had with him at dances, picnics, parties, and “on dates.”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I ended the missive I’d written in his yearbook in 1961 with these words:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;">Whatever happens in the future, I’ll never forget you, and I hope we’ll always be as happy as we are now.</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Ours was a very innocent love, so different from those so many teens have today.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">In truth, I had great admiration for Jim from the moment I met him. I was a few years behind him in school, I looked up to him. He was a peer group leader, and quite popular with all the guys and gals alike. He was king of the sock hop which was one of our first dates. (Such things were so important to young girls back in the day.) Beyond that, and more importantly, Jim always treated me with such great respect and kindness. I note that in that high school yearbook, I wrote <i>…thank you for all the thoughtful things you have done for me, no matter how big or how small, they have meant more to me than you will ever know. </i>He won me by his genuine good nature, his humor, his charm, and his great kindness. He set the bar high for any man I might meet after him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Sadly, I did not marry him first. He did ask me more than once, three times he asked, before I foolishly married someone else when I was just twenty-one years old. When I married the first time, it seemed Jim was destined to become a sweet memory of my youth, a young man of whom I would speak to children and grandchildren if ever they asked about the days of my girlhood. It seemed they might just chance upon his name in my yearbook, or ask about mementos pasted in my scrapbooks, or perhaps they might have even found those long ago written love notes or a photo or two. They would never have the blessing of having him be a part of their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Thankfully, all of that never proved to be true. Thankfully, Providence smiled favorably on us both. In 1991, ten years after I was divorced and not long after Jim was also divorced, we reconnected. It seemed we picked up where we had left off thirty years before. On our first date the second time around, we talked non-stop for six or seven hours catching up on the past thirty years and the lives we had lived before we met again. When he proposed marriage a few months later, I did not turn him down. I had become much wiser in those years between the ages of twenty-one and forty-seven. Good men are hard to find. Thankfully, I had another chance to join my life with this good and kind and dear man. In the corners of my mind and heart, I had always carried a special love for him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">We became man and wife in midlife. Our children were all nearly grown. We still had three children at home. One was his. Two were mine. We faced the challenges of blending families, rebuilding lives that had been rocked financially, professionally, and emotionally by divorce. We worked hard together and found that as a team we functioned well together. We were always on the go. Jim became a high school principal, and I taught high school English. We didn’t have time to age. Being involved with youth kept us young. Age was truly just a number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The children all married. They began to have children. Our tribe grew by leaps and bounds. They moved miles away from us which meant that vacations were spent traveling to see them all. It seems unbelievable that we now have nineteen grandchildren between us. We have had so much joy with each new addition to the family. Jim has also been there by my side as I buried a child and have grieved the loss of her life. I truly do not know what I would do without this man by my side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">On this very day six years ago, after about six years of semi-retirement, on Jim’s birthday, we moved to our current home and started another new chapter of our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The man I married failed at retirement. So far, he has never successfully achieved full retirement. After returning to academic life as a principal whenever there was a need at a school for an administrator for a short term, Jim decided not to renew any teaching credentials after we moved to Colorado Springs. Soon, he was toying with the idea of working again. He applied for a job at an Apple store and was hired to work part-time. He loves his job of selling computers, iPads, phones, and Apple watches. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Yesterday, at his birthday party, I think the favorite photo I took was of him working on my cousin’s phone. Just as we were to light the candles on his cake, she handed him her phone and said, “My phone isn’t working right. What’s wrong with my camera? Can you fix it so I can take your picture blowing out the candles on your cake?” It is so typical of what happens wherever we go. “Jim will you help me with a problem I’m having with my phone?” Jim, the Apple man fixes all your Apple problems.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">*******</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When we were teens, I remember that the girls used to list the attributes we were looking for in a boyfriend. We were so naïve. I remember most of us would say that we wanted a “good dancer.” Did we think we would be dancing through life? </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim & Sally dancing at Homecoming September 1961</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Ironically, Jim and I did go on to attend many dances in the future. As a high school principal, we had prom duty for more years than I can remember. We always danced. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">So many times when I think back to my youth, for some reason, I clearly remember dancing with him at lunch during high school to the song “Runaround Sue” by Dion. In my mind’s eye I see his charming slight grin, the one I only see when he dances a “fast dance” in the rock and roll style of the early 60’s. I guess we would say we danced the Bop. (Now, that term dates us, as does the style of dancing we still dance when we get a chance.) I see his eyes sparkle in my mind’s eye, and my heart still melts with the memory of it all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> I also remember dancing with him at the prom to “Some Enchanted Evening.” It was the theme of the prom his senior year. In my naivete, I thought life with such a guy as Jim would be full of nothing but enchanted evenings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim & Sally Prom Spring 1961</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Those guilelessness days have long since passed, yet the charms that Jim possessed mostly spoke to me of his sincerity, honorable character, truthfulness, his forthrightness, and his unpretentious nature. I just didn’t understand that when I was sixteen years old. I knew he earned my love and trust, but I never could have realized how important it was to have a companion with those sorts of characteristics when I was naively saying I wanted a guy who was a good dancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim & Sally dancing at my cousin’s wedding 2012</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Last month, my husband and I danced at his granddaughter’s wedding. A month away from his seventy-fifth birthday, we danced the Bop to one of the old-time hits from the 60’s. We danced a slow song and held each other tightly as we danced to some love song. I no longer care if my partner is a good dance partner. How could I have been so shallow? Thankfully, the partner I have on the dance floor these days is that young man whom first took my hand during the grand procession during his senior prom and led me onto the dance floor to sweep me off my feet on a spring evening fifty-seven years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">He is the best partner in life that a woman could ever have. We don’t have a lot of enchanted evenings, nor have we lived an enchanted life, but we have lived a life of sweet companionship filled with all the things that attracted me to him in the first place: laughter, good humor, fun, like-mindedness, kindness, selfless serving, generosity, truthfulness, faithfulness, honesty, and integrity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">This man, the love of my life, becomes dearer to me with each passing day. I snapped this photo of him recently at his granddaughter’s wedding right after he had said to me, “I love you.” In case you can’t tell, I’m still smitten by him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Happy birthday, my love. Here’s to many, many more years filled with happiness and love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-36794739016360536382018-09-26T17:41:00.000-06:002018-09-27T13:24:56.635-06:00Staying Alive At Fifty-five<div style="text-align: center;">
