tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58356301879293847162024-03-14T14:49:31.978-04:00Under the Jacaranda TreePhotography, digital scrapbooking, travel, quilting, machine embroidery, lamenting, wishing, hoping, planning, dreaming...you know, just plain old stuff. And sometimes political (Conservative).Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-65871489394069739522014-07-03T17:36:00.001-04:002014-07-03T18:08:41.448-04:00Giving to give.<div class="s4" style="margin-bottom: 1px; margin-top: 1px;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">As I sit here with a massive (to me anyway) amount of bills</span><span class="s3">:</span><span class="s3"> stu</span><span class="s3">dent loans (i.e., stupid loans), </span><span class="s3">taxes, car payment, you know - the usual</span><span class="s3">,</span><span class="s3"> I ask myself </span><span class="s3">“W</span><span class="s3">hy are you tithing? Doesn't God want you to be honest and pay off your creditors?</span><span class="s3">” Truth is, n</span><span class="s3">o one is bothering</span><span class="s3"> me, I make my payments</span><span class="s3">, so it isn't like I am derelict, I am just over-extended. Every day, I am hounded by that negative voice of the bill collector in my head to do the "right" thing and get my bills paid off and then I can tithe. By the end of the year I could have the IRS paid off and then there would be no sweat tithing. My practical side tells me this is what I should do...yet I am haunted by an Old Testament prophe</span><span class="s3">t, Malachi, who asks me "Would you rob</span><span class="s3"> God?" </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I am encouraged by a lifetime of hearing (faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God) that I cannot out give God. I don't think I ever saw that in the Bible, just parables about giving. Part of me has to ask is that really about money? I, personally, think that stories like the one of the talents is about souls more than cash. The Bible tells me that my only job</span><span class="s3"> to go into all the world and preach the gospel,</span><span class="s3"> and the</span><span class="s3"> job of the church is to</span><span class="s3"> the</span><span class="s3"> harvest souls</span><span class="s3"> and to encourage the believer</span><span class="s3">. Yes, I know all the arguments about the church needing the money to bring in the souls, which is a fine argument...when the church is doing that</span><span class="s3">..</span><span class="s3">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">It is also my interpretation that we are to live a life of worship, that everything we do should</span><span class="s3"> be worshipful to our Master. And t</span><span class="s3">hat the washing of the water of the Word and a light shining on a hilltop means that we are to use the Word to expose sin that hides in the hearts of humanity.</span><span class="s3"> (Sin is a dirty word in some churches I have observed.)</span><span class="s3"> How</span><span class="s3">ever,</span><span class="s3"> the</span><span class="s3"> prosperity gospel, though</span><span class="s3"> lighter than it was in the 80s, still resides in the church, big or small. No matter when the message of giving and tithing is preached, it seems it is</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s3">always preached with the promise of </span><span class="s3">monetary or material bounty in return. Really? Are you really going</span><span class="s3"> to get your hundred-fold return when you haven't won a soul to Christ </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">on your own, ever? Is the Bible really telling you to </span><span class="s3">“</span><span class="s3">ask, seek, knock</span><span class="s3">”</span><span class="s3"> for things? Isn't that really about salvation? Isn't</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s3">salvation</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s3">the bounty that we should be seeking and, once found, sharing?</span><span class="s3"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Missionaries are living sometimes meager existences, returning to this country going from church to church asking for sponsorship.</span><span class="s3"> They come into our churches and see how affluent we are living. They are tithing their lives, sacrificially giving up their American lifestyle to go back to the hard-life of third-world countries, sometimes risking their very lives. How do they do that? How do they make it without a flat screen TV or a Tempur-pedic mattress? </span><span class="s3">They are driving some rattle-trap vehicle or riding on the back of a donkey, while we are over-extended on car payments. Where is their ten-fold return? </span><span class="s3">Surely, the missionary who is doing God’s work where many of us would never venture should be rolling in material blessings? Surely…</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Greater love hath no man but to lay down his life for his friend. Go… </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Aren't we giving to help spread the gospel? If we had a true heart for souls would</span><span class="s3"> getting a ten-fold return</span><span class="s3">of cash even be a consideration. Shouldn't our heart be giving to get a ten-fold return of people won to Jesus, good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over? Not $10 for every $1, but ten people for every $1. Holy canoli, if that happened and everyone tithed how the churches coffers would grow and imagine the good that could be done with all those tithes? What if you never got anything material in return? Why is that even a consideration? </span><span class="s3"> Is it because our eyes are always on our master? Want to know who your master is…search your heart regarding giving…is it to advance the Kingdom or to get a blessing?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Yes, I want to be blessed like all of you, but more than that I want to </span><span class="s3">go to Heaven,</span><span class="s3"> I want my loved ones to go to Heaven and I want everyone I ever knew or will know to go to Heaven. </span><span class="s3">For those I will never meet, I want someone to reach them so they can go to Heaven too. This</span><span class="s3"> is where God opens my eyes to the true identity of the</span><span class="s3"> pesty</span><span class="s3"> "voice of reason" that lives inside each of us...He shows me that giving to get is a first world kind of idea. We should be giving to give. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">The blessing isn't in giving in three-levels to see a financial miracle in your life, it is </span><span class="s3">giving in three-levels to see </span><span class="s3">VICTORY in your spiritual life. </span><span class="s3">The loud voice screaming in your head “YOU NEED THAT MONEY” isn’t the Holy Spirit. The still small voice that says “Feed my sheep” is the voice of Christ.