Full disclosure: Don’t let the title of this blog post mislead you. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am not fifty-five,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but I am staying alive.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A few weekends ago, I gathered with my high school classmates for our fifty-fifth reunion. When the invitation to the gathering arrived in the mail months ago, I saw that the theme for the occasion was: <i><b>f</b></i><span style="text-align: center;"><i><b>ifty-five and staying alive</b></i>. </span>At my age staying alive all these years after high school graduation is something to celebrate, and in truth, the sobering fact is that so many of my classmates did not live to see this reunion. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I’ve thought about that theme a great deal since our gathering. Here are some lessons I’d like to share with you.</div>
<h4>
Lessons learned at my 55th high school reunion </h4>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>Stay connected!</b> I made some of the most amazing friends in high school. Thankfully, these friends are among my dearest friends today. Do you know why? It is because we have taken the time to stay connected. And when I say connected, I mean connected. Not only do we meet on a regular basis (four times a year), but we also take the time at these gatherings to really share about what is going on in our lives. Without a doubt, no matter what, I know these girls will be there for me until my last breath, and I will also be there for them. They are among my dearest and closest friends.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcyXvaadCjyd6tQdzcomETWl8zdk3oEQBJmqXwV1qkCUb3BYCYm0lPIIElXtMitrkrtEYAthPxbCUKrQr9SlcoxFGZWYAOqD1WLH-C7vlSAL7LcKD06Z_v64hBTfaLe754fv4V2bNPnIX/s1600/IMG_1472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcyXvaadCjyd6tQdzcomETWl8zdk3oEQBJmqXwV1qkCUb3BYCYm0lPIIElXtMitrkrtEYAthPxbCUKrQr9SlcoxFGZWYAOqD1WLH-C7vlSAL7LcKD06Z_v64hBTfaLe754fv4V2bNPnIX/s640/IMG_1472.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div>
A month before our reunion we realized we had not met for way too long because when we set up our yearly schedule for gatherings, we had decided to wait until the reunion to meet after our early spring gathering. In July, we had an impromptu meeting and those who could went to lunch. There is something really special that happens when a bunch of 70+ year old ladies meet for lunch and spend the afternoon laughing. Kathy, seated at the far end of the table on the left, planned the lunch and gave us each a rose as we left. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Laughter makes you look younger!</b>. Find those friends that make you really laugh. When you laugh, the wrinkles around your eyes and your lips come from laughter so you can fool people into thinking that you are younger and don’t really have any wrinkles. “Those wrinkles! They aren’t from age. They are only there when I laugh.” Well, maybe not, but I am convinced that laughter not only makes you look younger, it also makes you feel younger. </li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMA3KGj-53oYSwpNP2hB9ej7pVDIJonk3wXjyrBpIiABPRpj355p5xu0enCrQajWpS_jsWlFjEDCExbXqA_ELmeyQXkKsWLn5cIFl_wF8hdUiSMMjv3AV4B3anIQBLPeHXpj8fOdxF1Zvj/s1600/IMG_1765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMA3KGj-53oYSwpNP2hB9ej7pVDIJonk3wXjyrBpIiABPRpj355p5xu0enCrQajWpS_jsWlFjEDCExbXqA_ELmeyQXkKsWLn5cIFl_wF8hdUiSMMjv3AV4B3anIQBLPeHXpj8fOdxF1Zvj/s640/IMG_1765.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><b>The eyes never age.</b> I look into the eyes of some of my girlfriends from high school and I see the same girl I used to tap on the shoulder in English class while we were reading <i>A Tale of Two Cities </i>and ask her if she had the answer to the question I didn’t quite get. I see her blue eyes, and we are both sixteen again. I know her life story and know it has been filled with triumph and tragedy, but to me she is both a naive girl of sixteen and mature grandmother of 73. Those eyes connect hearts and those connections have deepened over the decades. In each other’s eyes and hearts, we will never really age.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA94j5wJOuVDnq8RatBaj-FZfVTFfQuyuD_ZQFpMsse-dEkTj4iDl9qlnP48EF-dGuaBgzDuDDWtK_tlXRXLzTP7APxVpHzTDkK67732zfnhPO7KivPJPIpay8AkcRPvvn7Ht2-mKjauEu/s1600/IMG_1769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA94j5wJOuVDnq8RatBaj-FZfVTFfQuyuD_ZQFpMsse-dEkTj4iDl9qlnP48EF-dGuaBgzDuDDWtK_tlXRXLzTP7APxVpHzTDkK67732zfnhPO7KivPJPIpay8AkcRPvvn7Ht2-mKjauEu/s640/IMG_1769.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Guys still love their cars, so pose with them beside their cool cars.</b> This guy restored this old car. He and his car both look amazing. </li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WrNR1XMS-wAgbL1DPzJPorTQtghjcuCnPguZOwq0abJqGQHoOCf3JyJee6diIF4EwQjXgbG7kqj55R73wsMWA1sqMrX-BNMlYaVy0MECrziE63mGBD-j757_A1qCVDRubBXGO8TkAnMs/s1600/IMG_1787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1373" data-original-width="1600" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WrNR1XMS-wAgbL1DPzJPorTQtghjcuCnPguZOwq0abJqGQHoOCf3JyJee6diIF4EwQjXgbG7kqj55R73wsMWA1sqMrX-BNMlYaVy0MECrziE63mGBD-j757_A1qCVDRubBXGO8TkAnMs/s640/IMG_1787.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b>Treasure friendships that span the generations.</b> Tell the stories that include those whom are no longer with us. This guy’s parents were best friends with my best friend’s parents. I remember those days when our parents were all still alive and they all would gather together for a summer evening barbecue. They would be laughing and telling stories, and we would be the kids listening to their stories of long ago. Now, our parents are gone, and we are left to remember those times and tell the stories of long ago. It seems that as we age, there are fewer and fewer of our acquaintances whom knew our parents.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b>High school sweethearts are the best kind of sweethearts to have.</b> I came home from my fifty-fifth high school reunion with the very best gift that my time in high school ever gave me: my high school sweetheart, the love of my life, my hubby. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaOyAu-CBPMZ3VzOoXHJj5-1bi7EZfCllMIAmHQWA6DOc9xjMFXQKGihULVSB7BeL_PpDMQjoZTWqLBkSkESf6lmBTYKRlFZjLvRgFxgGfMolMyXFvKwqpnyL_03fCnmF-vCV9fbIIUK4/s1600/IMG_1797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="683" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaOyAu-CBPMZ3VzOoXHJj5-1bi7EZfCllMIAmHQWA6DOc9xjMFXQKGihULVSB7BeL_PpDMQjoZTWqLBkSkESf6lmBTYKRlFZjLvRgFxgGfMolMyXFvKwqpnyL_03fCnmF-vCV9fbIIUK4/s640/IMG_1797.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fifty-five and staying alive is something to celebrate.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I’m so very grateful I had the blessing of being able to do so.</div>
</div>
Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-76860051546147515962018-09-07T14:13:00.000-06:002018-09-26T14:55:21.003-06:00Strands of Silver<div style="text-align: center;">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I thought I would be brave and that I would not cry,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">But cry I did,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I made that call to have my <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">strands of silver <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">shorn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shorn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">So many images come to mind when I speak the word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Sheep in the pasture after shearing look so <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Naked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">So exposed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Powerless,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> they are led to the shearing shed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> where their wool is cut and gathered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shorn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">The word can be used to describe depriving someone from power once wielded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shorn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Yes, the days when my hair could be brandished,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shown off for its natural curl and color,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Are gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I held on to those silver curls <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Because I needed to twirl them in my fingers,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Wash them,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shake them out,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Ply them,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Remember when once they wielded power over all the other girls with straight locks whom looked at me with envy after a day of swimming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">In those days,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Days of my youth,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I did not flaunt my curls on purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">In fact,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I did not love them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I did not embrace them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I fought them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I straightened them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Tape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Orange juice cans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Wrapping strands of hair on great big rollers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Before I went to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Blow driers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Hot irons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Curling irons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Reverse perms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I tried them all methods I ever knew of to try to achieve the looks the other girls had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I did not want my curls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I did not want those unique locks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Curls <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">have always been a major part of my identity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxkx8JD-8wljDvDMCZC1BD1-Ka3BoSkpjRjYZt0y-hgo4rE0s9JYN_8-_XGOqrO3xHKzGkSKq8Ju-5j4_b1MHUl7GdshHuGuomNKcWE4wgW9asdLVAdCJ4sKvQBEUW2NCT1r0mMsC17E2/s1600/Sally+on+chair+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="776" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxkx8JD-8wljDvDMCZC1BD1-Ka3BoSkpjRjYZt0y-hgo4rE0s9JYN_8-_XGOqrO3xHKzGkSKq8Ju-5j4_b1MHUl7GdshHuGuomNKcWE4wgW9asdLVAdCJ4sKvQBEUW2NCT1r0mMsC17E2/s400/Sally+on+chair+1.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">There once was a little girl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">With a little curl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Right in the middle of her forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">That was me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">When I was older,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I let my hair go silver, and it was a beautiful silver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I also learned to embrace my curls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3XknjxaHzfFOAgHDODFgQ7fvC4io6G9IetxgvybnGQ3mL-mfblJ6aesJKrfRNk5dx2af06gUV-Z5qKb7yOLyRO_XJDwWy9cBEgBBLtjOaKUbU2afMTnnULuF1qQmx6DQY43qYw0xwB9X/s1600/DSCN1212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3XknjxaHzfFOAgHDODFgQ7fvC4io6G9IetxgvybnGQ3mL-mfblJ6aesJKrfRNk5dx2af06gUV-Z5qKb7yOLyRO_XJDwWy9cBEgBBLtjOaKUbU2afMTnnULuF1qQmx6DQY43qYw0xwB9X/s400/DSCN1212.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">And then,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I began to lose those silver strands of hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Strand,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">By <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Strand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Hair fell from my head over many days and nights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Eight years of days and nights where hair fell out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Silver would cover my clothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Silver strands would tangle in my fingers as I washed my hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">It was a <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Slow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shedding<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Silver <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Strands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shorn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">By a strange disease,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Scars<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Replaced where each of my hair <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">follicles once flourished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Today, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I ran my fingers through those very few <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">strands of silver<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">for<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">one last time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">My fingers where tangled in the <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">silver strands<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">that have been deserting me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> <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/AVvXsEjjzlLquspXuGahAFtoCO8ZNgvsNqISmq3YkKRPJD9w2PRSpACIIJZOdql3l48DPLAZ7qRGW2BsokAcbTWYGqGgXhnARVdPTfmSPuG9PiHhPMpMYxjw1o7sh0rvlZBRtppJTbOrs_xGFvb2/s1600/IMG_1716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzlLquspXuGahAFtoCO8ZNgvsNqISmq3YkKRPJD9w2PRSpACIIJZOdql3l48DPLAZ7qRGW2BsokAcbTWYGqGgXhnARVdPTfmSPuG9PiHhPMpMYxjw1o7sh0rvlZBRtppJTbOrs_xGFvb2/s400/IMG_1716.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silver strands on a headband</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">I am done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">It is now time <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">to wield<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> my own power.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Today, I will be <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Shorn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Of these <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 16pt;">Silver strands forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-36592598205632387692018-08-24T15:23:00.000-06:002018-08-24T19:36:58.374-06:00A Second Blooming<div style="text-align: center;">
Stuck</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I often struggle with becoming unstuck.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I read in a book about grief that one must guard against becoming stuck in one stage of grief.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Life is the same way.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One must guard against becoming stuck in one stage of life or another.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have a wise and wonderful advisor and friend in my life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She recently asked me where I was in my grief journey.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As I often do, instead of directly answering the question, I told a story.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I also showed her a photo to go with my story. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The photo was of my amazing daisy plant. It has bloomed itself crazy this year.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1uos8_ef9U8ImcJrgRtMRM2FHQmwlH38q89QeOAwAksecCKIprvsvi7XgoOTJVOhYu4pQb8CeWjyXAgBJsN4EsLhDHZ76jU6-ui_bVJTAKw1wsNioPcR1MuOD-GrcLImQG3_-bmLxyCK/s1600/DSC_0430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1uos8_ef9U8ImcJrgRtMRM2FHQmwlH38q89QeOAwAksecCKIprvsvi7XgoOTJVOhYu4pQb8CeWjyXAgBJsN4EsLhDHZ76jU6-ui_bVJTAKw1wsNioPcR1MuOD-GrcLImQG3_-bmLxyCK/s640/DSC_0430.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
When the daisy was blooming at its very finest, a friend came by to spend the afternoon on my back deck visiting. She asked just what I had done to produce such a beautiful plant. Honestly, I just planted it in the right location for sunlight and drainage, and I then watered it. For several weeks, I enjoyed the positive comments that came my way because of Miss Daisy’s performance.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then one day, Miss Daisy didn’t bloom anymore.</div>
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I just could not leave that beautiful plant in her current state.</div>
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My Daisy needed a hair cut.</div>
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July’s appearance had been stunning,</div>
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but by mid-August she just was not looking quite the same.</div>
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I knew she looked tired, spent, and all dried up, but</div>
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I knew my dear Daisy was not through blooming.</div>
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She might not bloom as gloriously as she had earlier, but she was not dead yet!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJ6hjmeykyIR7gqd7HwIfLpjmyY2bLf56anS7JzYvMhsxRo-SWrX9kvw_jX4rWliEfBDRmeZUwjpC9j2cPXZm3W10ACRAk5FzDFtAWbX5QDPFufauKYFkhk5X-u7DbSHQBFroua6gpiDo/s1600/DSC_0429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJ6hjmeykyIR7gqd7HwIfLpjmyY2bLf56anS7JzYvMhsxRo-SWrX9kvw_jX4rWliEfBDRmeZUwjpC9j2cPXZm3W10ACRAk5FzDFtAWbX5QDPFufauKYFkhk5X-u7DbSHQBFroua6gpiDo/s320/DSC_0429.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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Sure enough, as I began to clip away at the blooms that were no longer beautiful,</div>
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hidden beneath the spent blossoms were</div>
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new buds just waiting to have their chance</div>
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to show up and bloom in the sun.</div>
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The new buds would never see the sunshine, </div>
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nor would they have the room to bloom again</div>
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if I had not</div>