</span><span class="s3"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">This is what I know, if th</span><span class="s3">ere is no Heaven, if God, </span><span class="s3">Jesus</span><span class="s3"> & the Holy Spirit</span><span class="s3"> are just fantasies that help me make it through life, then fine. They are no bigger fantasy that the horoscope, tarot and </span><span class="s3">all the other stuff that I </span><span class="s3">use</span><span class="s3">d</span><span class="s3"> to </span><span class="s3">use to cope in the past. If the Trinity is a </span><span class="s3">fantas</span><span class="s3">y, it is</span><span class="s3"> for the good of the world, an</span><span class="s3">d its people</span><span class="s3">. Everything else is for the good of self. Christ came for the good of the world. I know this</span><span class="s3"> much</span><span class="s3">, having Jesus in my life has not made things harder</span><span class="s3"> for me. A life of partying, drinking, being promiscuous, etc. only brought me worry</span><span class="s3"> and sorrow</span><span class="s3">. I don’t miss the old music that played with my emotions, I don’t miss the TV </span><span class="s3">shows and movies that brought </span><span class="s3">broken ungodly ideas into my mind, I don’t miss reading books that are sour on life</span><span class="s3">, and I don’t miss old “friends” who drug me down into the spiritual abyss</span><span class="s3">. Almost everything I hear, read, or see now is edification for my soul, not putrification. So I haven’t lost anything, as Toby Mac says</span><span class="s3">,</span><span class="s3"> what good is it if I gain the whole world and lose my soul?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Practicality, Condemnation, and Reason</span><span class="s3">, those evil spirits, </span><span class="s3">as </span><span class="s3">they speak to me daily, I counter them with the</span><span class="s3"> Truth. I am not “throwing my money away” giving it to the church, like I am when I give it to Amazon.com or Target or</span><span class="s3"> restaurants, really</span><span class="s3"> anywhere</span><span class="s3"> that</span><span class="s3"> I spend money on things I have no need for,</span><span class="s3">the truth is</span><span class="s3"> I am giving that money to bring in the Sheaves</span><span class="s3">, for the Harvest</span><span class="s3">. So I just speak </span><span class="s3">at them </span><span class="s3">with my God given authority – “Get thee behind me Satan! Will a man rob God?”</span><span class="s3"> And then </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5835630187929384716" name="_GoBack"></a><span class="s3">let the hope of a financially prosperous return leak out of my heart and mind like a sieve, because I am not giving to get, I am giving to give.</span></span></div>
Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-14198553625108870482013-10-06T16:54:00.002-04:002013-10-06T16:54:39.607-04:00What a surprise!It has been over a year since I last wrote in this blog, I was fairly happy then, compared to the couple entries before that. However, now I am much much happier and kind of surprised at the way my life has changed just since last October when I was mooning over my heart throb. Now I barely think of him (barely) but I have a new love, someone I was in love with before but pushed aside. Jesus! <br />
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Yes, I know what you are thinking. It is true, I have even started seeing Him at His place more than once a week. I am sure you remember that I swore I would NEVER darken His doors again because the rest of His family were loons, hypocrites, and hateful. <br />
<br />He got to me though. He called me late at night, at work, in the early morning hours, when I was just sitting around doing whatever kind of thing my heart desired - He called to me. He said, "Remember, the scripture is DELIGHT YOURSELF IN THE LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart. Where is your delight?" <br />
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So I gave in. I searched, I found a church where the songs sound like angels voices, and I planted myself, found some awesome friends and yep, We are back together. We are an item. He loves me, I love Him. Who'd a thunk it? Surely not me! <br />
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I was the Amy Winehouse of churchdom, "I won't go to church, oh no no no no no!" My thought was that He and I could be just friends, you know. I tell Him my problems, He takes care of them, I say thank you & move on. No relationship, no commitment. He is a sweet talker, that Jesus, and He is so patient. He waited, He bided his time, He knew I would long to get back together with Him. <br />
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After Jeff died I told God that I just needed someone to take care of me, someone to take all these problems and deal with them. A strong man who could just give me a place to rest. I should have known as soon as I started asking that the Father would want to hook me back up with His Son. I mean, He has all those attributes and so many more, in fact, not only is He willing to lay down His life for me - He did! What a hero, and He was here all the time. Holding me up, lighting the way, tearing down strongholds, making a path. <br />
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So all I can ask now is - what do you need? Who are you looking for? Don't think you are hiding...<br />
I can hook you up, just ask me. <br />
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Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-23798711151898519632012-08-12T08:57:00.001-04:002012-08-12T09:35:49.171-04:00The dangers of swimming in natural waters...<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> As I was doing like 100 laps around
my above-ground home swimming pool I was reminded of the poor Shamus. The killer whales
that should be roaming oceans, yet they survive in small (to them) pools for
the pleasure of people, swimming in laps. (Although, note, my laps are gentle,
they do not involve jumping high for a fish, instead I more resemble the gentle
Caribbean manatee, who enjoys the warmer waters of the Gulf of Mexico.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I was doing 100 gentle laps – right!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I thought of swimming pools, something my
mom would never let us build in our back yard and I was reminded of the swimming pools and spots of
my past.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaTD8DlopB3adx4swEO4tuS2uJLroJ_IyjA1I4Wi2dzvS0wOcqx0QQIq6qyADO1UrlHznHyb45ORY0Zr8v1oZJFhW-LlmRUehn5X0gtxwIfTh6RHtPofsFsrm7Xoxin-P4JdIiv6JkHk/s1600/inpool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaTD8DlopB3adx4swEO4tuS2uJLroJ_IyjA1I4Wi2dzvS0wOcqx0QQIq6qyADO1UrlHznHyb45ORY0Zr8v1oZJFhW-LlmRUehn5X0gtxwIfTh6RHtPofsFsrm7Xoxin-P4JdIiv6JkHk/s320/inpool.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> There were two naturally fed pools that I have swam in that
were the subject of nightmares as a child and continue to haunt me on certain nights.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHq-QPhowuxrHR8XNClomKnS8qc29KmwqFlxk3tn1NoiQ3peQIjNUWkwpU3hfeYAG3g2CZPGRyR2ddKIpnPgrs_JA4FUNxQAMLCFUTR0dIshHXitLToRUYErvBCU82TJDiDxLkR7kbhQ/s1600/frontporch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHq-QPhowuxrHR8XNClomKnS8qc29KmwqFlxk3tn1NoiQ3peQIjNUWkwpU3hfeYAG3g2CZPGRyR2ddKIpnPgrs_JA4FUNxQAMLCFUTR0dIshHXitLToRUYErvBCU82TJDiDxLkR7kbhQ/s320/frontporch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span>The </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleishhacker_Pool"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fleishhacker Pool</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> at
the </span><a href="http://www.sfzoo.org/"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">San Francisco Zoo</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This pool is full of salt water from the Bay.