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cut off the remains of the blooming which had already occurred.</div>
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After I related this gardening story to my wise and wonderful friend, I said, </div>
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“Let me tie all this together,” </div>
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You did ask me a question about where I was in my grief journey.</div>
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The answer is:</div>
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I’m growing.</div>
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I’ve learned some very important lessons in trying to remain unstuck.</div>
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In order to grow, </div>
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to bloom, </div>
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to not become stuck in grief </div>
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or in other areas of my life which are stuck in the past,</div>
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where I have carried unrealistic expectations,</div>
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I too must remove those things from my life which no longer bear fruit.</div>
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Holding on to outdated beliefs about how life should be,</div>
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practicing old habits that are not productive,</div>
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hanging on to things that were once in their glory in my life,</div>
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prevent me from moving forward in life.</div>
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As every good gardener knows, time in the garden is not just spent on planting.</div>
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Time must be spent on deadheading also.</div>
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Get rid of the spent blooms.</div>
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Give the plant a chance to bloom again.</div>
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Real life deadheading is never fun.</div>
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It hurts when we experience parts of our lives being pruned and cut back.</div>
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We feel as if we have been shorn when we are going through such an experience,</div>
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but in the end,</div>
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we bloom again when we allow all the dross to be cut away.</div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-75606105698030214562018-08-22T13:17:00.001-06:002018-08-22T19:04:03.788-06:00Summer is Fading Away On a Sunday morning in late August, sidewalk art caught my eye. Even though it seemed a bit crazy to do, I stopped to take a photo of an image that provided me with a metaphoric representation of a message I have been unwilling to accept: Summer is fading away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJ7ThUQ0Y3um8QZat0xEAmDHS8e-naBkIqRJQ3HEj238Me0QopJt07cvVOO-1kmp0hrto6FOaldpYCuVrYj2lApZiIOT8Ac7SwBowQKICIHqfO-ShimoBZ6xuxENO1qJAaWTpwbA2QXRo/s1600/IMG_6728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJ7ThUQ0Y3um8QZat0xEAmDHS8e-naBkIqRJQ3HEj238Me0QopJt07cvVOO-1kmp0hrto6FOaldpYCuVrYj2lApZiIOT8Ac7SwBowQKICIHqfO-ShimoBZ6xuxENO1qJAaWTpwbA2QXRo/s400/IMG_6728.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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The faded sidewalk art must have been so bright and colorful on the day that an unknown artist brightened up a bit of sidewalk by painting a sunflower. I imagined the artist painting the flower in anticipation of an upcoming festival at the beginning of the summer. Since that day, many feet have passed over the painted flower throughout the summer. Its brightness has faded as the paint was slowly chipped way to leave only a faint rendering of the original image. </div>
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Artists do not paint on sidewalks if they wish the art they are making to last long. As I age, I find that like temporary sidewalk art, I am very aware that summer seems to be the most fleeting of all the seasons. It is also the season I most wish to extend. I wish to deny that another summer is ending which means that the days ahead will be less full of sunshine, flowers, and warmth. </div>
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Flowers can't bloom forever. <i>For everything there is a season</i>. I can't deny that truth. I am grateful for each season of the year. Each is needed in the cycle of life where I live. I would not want to live where I wouldn't be able to enjoy the changes that each season brings. I am also grateful for each season of life, but as I age, I find myself asking myself how many more summers I will have where I will be able to do all those things that make summer so special. </div>
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Summer ~ A Time to Be Outdoors</h4>
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I live at the base of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. My walks, while healthy for my body, are even more beneficial for mental health. </div>
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In the evening, as the sun begins to set, I see some spectacular sights. Ending a day gazing at a sky filled with light and shadow reminds me that while I might have experienced both light and shadow throughout the day, it is the light that not shine through but also lifts my eyes upward. Light pierces the darkness as the day ends, and my soul finds peace as I reflect up the message of hope that shines brightly before my very eyes. </div>
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Each day I look for opportunities for finding the silver lining behind every dark cloud. We just have look for those silver linings. I've found that I usually can find them in every situation.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2LaKKNzcLl67vyaztrR960LUdhVyBwOfTKekNb_xJ01-7-6lC8Z8escgka7WgNncA7LS1OxNq6vhkXSV1uat0tHFEPgI1eshbMbY5ggQtMZpM0IgG5cv6H1MM4A0mBOUfKh2SIwPiWVj/s1600/IMG_6636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2LaKKNzcLl67vyaztrR960LUdhVyBwOfTKekNb_xJ01-7-6lC8Z8escgka7WgNncA7LS1OxNq6vhkXSV1uat0tHFEPgI1eshbMbY5ggQtMZpM0IgG5cv6H1MM4A0mBOUfKh2SIwPiWVj/s640/IMG_6636.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I share my daytime walks with the many wildlife creatures that live near my home. I never know what creature I may encounter along the way. Can you see a doe poking her head between these walls and houses as she searches for food or shelter?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUYwRQAJYZH7tMIj1g2jY_QC_IF5esKOek36ns_BadyIZMw4HXk9OVtsDow8O1MxPOAVs2NMzT-kR_MvrrikS2oS1-Fqdz7aKEYlVs20gK65m2BET6moVe8zEArWDZA_zbhMMH3pgtDUN/s1600/IMG_6491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUYwRQAJYZH7tMIj1g2jY_QC_IF5esKOek36ns_BadyIZMw4HXk9OVtsDow8O1MxPOAVs2NMzT-kR_MvrrikS2oS1-Fqdz7aKEYlVs20gK65m2BET6moVe8zEArWDZA_zbhMMH3pgtDUN/s400/IMG_6491.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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As I got closer to this sweet little doe, she seemed so small and vulnerable as she stood behind some bushes. I noted her skinny little legs and inquired as to her health. She just watched me with her soft doe eyes as I passed by without making any comment or movement. I do hope she is well.</div>
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As much as I fret and fume over the damage the deer do, I also feel so much compassion for these beautiful creatures who find themselves living in an urban setting which is really not healthy for them. </div>
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Summer ~ A Time for Creativity </h4>
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As with every summer, I began this summer with high hopes for the small garden plots I worked to create around the perimeters of my house. The grasshoppers, the slugs, the rabbits, and the deer all have feasted on my plantings. Needless to say, my impossible garden did not live up to my expectations, nor did I see my dreams of flower blooming around my house realized. I did manage to get one bouquet from the delphiniums I planted before the bucks showed up and ate the plants down to the ground. These blooms represent a victory of sorts and my determination that I will grow flowers in this environment that seems to be set against me doing so. </div>
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Many evenings and afternoons were spent on the back deck writing in my journal or reading. I love summer evenings spent in the quiet solitude provided by my back deck. </div>
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Summer ~ A Time To Enjoy My Man & My Dog</h4>
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I do think dogs enrich our lives so much. This special companion is so loved by us both, but there is no denying that Boston is Jim's special boy. We love taking him for walks. We are all three getting older, and sadly Boston has developed a limp due to hip dysplasia. The vet says he must lose some weight. Hmmmm. The doctor told us the same thing, so we all three must keep up the walks and start limiting the food. </div>
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Summer ~ A Time for Limited Structure to Schedules</h4>
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In summer, I find I return to the types of schedules I liked to keep when I was teaching and summer vacation finally rolled around. I like to read fluffy novels that keep me up late at night. I love going to bed late. I like sleeping with the windows open so I can feel the cool mountain breeze flow down through the valley where we live and through our bedroom as we sleep. I love being awakened by the chimes from Mount St. Francis a mile from my home. I love not having a strict schedule. I have purposed having a healing, relaxing, and mostly stress free summer. </div>
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I accomplished that by spending a lot of time right here on my very own front patio. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxop5ziQHgo937L3GjFKcdlNjlkmJDwtd23cbs-BpZrpwk4ssTjYU2Q7h3AWKilgmUOJ6yTKlNcUFHnOPbNc7VLRjmiKt36XBCVCbvdYugeR_wjcUa_59FiJLeIvUGdWObm2TKB63H2f_7/s1600/IMG_1165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxop5ziQHgo937L3GjFKcdlNjlkmJDwtd23cbs-BpZrpwk4ssTjYU2Q7h3AWKilgmUOJ6yTKlNcUFHnOPbNc7VLRjmiKt36XBCVCbvdYugeR_wjcUa_59FiJLeIvUGdWObm2TKB63H2f_7/s640/IMG_1165.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Summers spent with those you love most in settings that bring joy and peace are the very best kinds of summer to have.</div>
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How was your summer? What did you do this summer?</div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-57994073219096602262018-08-20T16:36:00.004-06:002018-08-22T19:04:35.913-06:00Blogging Woes ~ A plea for helpI am about to throw in the towel on Blogger! After blogging for just over a decade, I suddenly no longer understand Blogger at all. Today, I took a bit of a memory walk down my blogging history timeline. When I did that, I knew for sure I am not ready to give up blogging, but I also knew I needed to reach out to those of you still blogging on a regular basis and see if you could give me some support and answer some questions for me. <br />
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My desk is way too clean, and my computer is lonely because I never touch her anymore. She wants me to start writing blog posts again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa9gSGXkWoGrTAHDb-sS-15nxPlaHaXwNP7qo5tBmuEmRhbuHoiFnnjAsGalrAbpoQxBLf-6wQCwfFCnAaXFWj_kGoIOiUwRtlhxMObXCKDC0K916-YJgJuGdFqK6Mh1xQU0fEDZacp9q/s1600/IMG_0366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa9gSGXkWoGrTAHDb-sS-15nxPlaHaXwNP7qo5tBmuEmRhbuHoiFnnjAsGalrAbpoQxBLf-6wQCwfFCnAaXFWj_kGoIOiUwRtlhxMObXCKDC0K916-YJgJuGdFqK6Mh1xQU0fEDZacp9q/s640/IMG_0366.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here are some of some stats about my blog:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I have published 346 blog posts! That amazes me. </li>
<li>According to Blogger, my first blog post, published June 25, 2008, had nine (9) views.</li>
<li>My next post, was not published until November of 2008. It had 24 views.</li>
<li>It was not until October of 2009 that I had any readers outside the family whom actually left a comment on my blog. </li>
<li>My first real follower, or reader, was Jann from <a href="http://www.benchmark60.blogspot.com/">www.benchmark60.blogspot.com</a>. She identified herself as #1Nana. We became blog friends and later met in person more than once when we joined other bloggers for a weekend on Vashion Island. We called ourselves the Vashionistas.<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/AVvXsEgVozWG9kUOt927Lc2HhDvGLbkjEZX-pI_HzEGJvVvyTDmK6OhdZjfwj3fmXndWeFAo5qYhr7Moj2xPuVQMODfi8TQSWbEfvPgB9fwjcpt2ytu3VXbjg9QWYLtSIDc9J-O2P8nwfK5YD3di/s1600/IMG_0819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVozWG9kUOt927Lc2HhDvGLbkjEZX-pI_HzEGJvVvyTDmK6OhdZjfwj3fmXndWeFAo5qYhr7Moj2xPuVQMODfi8TQSWbEfvPgB9fwjcpt2ytu3VXbjg9QWYLtSIDc9J-O2P8nwfK5YD3di/s400/IMG_0819.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first Vasionista Gathering in 2012<br />
Sandi, Deb, Linda, DJan, and Jann</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
</ul>
<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/AVvXsEhIRiD9RXNdcyRBy1Q9ghiXawbemdvcXToB966xPkDA-dhTm95NZN-PYWhZ3FT5zNeBj6xRt-c0zYQ8e5PqEynk69mOmQOe7QOR_vL9cYQZX0yjFORcCel0VrigZ5PejnV1taESzcoHH99s/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRiD9RXNdcyRBy1Q9ghiXawbemdvcXToB966xPkDA-dhTm95NZN-PYWhZ3FT5zNeBj6xRt-c0zYQ8e5PqEynk69mOmQOe7QOR_vL9cYQZX0yjFORcCel0VrigZ5PejnV1taESzcoHH99s/s640/Image.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bloggers blogging at a blogger gathering.<br />
The Vashionistas at the second gathering in 2013<br />
Jann, Sally, Deb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li>After my daughter died unexpectedly in June of 2010, the blogging community became a great source of support. As I blogged of my experience, I gained not only readers, but great compassionate support from the blogging community. </li>
<li>I have never understood the way spammer affect the numbers of views that a blog would have, but I know that as my views grew into the hundreds of views for one post, that I had spammers because I would get nonsense type comments. </li>
<li>Throughout 2012 and 2013, I regularly had between 400 and 500 views of each post, and I would publish at least 20+ comments for each post. I would not publish comments that appeared to be spam.</li>
<li><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2015/01/most-inspirational-person-for-2014-kara.html"><span style="color: blue;">The top number of views that I had for any one post, was 14,778</span></a>.</span> This post was commented on by 63 people, but I only published about 30 of those comments because of some the attacks that readers made on the comments of others. This post, a remembrance, was written after the death Kara Tippets, a dear, and much loved woman, whom had great influence me and so many others as she battled breast cancer.</li>
<li>I have used comments moderation since I very first started blogging.</li>
<li><a href="https://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2015/03/on-seventy-reflections-on-becoming.html"><span style="color: blue;">My 70th birthday post written three years ago had 988 view</span>s</a>. </li>
<li>Travel posts and posts about family in 2016 continued to show high numbers of nearly 2,000 views throughout 2016.</li>
<li>Admittedly, I lost interest in blogging in 2017, and stopped posting on a regular basis. One would expect readership to go down. The views appear to have been in the 300 - 500 views per post range. I continued to get a lot of comments.</li>
<li>Then, suddenly, the views seemed to stop, as did the comments.</li>
</ul>
<div>
I have never been concerned about numbers of followers, viewers, or readers. Numbers just never mattered. I was not using the blog as a source of income. I did not sign-up for adsense. I saw blogging as a way to stay connected to the broader world. I have made friends through blogging, but some of those friends stopped blogging for a variety of reasons. Blogging takes time and commitment and many just decided to stop spending time on blogging.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Blogging brought many people into my life whom I would never have met any other way. Many fellow bloggers became great friends. Many I have never met in the flesh, but we correspond on a more personal basis through Facebook, or by email. I know many of my blogging friends better than I know most of my neighbors. In fact, I keep up with their lives more avidly that I keep up with the lives of family members. Blogging does that. It is a place we gather socially and share the stories of our lives. That is what I love about blogging.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the time that I was being a bit of a slacker with blogging and not reading or writing posts, it seems like the blogging world turned upside down on me. I no longer understood Blogger at all. Here is what I have been experiencing:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I can no longer post comments on blogs I have read for years. </li>
<li>Not only that, I am getting virtually no comments at all on my posts. I wondered if my blogging friends were mad at me. Had I offended everyone somehow???</li>
<li>I noticed it seems my posts are no longer appearing on Blogger Reading List.</li>
<li>I wondered if I had messed everything up when I switched over to Google+, so I stopped posting using Blogger.</li>
<li>Then, I went back to using Blogger only to post and did not use Google+. </li>
<li> I’m so confused.</li>
<li>A dear reader wrote me a private email and told me she could not post to my blog because I needed a gmail address. (I had a gmail address and thought it was linked to my blog.)</li>
<li>I did a bit of reading about the need to switch to make sure I was publishing using https. Ok, that is when I really get confused! </li>
</ul>
<div>