I am sure it was filtered and whatever, but in my dream there are big grates on
the sides of the pool and while I am swimming, the grates open and the devils
that lurk beneath the dark waters of the San Francisco Bay and the Pacific
Ocean swim into the pool to partake of the pool guests.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">2)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span><a href="http://www.lakewinnie.com/"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lake Winnepesaukah</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
in Rossville, Georgia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only went there
a couple of times as a smaller child and whether my memories are true or not,
they add to my nightmares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a
log flume there that my cousins, Billy and Jerry, called the tunnel of love. They
told me that there were cotton mouths in the water and that lovers have died in
the tunnel of love of snake bite. To make it worse I think they had a pool that
had lake water in it, which again was full of nasty lake creatures, including
cottonmouths.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">3) Since I grew up in the San Francisco Bay area I
had the luxury of being able to swim in the Pacific Ocean (home of the
aforesaid Shamu (Orca) whale, killer sharks and deadly purple man-o-war jelly
fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the beaches would be
purple with all the jelly fish and you could not enjoy yourself there. Plus the
water was freezing and giant waves beat against rocks! My other natural
swimming choices, the </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suisun_Bay"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Suisun
Bay</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> that we locals called “the river”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This wonderful piece of water was one of those where you could dip a
finger in it and come back with a bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yikes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one time a dolphin
became internationally famous as he swam from the ocean through the bays and
into the </span><a href="http://www.sacramentoriver.org/"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sacramento River</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speaking of the Sac River…ah the summers at
the river, they were fun, if you didn’t think about what the hell was lurking
in there! One summer there was a hippo loose in the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever seen a hippo in the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the San Francisco Zoo to find out why
you do not want to swim with a hippo.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9sMVmIcpDOvBYke-U8_U2ZkLdxFY8cIB0zLoDXOuBwf0VLTOS9kxA7j1JpTKvqOLfA5uXFBQXi-MBePDhnIJRnSStdpnQdSH4L7eTcVHMIY5i9KCR11-E4nBIvDIxI6pqlbDoS7hbtU/s1600/20091103_075903_ssjm1104sharkstudy91.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9sMVmIcpDOvBYke-U8_U2ZkLdxFY8cIB0zLoDXOuBwf0VLTOS9kxA7j1JpTKvqOLfA5uXFBQXi-MBePDhnIJRnSStdpnQdSH4L7eTcVHMIY5i9KCR11-E4nBIvDIxI6pqlbDoS7hbtU/s320/20091103_075903_ssjm1104sharkstudy91.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>The Pittsburg High School pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (That is not it in the picture below.) </span>Ah, as last a pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent every summer day there that I could
for 25 cents per day and four mile walk from my home (each way). No natural enemies in
there, only Coach Lee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved to make
comments about your splashes into the pool after a jump from the high
dive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to Coach Lee, who called me
a whale at 10 years old (I was not fat, I just made a big splash).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coach was not thin by the way. Anyway, that
tag has stuck in my mind forever and I may have stopped jumping off the high
dive after that!</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFohP_EnMm1WI-Nt54Ww5elychirqM0NIpzV3ylB0yPmGFlc_Dfdm6GFcejtz1-k1R4ilSaFakHCJWg3Oxeg7XNCwpnoIiodYzD8nDgRNgxI84LcDW6-DX5SI6Go5uVRBJZEs5YpecVdI/s1600/high-dive-pic-225x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFohP_EnMm1WI-Nt54Ww5elychirqM0NIpzV3ylB0yPmGFlc_Dfdm6GFcejtz1-k1R4ilSaFakHCJWg3Oxeg7XNCwpnoIiodYzD8nDgRNgxI84LcDW6-DX5SI6Go5uVRBJZEs5YpecVdI/s1600/high-dive-pic-225x300.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">5)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/tilden" target="_blank">Lake Anza</a>, was a wondeful place to swim on a hot summer. Located in the Oakland/Berkeley hills, wonderful. Except when you can't make it out to the floating dock and almost drown.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrfiiFSmeToYMUr176kXnzUBmF_h4jD3mEqVHMVljTX1iuuJ3yYq6hbJeLhIo813Y57p2jWKqIjZ3CjpYqQQe8_eGsX9OkgkcfMpcU0Kg40ytIcCK81sRdZVzKI5HljJU2u9nR97ozKI/s1600/f0009c9b-e98c-454c-bd33-6dc390d8aff9_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrfiiFSmeToYMUr176kXnzUBmF_h4jD3mEqVHMVljTX1iuuJ3yYq6hbJeLhIo813Y57p2jWKqIjZ3CjpYqQQe8_eGsX9OkgkcfMpcU0Kg40ytIcCK81sRdZVzKI5HljJU2u9nR97ozKI/s320/f0009c9b-e98c-454c-bd33-6dc390d8aff9_h.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Now I live on the west coast of the East Coast,
in the </span></span><a href="http://www.visitflorida.com/Tampa" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tampa Bay area</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, again
surrounded by natural waters, lovely bathwater temperature waters, full of icky
looking fish, sharks, rays, jelly fish, etc. And don’t forget all the hot coeds
that flock to our warm white sugar sand beaches in tiny bikinis.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTX1fyn_07brdirAT6LdxI6mVPNgVwJFJMlcAIHTZ27SutFlJrcziWBCvrMa8PQfX8b6mmpDXkRdQROmxy1WltZtahm1LXI8qstYy3tN1p_QTzHtdYm856All2_Uz2UGlyrLF4hpFiOJ8/s1600/beach_girls_at_30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTX1fyn_07brdirAT6LdxI6mVPNgVwJFJMlcAIHTZ27SutFlJrcziWBCvrMa8PQfX8b6mmpDXkRdQROmxy1WltZtahm1LXI8qstYy3tN1p_QTzHtdYm856All2_Uz2UGlyrLF4hpFiOJ8/s320/beach_girls_at_30.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I thank God
for my clean little pool, where I can swim 100 or more laps, around and around,
I can put my face in the water, assured that no one has peed in it, no
dangerous creatures would even want to be in that pool and if there were, I
could see them, and I can get in and out of it 100 times or more a day if I
want without anyone yelling at me to “get in or stay out”. There are no grates
to let in scary water creatures, no one to call me a whale if I chose to make a
splash or two, and no one to be concerned that I don’t have a bikini body. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my little pool.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP1RgTCi5xmzwX5QT1v2zfBuZW8nbbjEg3Z98xdi97a15781ncDhmDZv0o3f0fWEkz7O2dVXwYq9CvshK7X4IGnfMhYdBl9Fl8Zyd80a504zOXAqT5B273px5Co4VEkVUJIoFIxrJoHE/s1600/dolphins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP1RgTCi5xmzwX5QT1v2zfBuZW8nbbjEg3Z98xdi97a15781ncDhmDZv0o3f0fWEkz7O2dVXwYq9CvshK7X4IGnfMhYdBl9Fl8Zyd80a504zOXAqT5B273px5Co4VEkVUJIoFIxrJoHE/s320/dolphins.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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Dream Pool below</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZq8OdisgficErzid2cmEe2M0aJ91OzgdjjManX0CLP5z1LXtR1mCFMRAVQUEoRxogBzGqtZRVHefn656swPjJGYh2dvP51g5u3S3h1Jnj4ka6Sl3bsP37gwQB2hL2dA2j60Vhr9Rp-c/s1600/42221315227167493_1OWHn713_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZq8OdisgficErzid2cmEe2M0aJ91OzgdjjManX0CLP5z1LXtR1mCFMRAVQUEoRxogBzGqtZRVHefn656swPjJGYh2dvP51g5u3S3h1Jnj4ka6Sl3bsP37gwQB2hL2dA2j60Vhr9Rp-c/s320/42221315227167493_1OWHn713_f.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-1249604238139072022012-06-10T09:29:00.003-04:002012-06-10T09:33:43.571-04:0025 year plan-begun!<br />
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">June 10,
2012</span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Driving
home alone from Pembroke Pines to Tampa last night I decided that I want to
at least live until Bryson is 30. That will make me 88. I don't want to be
living in a NH either or with tubes keeping me alive, so to do that I must get
healthier than I currently am. Not that I am bad but I have a few things that
need to be resolved and that has to start by losing weight. All the problems I
have are either from having fat or from exacerbated by having fat. </span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So now I
must begin my true quest of getting healthy. Not some fad but something that I
can do now, live with and adjust as I age. </span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here are some
things I will do:</span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Take
supplements, the right ones, not the latest fad.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be
flexible and realize that new studies debunk old theories.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">See a
nutritionist.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Find
healthy friends who will support my new lifestyle</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Learn to
enjoy vegetables.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Get past
the mental block that will not let me eat vegetables.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do what
exercise I can until I lose enough weight where I can do what I used to do, if
that means starting with chair exercises - so be it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never
forget, this is my goal and only I can make myself attain it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Focus on
myself & my health.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Get my
financial situation under control.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stop
procrastinating.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stop
eating out every day.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Learn to
make rewards for myself and feel that they are valuable.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Learn to
suffer deprivation.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know
that I can have self-control, find that part of me again.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Become
positive.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Become
goal orientated.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stop
wasting time on political stuff that I can't change and focus on those things
I can</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read
inspiring, uplifting stuff.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I have
at least 30 more years left to live then stop living like I am dying now.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Find
people older than me who are inspiring and emulate them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never
again have a relationship to say I have a relationship.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Develop
my old hobbies and find new ones.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">STOP
hiding behind my fat. It keeps me from going places and meeting new people.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I might
be too old to be outgoing, but learn to be approachable.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Failure
is not an option, stop giving up.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Keep that
picture of me as an old person lying in the NH bed with my mouth open and no
sense of reality in the back of my mind, </span></li>
</ul>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-dDKeQcOk9IqRg-fl0DoyX8wgmWQ6o-adC-5jAWuLsO3vh7Awn8g13rQwxZ3Gl5-iRey4ERch9agJScFAKk6Vxl_57RHQrNoCggkNLN8-CVF7WGuiNT72vToGQxaW9Bd46s_HH7tgbo/s1600/life+support+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-dDKeQcOk9IqRg-fl0DoyX8wgmWQ6o-adC-5jAWuLsO3vh7Awn8g13rQwxZ3Gl5-iRey4ERch9agJScFAKk6Vxl_57RHQrNoCggkNLN8-CVF7WGuiNT72vToGQxaW9Bd46s_HH7tgbo/s320/life+support+1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">along with the picture of Hanne, still vibrant at 81.</span>
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMvw1_vCGMPlBLQE5FcybE6Q6W1AcXqD72iVxukSi355syNHG7Hv_Da5x7X3O4cjExZ8X4QiFGJou8QmZbNWqJbyiTubVcZchXQiXNDk-Jl-n6JIKLenQRWpatYLQLJYViNXUpppwVnY/s1600/my+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMvw1_vCGMPlBLQE5FcybE6Q6W1AcXqD72iVxukSi355syNHG7Hv_Da5x7X3O4cjExZ8X4QiFGJou8QmZbNWqJbyiTubVcZchXQiXNDk-Jl-n6JIKLenQRWpatYLQLJYViNXUpppwVnY/s320/my+family.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Who do I want to be...the smiling lady in green for sure!</span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Create a
plan...stick to it. Be who you want to be!</span></b></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-23739828875265137042012-06-02T14:18:00.001-04:002012-06-02T14:18:25.860-04:001 year almost 6 months later...where am I today?<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">June 2, 2012</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been observing myself a little lately, I am in one of
those patterns where I don’t care. I want to care so hopefully I will move out
of it. The one thing that I tell myself that is so self-defeating is that it
won’t matter, because the truth is, (the past does not equal the future), the
truth is that no matter what I do to improve my lot I always end up back here.
And now I am so fat I can’t stand myself, but my mind does not know it is fat.
My body does and my body is sick of itself, but my inner mind is telling myself
that if I don’t look at it, it isn’t there. (It is, fat.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet, I have curtailed my life…I know I only have so many
years left which would have been fine if I also didn’t have to find another man
to spend my years with, and if I didn’t have to face the possibility if I find
someone else he might die and I have to go through all that again. Or he might be mean, or a killer, or someone
bad in my life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I get thinner then I will look and then I will get hurt
again. If I stay fat then I can hide here and just be depressed but know that I
won’t have to love anyone again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every day I still ask God why He did this to me, what did I
do wrong this time, or what is the lesson I need to learn. I want to learn the
fucking lesson so I can get on with my life. I want to be a healthy weight and
I want to go out and have fun, but my misery does not allow me to. What is the
use of getting married for life to have it keep ending badly? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should just be happy to have my kids and grandkids. I
should get thin, run around and date, but not get tied down. I don’t want to be
like those predators that are old and desperate looking. My judgmentalness comes into play when I
realize I could easily be one of them and I so don’t want to be. I heard a funny
story (ha ha) about young guys dating older women and then laughing behind
their backs, like they did the old bats a favor. Sure don’t want that. Ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So who knows what my future holds. I need to get over
myself. I need a girlfriend who lives near me & will walk with me, & go
to a gym with me, and who I can share my feelings with. (I have one friend who
would do this but she lives too far away.) Since I don’t share my feelings well
I usually end up listening to everyone’s story and wondering why no one asks me
mine. Because I wouldn’t tell them anyway. Will I regret that in the end?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there is the money. I treat money like it flows from a
fount and will never dry up. I treat money like why save because my mom saved
everything and died & it was all wasted by me and my jerk 1<sup>st</sup>
husband. I treat money like if you save it and then you die young, others will
spend it. Jeff & I spent it and we had fun, it was not wasted at all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t want to die with a bankroll. But I need to get some
control. Like with food I have un-tethered money issues. I have never been able
to save since I was a kid, I have wasted money and spent it like water. When
Jeff died I did something that I had to do to maintain my house. Now for 5
years I am stuck in this money pit. 5 years seems like a long time when you are
on the short side of 60. Hold on, hold on, hold on, I tell myself. Knowing that
each year I am closer to the candle burning out. And the thought of living in a small apartment
with just my dogs and fewer bills seems so attractive. Something with a pool &
a water view…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So today I am reflective. I am lonely, but I am not lonely.