I thought I would just be done with Blogger and start all over. I considered using Squarespace, or Wordpress, or whatever. I thought of hiring someone to create a website for my blog. I thought of throwing the computer through the window! </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, I bought an ebook on how to fix the mess I could not understand on blogger. Now, I need to hire someone to tell me what the ebook is saying! I don’t get it. Maybe Blogger has truly left me behind. Maybe I should just sign off and never blog again, but I’m really not ready to so that. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, please, those of you out there among my blogging friends, forgive me for not commenting on your blogs. If I must comment by using a Google identity, I can’t seem to leave a comment. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I miss seeing comments on my blog and wonder if comments have been left and then lost in space somewhere. One woman said that one day, after weeks and weeks of never getting comments, she got all of weeks and weeks of comments in one day. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In conclusion, if you have read all of this and are still with me, please send help! What did you do when blogger made all of the recent changes? Did you change anything? What am I doing wrong?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will be forever grateful for any advice you can give me. I haven’t given up yet. I hope to be up and running at full speed soon. It is discouraging to write posts when they seem to be flung to the universe and never make it to readers. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks again for all of your loyal support in the past. </div>
<div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-76185324043598256142018-08-08T10:12:00.001-06:002018-08-09T14:15:51.409-06:00Reflections on Grief and Gardening<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>8/08/18</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Team 808</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This post was written seven years ago when I struggling through my journey with grief after the death of my daughter Julie on May 29, 2010. </div>
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Gardening was one place where I always found solace, comfort, and peace during that time.</div>
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The lessons I learned during that time continue to teach me as I continue this journey </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
one day at a time.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am reposting this in Julie’s memory on this day that always reminds us of her.</div>
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*****************</div>
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<br /></div>
If gardening truly is a form of autobiography, then I would have to say that my gardening this year could serve as a metaphor for my life for the past month or so. Mostly, I have felt that I have been living in a hit or miss style when it comes to gardening, blogging, house keeping, and journaling. Perhaps, I have an excuse for this style of living. Perhaps, I do not.<br />
<br />
It has been a hectic past four weeks. Family has been visiting. I have many trips up and down I25 from Pueblo to Colorado Springs to visit my son while he was staying at his mother-in-law's house, or to keep doctors' appointments. I have also made my share of trips up and down I25 between Pueblo and Erie, Colorado to babysit grandchildren and help out my daughter Amy in other ways. And, I've even made a trip up North to work on a professional project with which I have been involved over the summer.<br />
<br />
I have struggled with anxiety, stress, pain, and grief throughout the summer. I am finally feeling better. I am learning to deal with my stress better. I'm no longer quite as surprised by the waves of grief that continue to wash over me. I am learning to expect this as I move forward in the healing process.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PG19pALRCx6mdzOJDxyDZfF-uAFu4L124Vi1ipONdnH0mKjhSrJPPFeQ1OleZ1-qC935MIrnWofWWFspoPlr2ACVRmmrHsyK50v0PJVsv6i4zw3fDqAugcrxgDAHvs1w42zhbN84Id92/s1600/summer+reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PG19pALRCx6mdzOJDxyDZfF-uAFu4L124Vi1ipONdnH0mKjhSrJPPFeQ1OleZ1-qC935MIrnWofWWFspoPlr2ACVRmmrHsyK50v0PJVsv6i4zw3fDqAugcrxgDAHvs1w42zhbN84Id92/s320/summer+reading.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
Most mornings begin with me reading the newspaper, drinking my coffee, eating my breakfast, and chatting with my man while we sit on our back deck. I'm grateful for such an unhurried, peaceful way to start the day. I love the comfort the beauty of my flowers give me.<br />
<br />
Today, I did get out of my hit or miss mode and got the roses deadheaded. I also gave the lavender a hair cut since I had neglected to harvest the blooms when they were in their prime. I am hoping for a second blooming.<br />
<br />
I keep my old Olympus C740 in the shed to use to record work done on the yard and garden. I also take photos to remind me how a certain bed was planted the year before, or to remind me of lessons I need to learn as I plant in coming years.<br />
<br />
Yes, gardening is a form of autobiography.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Autobiographical Lessons from This Year's Garden</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b>Spacing and planning ahead</b></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3nbENv2ucF-FhqP5jzLj41z7hMhC-0h-O43Qoj98iitnLkW_UBLbCVLkYiU9H6VFyHggVkwJe0Mwcu2-wrFuGhiLMaD9Lcm5aqCV35QqkmCXUN6VGwGCzAq9VdMBRc-WcWsiPsOuule2/s1600/P1010178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3nbENv2ucF-FhqP5jzLj41z7hMhC-0h-O43Qoj98iitnLkW_UBLbCVLkYiU9H6VFyHggVkwJe0Mwcu2-wrFuGhiLMaD9Lcm5aqCV35QqkmCXUN6VGwGCzAq9VdMBRc-WcWsiPsOuule2/s400/P1010178.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I love my zinnia bed in the front yard,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I failed to space my planting appropriately.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have that problem in life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I had five kids in ten years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is another illustration of my spacing problem.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My kids, and my zinnias, are a beautiful sight to behold,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
so</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
maybe a wild, blooming bunch of them all together is not a problem after all.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Think before you commit to something that might be a hard thing to remove in your life.</b></li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I once loved the look of Russian sage that grew in hedges I saw as I drove through town.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I planted three for four of them to use as a hedge in my front yard.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My neighbor put weed killer on all but one of them,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
thankfully!<br />
I was so upset with him at the time.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Later, I dealt with the reality of that big, land grabbing, spreading plant that I added to my landscape.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I no longer loved it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It took two years of applications of weed killer,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
an ax,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a shovel,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and a strong man</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to get rid of the roots that this plant put down.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Finally, it is gone.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It no longer sends out new plants.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I research things a bit more now before I let them become rooted in my life.</div>
<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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKsRwN85TsoBKrRpxzSNwlOljz4DS7nLsjMg7Hu5HCgWdzaZSK4kvEMy-46clq99adGjcaxxuQDbIbgGYCLwrS766liZsat_X_ch2eTfUcHmWOflhNP4033-nGijZAWPWj8uikUNbehYZ/s1600/P1010163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKsRwN85TsoBKrRpxzSNwlOljz4DS7nLsjMg7Hu5HCgWdzaZSK4kvEMy-46clq99adGjcaxxuQDbIbgGYCLwrS766liZsat_X_ch2eTfUcHmWOflhNP4033-nGijZAWPWj8uikUNbehYZ/s400/P1010163.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Digging out Russian sage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhO0UjsY7ygrdaZjhL2qzA7Gu9AMU0AHA8w53UDvlOmUf1T0YkBIRkUNttCSSiLGmf4u711-nyWF66nOByXrqUmVhdI9rWftTUgEN8mmi8DCwpNktG7Z-cGGVW4HyTarpRoYoxzpAlyFFkk/s1600/P1010162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0UjsY7ygrdaZjhL2qzA7Gu9AMU0AHA8w53UDvlOmUf1T0YkBIRkUNttCSSiLGmf4u711-nyWF66nOByXrqUmVhdI9rWftTUgEN8mmi8DCwpNktG7Z-cGGVW4HyTarpRoYoxzpAlyFFkk/s400/P1010162.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Using an ax to get the job done<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Gardening and grief</b></li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskULmPB6FHx6bWpgF2SgfpcDHEzGs0EBRqj9B8eapAs1EwFA5VcP6v5lD0jgS_o-iCgYw628J8xP8WyJQI7FU1UOqG_gmAYd4Lyp-8TffRReKbjl86advmq_u2A3TjyaBlfi3m08e19Ur/s1600/P1010165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskULmPB6FHx6bWpgF2SgfpcDHEzGs0EBRqj9B8eapAs1EwFA5VcP6v5lD0jgS_o-iCgYw628J8xP8WyJQI7FU1UOqG_gmAYd4Lyp-8TffRReKbjl86advmq_u2A3TjyaBlfi3m08e19Ur/s640/P1010165.JPG" width="592" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