I am very heavy and see no solution. I am broke and see no solution. I make
poor choices and I see no way out. But who knows, tomorrow I may discover the
answer & as I always say, if I didn’t write it down I would never remember
that I ever felt this way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Onward and upward…</span></div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-10949055822503780532011-05-08T15:29:00.000-04:002011-05-08T15:29:24.710-04:00Why bother?This is just musings, things I have been pondering as I approach my 4th month of widowhood come this Thursday. The question is about another relationship. I am not looking, I am not ready and I am wondering, why even bother. At this point in my life I am thinking it is pretty much going to be him or me. Personally, I have not enjoyed becoming a widow, I certainly do not want to do it again. But it is more than that...<br />
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I would really love to meet a rich guy who is nice and good looking and would provide me with all my needs. Ladies, can I get a Hurah! But let's face it those guys are made in Hollywood. I have seen that even the best of guys are just human. So possibly by letting go of that fantasy I am going to miss out. But I don't believe that because I have already put that into the universe and it will happen. So is that good or bad? I am not going to settle for less...but he has to be a special guy. Not one of these men like I saw the other night. Men with giant fat bellies and average looking faces, their poor ugly super skinny wives looking sickly and ready to break, harsh makeup on their botoxed faces. Why are skinny skinny women such a prize? Esp. when you have to pump their tits up with implants to make them palatable. Plus, I bet the gruesome old men cannot even get erections. I do not want that at all. I would rather live alone.<br />
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My friend had gastric bypass and a body lift. Is she happy? Does she have the love of her life? Nope. Personally, I would love to have a tummy tuck and a boob lift, but I can't afford it and if I could would it be worth the pain. When I met Jeff I just told him - my stomach is disgusting & my boobies sag, I have had 4 kids for god's sake. He was ok with it. When I told him I wanted a boob lift he would say no, he liked them just the way they were. How is that for love! Wish I could love myself that much.<br />
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So does anyone out there know what I want? If so, please comment below because I have not a clue. I don't want to go through courtship again, I don't want someone who does all the things I like to do - BEFORE we are married - and then stops AFTER we are married. But you used to like to dance...<br />
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I don't want grouchy. Suzanne Summers told John Stossel that she could tell he was losing testosterone because he was grouchy. Well screw that!<br />
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But most of all I don't want to love and care for someone again, I don't want to plan my final years again with someone, whom I might find dead, again. Oh and I sure as hell don't want to be a caregiver. Call me cruel, call me whatever, I don't. So I guess it is best just to, when I am ready - which I am not - to just have several, nay - many, many, many meaningless flings! At least that way, when I lose weight again I know I will not gain it back - as Jeff was wont to say - the wedding ring adds 5#s per year & the best diet in the world was to take it off.Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-64868698253211096342011-04-16T00:37:00.001-04:002011-04-16T00:38:57.949-04:00I am writing the next chapter of my story...I just did a 3 card reading and then started reading the birthday book Vicki gave me, 10 Secrets for Success & Inner Peace by Dr Wayne Dyer. They both are on the same theme, it is all up to me. I am now 7 minutes into my 58th year (today is my 57th birthday), and some of the things I thought about my future have recently been proven to be false. You know how when you are crossing a stream, walking on what appear to be solid, though slippery,rocks, imbeded firmly in the earth, when suddenly...oops! The rock wasn't solid, and down you go. You either get up sopping wet and make your way out, or you allow the stream to carry you away, screaming "Help me!" waiting on someone else to save you, when all you have to do is grab a branch and you can get out. Well I chose not to get carried off, I just want to swim to the other side and get the hell out of the stream. You know what comes next, you get out, shake off the water, shivering you start checking your body for scrapes and bruises, and then move on up the path. That is me, even if blood is flowing I just want to move on. Should I ask for help? Even if I don't know what I may need help with? <br />
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Crap, when I fell in the stream I lost my map and now I am bloody (don't worry, the wound cloted) & I am unsure which path I was going to take. I know, the one less traveled...easy for you to say, you are safe & secure.<br />
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Looking around I feel like just sitting on a stump and waiting for someone to rescue me, give me a warm drink, a dry shirt and a friggin' map! I can't, it will be their map and not mine, so I have to decide. I have to sit in the sun and dry off. Check the sun to get my bearings, get off my fat ass and trudge on. I can't wait till I see who I meet along the way. Will I regret taking the next path? Gosh, so many questions. Please God, please, let this be the easy path, please. Bring me someone healthy, wealthy & wise. Help me change my attitude towards my own health, help me recoup my wealth and guide all my steps, teach me to ge wise by depending on You.<br />
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Ok guys, dried off, sun has moved to the west & I am following it to the coast. I'll check in along the way.<br />
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Did you know that I was born at midnight? I am 33 minutes into my 58th year, happy 57th birthday to me <3Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-44833813626124708062011-04-14T12:41:00.000-04:002011-04-14T12:41:40.046-04:00Going, going, gone & so it begins...I am an obit reader, but I don't look for people my age, I have more personal reasons. I remember hearing old people reading obituaries looking for people their age or younger. Well, it is my conclusion now, it is either me or you. Unless we die together one of us is going to be saying goodbye to the other as sometime. Hopefully, later.<br />
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Just heard from an old friend from my childhood days with sad news, another friend of ours - just 57 years young - had passed away. Just like Jeff, she her heart just stopped. No warning. Another friend of ours, he told me, died recently also, from Alzheimers. Damn! We are too young to have Alzheimers, reminder - do crossword puzzles tonight... Then I told him about another friend who is lying in ICU right now, her body being eaten away at by cancer.<br />
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Well, I might drop like Jeff & Sandy did while I am writing this, but when I go, there will be no one who can say I didn't do a lot with the time I had. Yes, I have wasted time, wasted money, wasted youth. But I sure as hell enjoyed the wasting! I am hoping that I have many more hours, days and years to idle away or to fill to the brim. All I want to do is be happy and since I am happy with me that ain't gonna be too hard.<br />
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So here is to my love, Jeff, my son Davey, my BFF Rae, my friends Sandy and Marie, and to Linda, still fighting the fight - you are my shield, I hold you up to the enemy Death and say "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><i>Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est.</i>"</span><br />
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</span>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-14419951709700686482011-04-05T14:39:00.001-04:002011-04-05T16:05:22.955-04:00Money Money Money, Money!I was having dinner with my in-laws and Jerry mentioned that Jeff had won $20k on a scratch off several years ago. Yep, but the government kept 1/4 of it I reminded him. Also we paid of his truck & who knows what else. Then I realized, he wasn't asking me to justify where the money went, nor did I need to tell him.<br />
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After I thought about how much money had slid through our fingers throughout our marriage, including our retirement funds, etc. And then I thought about my mother, who was so tight with money there was a time she would not give me a penny for a gum machine. My 1st husband (the evil one) took me to the bank from her funeral to withdraw her life savings. Because of him & his drug use, we lost the new home we bought & most of the furnishings. Not in a life time, but within two years.<br />
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So who got the best bang for their buck? Jeff, who did things he had never done in his life and probably would have never done had we not met. Jeff who drove new shiny Corvettes, smoked expensive cigars, had a closet full of Tommy Bahamas, and who had beau coup friends. Jeff who dropped dead at 57.<br />
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OR my mom, who lived to be 68 years old, who rarely wasted a penny in her life, who raised a daughter who resented her and her penny pinching ways. My mom, for whom a big night out was riding the gambling bus to Reno or Tahoe once in a while. My mom, who had her fur coat sleeve stuffed with bank books and cash but hadn't had fun in 40 years. Which one got the best bang for their buck?<br />
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I think it was Jeff. What good did all the retirement money do Jeff or my mom? His would have helped me out some but so what. I had a good time with him, we weren't rolling in dough, but we had fun with what we had. Was that so wrong? I am happy that we went to Alaska and we bought a new car every year (my dad's dream). I am happy that we went to Spain, even if he didn't have a good time. I am happy he started smoking cigars, because he made even more friends, esp. two best friends whom he enjoyed being with.<br />
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As for me, I still have time, assuming my health holds out, to have fun and more money. You know how money is, it flows in, it flows out, it flows in. Just waiting on the next tide...<br />
Ka-ching...<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8_anbEJsr6s?fs=1" width="425"></iframe>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-70413500864770878962011-03-09T07:16:00.001-05:002011-03-09T07:16:32.946-05:00Hold me accountable...<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/425727317/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/148/425727317_95f263a3cf.jpg" alt="My last "map" by karrelbuck" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/425727317/">My last "map"</a> a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/karrelbuck/">karrelbuck</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>This is an assignment I had to do for my orientation class, I thought it would be good to post it here so you guys can hold me accountable. <br />(The photo is a treasure map for those who don't know)<br /><br /><br />Jac Tree's Goal Action Plan #1<br /><br />• Goal: To achieve balance in my new life. To once again live a plan, rather than just living a life of serendipity. <br /><br />• Type of goal: This is a main personal goal that will be broken into various smaller goals.<br /><br />• Purpose of goal: Once again I have a new life path and I want to make this period of my life successful and learn the lessons that I am here to learn, which includes avoiding the mistakes I have made before, some many, many times.<br /><br />• Major benefit to me: Once I define and begin to achieve my smaller goals I will no longer be the person that I am today. I will no longer start things and not finish them. I will no longer spend money as if it grows on trees. I will no longer live the laissez aller life. I will live as if my life has consequences . <br /><br />• Benefit to others: I am a person who is happy to wind up wherever the wind may blow me, but this can cause problems in all walks of life and with other people. I am always waiting for the next better thing to come along, afraid to commit. This time around I am going to be committed to commitment.<br /><br />• Barriers: My barrier is distraction. I start out with good intentions and something will catch my eye or my mind, and I am off checking that out. Pretty much like a puppy. I have very little “stick-to-it” genes. I am also one of those people who thrives on adrenalin rushes, so I tend to do things at the last minute. <br /><br />• Solution: I am not really a list maker, but I found if I keep a pad near me and write down what needs to be done I actually do the things on the pad. I have to do this in every area of my life. Not because I enjoy completing things on a list, or get a thrill from crossing them off. I cannot live by a list, but a small one keeps me focused on what I need to do at that segment of time. Again, I live by serendipity so having very small “goals” keep me from being distracted. <br /><br />• Action milestones: When I got divorced in 1990 I made a 5 year plan, this was my plan to get healthy in all areas. I am going to do this again, but it will not be the same as before. One reason is I am not 33 anymore. I have learned a lot already from those earlier goals. So my milestones may be as follows (most of these I am already working on but have not written them down until today, so they are not refined).<br /><br />1. Get finances in order.<br /> Live within my means <br /> Create a budget. (date)<br /> Stop “window shopping”<br />2. Get physically healthy<br /> Visit doctor and see what needs to be worked on<br /> Begin a healthy living style<br /> Eating plan (date)<br /> Exercise plan (date)<br />3. More family time <br /> Spend more time visiting with my grandchildren<br /> Spend more time with my kids and listen better<br />4. Learn and use <br /> Take the time to actually learn to “do” each of my interests correctly. Not just pick it up and run fast, then leave it lay (sometimes for years), only to pick it up again sometime later. Over and over.<br /> Participate and not just observe. <br />5. Become more social<br /> Investigate clubs I would like to join (date)<br /> Attend meetings<br /> Meet new people<br /> Bust preconceived ideas of people<br /> Participate in events, not just observe<br />6. Be an example for others<br /> Make sure that I keep others posted on my journey (through social media), so that they will see that if you really want it, nothing can stop you. Also, so they can see the mistakes I make and how I work it out.<br /><br />• Overall target date: 3/12/2011 is two months since my husband died. I have been implementing these goals since the minute of 1/12/2011 that I realized that I had to have a new plan. On 4/16/2011 I will be 57 years old. This is my “New Year’s Day”. So by 4/16/201, I will have my Goal Map created. This map will include dates, it will include the things I KNOW I want to attain and when I plan to attain then, and it will have room for changes and additions. And I will have begun a new goal treasure map.</p>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-1342735700910170122011-02-27T15:42:00.002-05:002011-02-27T15:54:38.940-05:00New beginnings...againCan't hardly believe it, here I am again, almost 7 weeks into the next version of my life. (I am like Windows, always updating.) Just goes to show you, those computer astrology reports don't mean diddly squat. Ran one in 1994 that was suppose to predict major life changes, etc etc. It predicted I would live to my late 80s & that I would have ONE more major life event. (It did show all the major events in my past & even ended on my parents reports when they died, although the program did not have the info they were dead, so it seemed reliable.) Well, if you know me, you know that that wasn't so. Guess I am destined to just keep living la vida loca.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 1991, when I was single last time. Some things have changed...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me now, 20 years older & more than 20#s heavier. Oh my, lots of work to do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What is on the horizon for me? I never ever ever dreamed I would be divorced. Even though Evil Husband was Satan's henchman, I still thought I would be married till the end. But, not so. Then I never ever ever dreamed I would be a widow. I remember telling my friend Tim that I got married to Jeff for life. Well, I sure did, only it was for his life, not mine.<br />