As in gardening, we must make choices in how we respond to grief.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Grief adds many textures, colors, and dimensions to our lives that were not there before.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We have a choice on how we respond to grief.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QAF1BYEidUF-aZ6DGtQq5CsS_VrqG7FSqdVLK2uhhyphenhyphenga9rwKdH1NjCLX1VcZ9n1KVTJvtpmPLaaS7KupGZbJhufjYrKmhTD6oMyr81xqzgDdnBKW3Fk9kjOAZ3lclMGXzUrEsoEgHCfX/s1600/P1010172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QAF1BYEidUF-aZ6DGtQq5CsS_VrqG7FSqdVLK2uhhyphenhyphenga9rwKdH1NjCLX1VcZ9n1KVTJvtpmPLaaS7KupGZbJhufjYrKmhTD6oMyr81xqzgDdnBKW3Fk9kjOAZ3lclMGXzUrEsoEgHCfX/s400/P1010172.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In the early days of the grief experience, we sometimes think our lives will never bloom again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqdLr_FemrcP2r1OlHRQsAIg0ZYG_vnI1rc9z6TFOOajcflLfo4DTIrqk-hVVAlpwZae5E0QuZT6F9YlzVNmpp7zTvfzH6SibQ8BW7lalu7VSpJeOv0Y3EMVQl2Ew5h-o3K67oVFYkJuH/s1600/P1010174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqdLr_FemrcP2r1OlHRQsAIg0ZYG_vnI1rc9z6TFOOajcflLfo4DTIrqk-hVVAlpwZae5E0QuZT6F9YlzVNmpp7zTvfzH6SibQ8BW7lalu7VSpJeOv0Y3EMVQl2Ew5h-o3K67oVFYkJuH/s640/P1010174.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
During a time of mourning and grief, everyone turns to something.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Making choices that mask our pain is done because we believe this will make our pain go away.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In reality, such choices can delay our healing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfQ3hyphenhyphen-fELAZp4B1pNe4qM_cRoK0rikdOCFe7fiMQkD8EUWvQCM0s2-oGsZyMmjJZAQOggklTZj3JphodciDI-W-xSRir1Mu7y-m-lm1YXqWsYckUN08ZKIYaZIXx3x0cFK3B3FRdNiL_/s1600/P1010181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfQ3hyphenhyphen-fELAZp4B1pNe4qM_cRoK0rikdOCFe7fiMQkD8EUWvQCM0s2-oGsZyMmjJZAQOggklTZj3JphodciDI-W-xSRir1Mu7y-m-lm1YXqWsYckUN08ZKIYaZIXx3x0cFK3B3FRdNiL_/s400/P1010181.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
H. Norman Wright said that after the loss of a loved one<br />
it takes at least eighteen months </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to experience longer stretches of time with less pain.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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By trusting God's healing grace,</div>
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I find I am moving forward </div>
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in life</div>
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in healing.</div>
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Grief changes everyone.</div>
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Grief is hard work.</div>
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Doing the hard work of grief brings the lessons that only grief can teach us.</div>
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When we invite grief to changes us,</div>
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it deepens us.</div>
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It grows our souls.</div>
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We find peace.<br />
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* Many of the lessons on grief quoted in this post were taken from Susan Duke's book, <i>Grieving Forward, Embracing Life Beyond Grief.</i><br />
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** All of the flower photos were taken today in my garden.</div>
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<li style="text-align: left;">The pink rose bud: Queen Elizabeth</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">The white rose: Pope John Paul II</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">The red rose: I did not record the name for this rose. I named it Julie many years ago. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">The pink/yellow rose: The Peace Rose</li>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com0Colorado Springs, Colorado38.272688535980976 -105.820312513.310068535980975 -147.1289065 63.235308535980977 -64.5117185tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041834369094012241.post-23650113512211481012018-07-18T11:45:00.000-06:002018-07-18T11:45:08.374-06:00A Trip to Philadelphia ~ Memorial Day to the Fourth of July ~ Part Two <h3 style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">These days, I do not travel alone. I may go to Utah without Jim to visit my children, but other than that, as I have gotten older and have had a few health challenges, I do not like to travel alone. Utah is a place where I spent many years living, and I have spent all of these thirty plus years since I left Utah returning at least once during the year for a visit, so I am very familiar with my surroundings there. It is like returning to my old hometown. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Also, I have friends and family there, so I never feel adrift when I am there alone. I no longer drive to Utah alone. I make the one hour flight so easily that I often wonder why I don’t make the trip more often. Once I am there, I generally rent a car so I have my independence while visiting friends and family. </span></div>
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Philadelphia </div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">This year, I made decision I rarely make these days. I decided to fly to Philadelphia alone so that I could attend conference. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When we were working, Jim and I went to different destination spots to attend educational conferences. It was always fun to make those trips where we would learn new things, meet new people, and explore new places. This trip to Philadelphia was different from many of those professional conference trips that we once made. The conference I planned on attending in Philadelphia, while educational, was a medical conference where I would learn the very latest about living with and treating a medical condition that I have called <a href="https://rarediseases.info.nih.gov/diseases/10886/frontal-fibrosing-alopecia"><span style="color: blue;">Frontal Fibrosing Alopcia.</span></a> </span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Jim always so supportive of me in dealing with this condition, encouraged me to attend the conference. I wanted to make a trip out of it for both of us, yet when we discussed the trip, </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">we decided that he really would not enjoy being at the conference with me, and since the conference was being held at a hotel at the airport, it would be difficult and expensive for him to make trips into the city from the conference hotel to explore the historical sites found in the city. We even discussed extending the trip so that we could explore the area together once the conference was over. We thought we might rent a car and drive to Scranton, Pennsylvania, to visit my son and his family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Flights, rental cars, and hotels are very expensive in the east during the first of June, so that also was a factor that we considered when we thought about making this trip together. As it turned out, my son and his wife were going to be packing up and getting ready to move back to Colorado about the same time I would be attending the conference. In the end, it just made more sense for me to travel alone to Philadelphia. </span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">If you have read my blog before, you may have read my accounts of living with alopecia. I first wrote about my journey with hair loss in 2016. You can read that post here: <a href="https://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2016/01/hair-journey-of-loss.html"><span style="color: blue;">Hair: A Journey of Loss</span></a>. The most recent I wrote can be read here: <a href="https://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2018/02/life-lessons-learned-from-hair-loss.html"><span style="color: blue;">Life Lessons Learned from Hair Loss. </span></a><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></div>
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CARF</div>