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I don't hold onto the past or cling to what if's & shoulda woulda coulda's, so I know that seems cold & maybe disrespectful. But if life can be cut short so quickly, like Jeff's was, what are we doing if we waste our little bit of time being dead too. Didn't Jesus tell us to let the dead bury the dead. He meant spiritually dead, but isn't that the same. If we worship the body even after it is gone then we too are dead.<br />
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Now, I am not saying I am looking for a new man or that I don't miss Jeff ever single day. But one day last week it hit me, you are not married any more. I spent all day with the thought "take that wedding ring off, take that wedding ring off". It So that night I did & I put it away. It was very heartbreaking & emotional, but I put on another ring on my middle finger in it's place. I still have Jeff's wedding band on my right hand. As soon as I took the ring off the nagging in my head went away. In my heart, I know no matter how much I love Jeff or how much I miss him or how much I wish he were still here he never will be. It isn't like a divorce or a break up. With those situations, you always have time for a second chance. Why you want a chance with someone who didn't want you, I will never know, but you have that. Me, I have no chance. I just have a choice. Do I sit around here being "dead" too, or do I live.<br />
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So I finally joined the Tampa Bay Camera Club, after years of not joining because they meet 2 Friday's in a row per month & I figured Jeff would not like that too much. If gas weren't high I would join a Camaro club, but I don't want to put the miles on my car anyway. I started school (on line) & I eventually will have to hook up with my single friends & start going out. Oh wait, doing that next Sunday.<br />
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It is my sincere hope that Jeff's family does not feel like I am not respecting him, because they would be so wrong. If I could have him back tonight I would do it in a heartbeat. But we know that isn't going to happen.<br />
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Anyway, if anyone doesn't think I am doing what is right I kind of have to say, screw you. I was single last when I was 35. At that time, dating was hard. Even when I was most mad at Jeff I remembered how horrible it was to live alone & to date & thought I could put up with anything he did (which was just being grumpy) if it meant I never had to date again. Yet, here I am, back on the block.<br />
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You know what that means ladies, lose the weight, lift the boobs, hide the wrinkles. I wish I could afford to tighten, lift & tuck, but I will just be one of those "What you see is what you get" gals. That is how I did it with Jeff. I decided right off he would see me without my make up & without my hair all done up. I told him my stomach wasn't very pretty & my boobs have met gravity. He loved me anyway, just like that. Do you think there is another Jeff out there waiting for me? Could I be that blessed twice?<br />
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I just hope that any lessons I have left to learn are good sweet lessons. Like how to live with an abundance of funds. How to travel the world & stay at the best hotels. How to never worry how to pay a bill, or if I can make the money stretch. How to never have to do my own taxes again. How to travel the seven seas. How to live the sweetest life ever. Yes, how about that lesson plan. Do you think it is written for me? I hope it is written for you too.<br />
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PS: My dream, since Jeff & I got together was to own a family compound in the Keys. Well, he is gone & the kids are grown & their kids are growing. But it can still happen. Not a Lykes type compound (if you live in Tampa, you know), but a nice vacation compound down in the Keys. Jeff & I used to read the Keys newspaper & see them for sale all the time, islands with homes, Mercedes & planes, all included. Yes sir, write it down, make it happen.</div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-20339907482898330852010-12-04T07:05:00.001-05:002010-12-04T07:08:25.603-05:0055+ trailer PARK in Florida????<div class="MsoNormal">? of the day: Now that I am of a certain age & seeing as I reside in the vestibule of God’s Waiting Room, I wonder: Are there any Adult’s Only Trailer Parks? I know your immediate answer certainly, but I say Nay Nay, not those fancy ones, where everyone is required to maintain their space w/garden gnomes, pin wheels & gazing balls filling their lush gardens. Where the well manicured lawns sit above mailboxes that proudly display license plates from the home state & the homes are called “manufactured housing”. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmGxKjZ3Zzq89b2q-40cALohO1-WZX4Mit_Fbo_AvD405EtQcWyvYJdoBZVeuzIq51b4ATGEdHsq5UZ-LVM3ifDU4WJpe_LjDhuqdSEY05y-M23EcC1RvxRpsGTwI80gNL_ode3GmtD0/s1600/trailer-park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmGxKjZ3Zzq89b2q-40cALohO1-WZX4Mit_Fbo_AvD405EtQcWyvYJdoBZVeuzIq51b4ATGEdHsq5UZ-LVM3ifDU4WJpe_LjDhuqdSEY05y-M23EcC1RvxRpsGTwI80gNL_ode3GmtD0/s320/trailer-park.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mean a trailer park, my friend. (I sounded like McCain!) You know the one, it is filled with run down mobile homes, jacked up on cinder blocks. The awning that once hid the offensive blocks (if any at all) is now broken w/peeling paint. The towing bar is still in place, rusting & hazardous. The grass lawns are patchy & dead in most places, exposing sandy dirt, and filled w/weeds. Standing in the door, gossiping w/each other are 2 old battleaxes, each wearing a dirty house coat/dress, with a torn pocket & a broken snap exposing most delicate of areas. One pocket is stuff w/Kleenex & the other a pack of Marlboro Lites. One old bat has her hair up in pink plastic rollers & the other one has stringy gray hair that is definitely what one would call “flyaway”. The sound of multiple meowing is coming from the trailer across the lane. That is where the cat lady lives. People hate even walking by it. Even though the windows are shut tight & the old lady only comes out at night, the smell of cat urine wafts through the holes in the floor of the rotting trailer.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4NGswJFqJB5yt2sKw0T0ob6ouTFqbX7iVusuns6XPolqj_ssKhMBlh1GBuC9tUNfwO9mYgTndANuD69QmSeKs_XTOGLdUu720hiwmV7vx8sx4aF7cukqDYNeXUvz69M200iWw4kr9Qk/s320/strangeoldlady-1.