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Cicatricial Alopecia Research Foundation</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I attended my first<a href="http://www.carfintl.org/"> <span style="color: blue;">CARF Conference</span></a> two years ago in New Orleans. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When I was in New Orleans, I made great friends among the wonderful people whom also have some form of scarring alopecia. One would never aspire to join the CARF community, yet one is so grateful to have a group that offers so much support when one is hit with scarring alopecia. It is a shock to be hit with alopecia! I often welcome new members to the scarring hair loss community by saying, “This is one of those clubs you never wanted to join, but you will find it is one the best clubs you can ever join because it is where you find so much understanding, support, and friendship.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">When I finally left for Philadelphia, I could hardly wait to meet all my friends that I had met in New Orleans two years ago. Some of these friends, from all over the country, have been there when I have called them on the phone and we have talked for over an hour at a time sharing hope and help when it seemed no one else even knew anything about the disease we share. We send emails, and we support each other online forums. We have an awesome community!</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">You won’t see photos of my alopecia friends in my posts because this is a condition many choose not to share with others. I honor and respect the privacy that others wish to have.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I posted the following on a private internet support group page when I first arrived in Philadelphia:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I’m here in Philadelphia attending the CARF Conference. Ben and I have a lot in common. I never thought I’d end up looking like him, but FFA hit me, and now he and I have a real connection. I’m looking forward to learning more about this condition from the shared wisdom of this awesome group of people.</span></i></span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Good old Ben </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">and I really do have a lot in common these days. We share the same hairline. Actually, Ben’s hairline is not as far back on his forehead as mine is, and he has more hair in the back than I do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">My forehead is not even a “fivehead” anymore. It is more like a “sixhead.” In other words, I need the width of six finger to measure how far my hair has receded. This is not the look I was going for as I aged!</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Once I landed in Philadelphia, I boarded a bus to take me to the hotel and happily realized that my dear, dear friend that I officially met two years ago was on the same bus. She was the first person I ever spoke to by phone who also had the same form of scarring alopecia that I have. We “met” over the net because I wrote a blog post about my condition. Someone else with this condition read my post, called this friend to tell her to read my post. Once this person read my post, she commented on my blog about what I written. I read her comment, and then tracked her down, sent her an email, and then we spoke by phone for nearly two hours! That was two and a half years ago. I now count her among my dearest friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I saw little of Philadelphia itself. Most of my time was spent at the conference. I hope to write about the conference itself later. I did however make three short trips into the city. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">The first day I in Philly, one of my friends and I took an Uber into the city, did a little bit of walking, and ate lunch while we caught up with each other about life and about our shared hair condition. She took a photo of me while we were in town. That’s me wearing one of my wigs while I am standing in front of Independence Hall. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I learned from </span><a href="http://constitutionfacts.com/" style="font-weight: normal;">ConstitutionFacts.com</a><span style="font-weight: normal;">, that those wig-wearing men whom frequented Independence Hall when our country was first founded were wearing wigs made of goat and horse hair. Those wigs were seldom washed properly, smelled terrible, and tended to attract lice. (Yuck) That is why these wigs were called “powdered wigs.” The wig wearer sprinkled a powder that was made of “finely ground starch and scented with lavender” over their wigs. (Was this the first dry shampoo?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I can’t even imagine how heavy those wigs must have felt, and it makes my head itch to even think of having goat hair or horse hair next to scalp. Scratch, scratch, scratch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Ben Franklin was truly a wise man. He rocked his bald head. He did not wear a wig. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">My next trip into the city came when on the second night of my conference my son surprised me with a phone call saying that since the flights bringing his wife and baby to Pennsylvania had been disrupted by late flight connections, she was now flying into Philly. He and his oldest son picked me up after my conference Saturday night dinner, and took me into town for dessert at <a href="http://maxbrenner.com/locations/usa/restaurant-philadelphia/">Max Brenner’s.</a> What a fun time that was! I didn’t think I’d get to see these two when I was in PA, but it turned out we had a special adventure of driving around downtown Philly at night while looking for that special place where chocolate addictions are fed by wonderful concoctions heavily flavored by chocolate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">On the last night of the conference, after nearly everyone else had gone home, one of my dear friends with scarring alopecia whom I met in New Orleans and then was able to spend time with again in Philadelphia, asked me to join her and her mother on a trip into the city for dinner. We took a taxi to <a href="https://readingterminalmarket.org/"><span style="color: blue;">Reading Terminal Market.</span></a></span><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">What a fun place! We ended up eating dinner at a place called <a href="https://readingterminalmarket.org/merchant/molly-malloys/"><span style="color: blue;">Molly Malloy’s.</span></a> The hamburgers there were seriously the best I have eaten in a very long time!</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">It had been raining when we arrived at Reading Terminal Market, but since the rain had stopped when we finished eating, we decided to do a bit of a walking tour of Philadelphia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">I recognized a few of the landmarks from my trip into town with my son Jonathan, so I suggested we go to Max Brenner’s for dessert. I thought that Google Maps would help us find the way. I think I also must have been thinking that the guy on the horse was pointing in the direction we should go. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMakGPztJ8orUpx46n7iR3lrpO2wYbUsXx9S9vFISsAOfWF6cICE7MDfFw1-Qs_LZN_r_mRLiqks3ZsO6MNzJO91E8LzjT6hkdAuOl7yd2rM2NOZIkdzHhcCGEVqa472mwncVdRvZrB72V/s1600/IMG_1021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMakGPztJ8orUpx46n7iR3lrpO2wYbUsXx9S9vFISsAOfWF6cICE7MDfFw1-Qs_LZN_r_mRLiqks3ZsO6MNzJO91E8LzjT6hkdAuOl7yd2rM2NOZIkdzHhcCGEVqa472mwncVdRvZrB72V/s400/IMG_1021.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">My friend took a walk through the water fountain...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLhlHjDd1824iQ1mQ3_J9XDJXjBLKYSxYOGC8cqtir6CHLhIlgLdNgji4Y7ldD3kDaU8oPMdEYQC77Gm6t4sduoNwvShCqEFEzFDvQ3oRFPpM2DRQ9EIt3uGrJ5AuqZFOwmDFZRNR_bxK/s1600/IMG_1036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLhlHjDd1824iQ1mQ3_J9XDJXjBLKYSxYOGC8cqtir6CHLhIlgLdNgji4Y7ldD3kDaU8oPMdEYQC77Gm6t4sduoNwvShCqEFEzFDvQ3oRFPpM2DRQ9EIt3uGrJ5AuqZFOwmDFZRNR_bxK/s400/IMG_1036.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">We then got out to the street where we were supposed to go, but I learned that I am very challenged about direction in big cities. Actually, I already knew that. Also, I learned that when following Google Maps, one should make sure that the “walking” instructions are on instead of the “driving” instructions. Oppps. There are a lot of one way streets in Philadelphia, so the driving instructions kept telling us to turn when we should not have turned while walking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">We were very turned around, and we were walking in the opposite direction from where we wanted to go. My friend and her mother suggested that it seemed we were heading into a neighborhood that didn’t look too safe. They were right. Thankfully, a couple came along, and we asked them for directions. Yep, we were truly walking in the opposite direction from our destination.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">We turned around and soon we arrived at Max Brenner’s where for the second time, I enjoyed a wonderful chocolate dessert. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">On my last day in Philadelphia, I only had time for breakfast at the hotel before I had to leave for the airport. I was sure everyone from the conference had left when I went downstairs, but I was wrong. As I headed to the restaurant, I heard the familiar voices of a few of my friends. We all were so happy to have one last time to share a meal, some conversation, some words of support. Departing hugs were given, and we all promised to meet again in two years for our next conference. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">My trip to Philadelphia was memorable for so many reasons. I reunited with so many friends, and I made new ones. As I have said before, some of the most intelligent, successful, and beautiful women I have ever met are the women I have met whom also suffer from scarring alopecia. There are also some men in this group whom have given so much to make sure we have the support and information we need to deal with this disease. I can’t imagine having this disease without the support of all of the wonderful people associated with CARF. I’m so grateful I had the opportunity to attend this conference and spend some time in Philadelphia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">More on the conference itself later...</span></div>
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Sally Wesselyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06470453773515491625noreply@blogger.com0