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 doors down lives one of many gin soaked WWII &/or Viet Nam vets, still wearing the once white undershirt they had on the day their wife died. It has holes in it & is thin from many washings. Their khaki colored slacks hang loose around asses that are wasted away, poop stains are visible. The old coots spend their time in their recliners watching TV & reliving their glory years. Should anyone ever have grandchildren to visit in the park, they grumble & fuss, as if they lived in Shangri-la. The only pot “luck” in the trailer is when the old Viet Nam Vet finds his lost stash &it still has something in it other than stems & seeds.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://steelturman.typepad.com/thesteeldeal/2009/05/happiness-gop-republicans-old-men-chess-game-video-mister-six-six-flags-commercial-ad-tv-television.html"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCOCTxGjq333yhzmuNPGzZhYO6TMG6jPobcDF-9scFrM2KYFIEFEELekb5WYdgqHN2HiH9-bFUhFP2JafBG3_gbRcGC6mUkJIXIcEmphJa3AgL5ud0Cge-mRMV1Xqp6PooAwZ5Kl1-Y0/s320/dirty+old+man.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Does this 55+ park exist? If so, please send me the info. You see, now that I am of a certain age I am scouting out my retirement villa, where I can reside without fear of being robbed of my millions. (I am going to stuff all my cash in fire resistant cans, that fit into the holes in cinder blocks. I will then put them under the trailer to prop up the sagging floor.. Damn it to hell, I didn’t mean to tell you that! I don’t need your help after all, I will find the place on my own.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sniff Sniff…</div><div class="MsoNormal">(c) Karrel Buckingham 2010</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://dobhran.nbci.com/humor/grhumor608.htm">old lady photo found here (check it out!)</a><o:p></o:p></div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-32835635725076151332010-12-04T06:42:00.001-05:002010-12-04T07:11:34.150-05:00The Truth about Reebok, Camille & the Chief (Kazinga!)<div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I wrote this on my friend Camille's wall, but since I went to all the trouble reporting this disturbing story I felt the need to share it with the FB world. I hope to goodness Reebok does not hunt me down for exposing this depravity! Of that I am banned from Facebook & Amazon.com</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille, earlier tonight, posted this status "I wanna go home!!!"</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">To which Kelly replied: "are you still at the office?"</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille: "Oh, yez!"</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Kelly: Diane and I were so hoping that you would be at the Christmas party we had tequila shots lined up for you.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille: Well, the Grinch was working.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Kelly: LOL LOL LOL (note, usual snorting was not happening)</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">At this point I became bored with these shenanigans and decided it was time the truth came out about Camille & her move to the DC area. The following barely resembles the truth and not one name has been changed as there are no innocent:</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: Kelly, she is really sitting out on her deck while the cats perform their annual ritual pre-winter dance and fence scream. It is at this time of the year that all the cats who live in the sewer outside Camille's yard expel themselves to participate in the celebration. Camille has prepared her special recipe for catnip stew, with anchovy croquets, and a fistey little concoction called Krazy Katz' slurping' frenzy. Each cat is served upon it's own cafeteria tray. Meanwhile, to remain inconspicuous Camille had donned...</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille: You've lost your mind. I would never serve them on proletariat cafeteria trays.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: A cute little number (see pix). By wearing this costume the cats that are visiting do not look upon her as an outsider, and she is able to remain warm and toasty. One year she became so involved in her little charade, she was seen running around with a startled blue bird in her mouth while she tipped over garbage cans. While all this goes on, George the cat, makes a trek into the sewer upon Reebok's orders. Raisinette is suppose to be the watch cat, but she was distracted that one time. Camille had slipped her glasses back on after slipping in...</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutHFplRoBp-TmdLf31K6llwHBFe30KRQgz87qBq7YwqhfL29_DaSEZw-bzDOqQkC4yJH1pht0VW3INB0K49ybdDRh4cU6YsmQiDJ89CTpUBP_lcMEAAuWOFRb43oFHdLrEpURBcoe22I/s1600/cat_furry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutHFplRoBp-TmdLf31K6llwHBFe30KRQgz87qBq7YwqhfL29_DaSEZw-bzDOqQkC4yJH1pht0VW3INB0K49ybdDRh4cU6YsmQiDJ89CTpUBP_lcMEAAuWOFRb43oFHdLrEpURBcoe22I/s320/cat_furry.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Slime left by the alley cats who had come to watch the other idiot cats prance and preen in that strange woman's yard. As she put her glasses near her beady little eyes Camille caught sight of George as he disappeared down the sewer hole. As we all know, she ran to get food, blankets and about 14 little cat ladders which she lashed together and lowered into the sewer. The visiting sewer cats returned from their prowl after the ritual only to find a strange looking giant cat lying upon a blanket pillow with her face stuck down the sewer hole. What the hell</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Meanwhile George was oblivious as he scurried around the sewer den collecting top secret emails the sewer cats had been transmitting to the White House cats (they live in the swanky tunnels that lead from the White House to the Capitol). The sewer cats have been spying upon Camille because the White House cats became confused when they attended the ritual that 1st year when they overheard Camille talking to KLC on the phone, the were confused by her calling him "Chief". ...</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille (again): You must be exhausted now. And you know at least 7% of that stuff is entirely made up.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: They would not become suspicious of the giant tabby cat sitting in, not upon, a lawn chair. It was reported by Fox News earlier tonight that people in Camille's neighborhood had heard cries that sounded like "Go go Gadget Go" and "Right Chief" then hideous cat fight sounds. (Prior to heading down into the sewer George poured tequila into Camille's raspberry lemonade! :-)</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille (finally exhibiting the respect I deserve): Wow.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: it was tiring reporting on your activities, as I have been typing with one finger, but one such as myself, feels compelled to expose the truth.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">BTW, say what you will, but I saw you steal those cafeteria trays when you were licking, I mean washing them at the homeless shelter Thanksgiving day.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille: Again. Wow. Now you have me actually wondering what does go on in the Lovettsville sewers.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: I know you have tried to put that periscope down there, and there was that tiny video camera you attached to George's Christmas hat that year, but Reebok is not going to let you in on those secrets, it is too dangerous for one such as yourself, to know.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Camille: True.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Me: I know you.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I just realized how scary that sounds, now I know why those feral cats hang around my house...I know too much!</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">(I know, it is the pain drugs, I am going to sleep it off now. FYI - you can catch me outside the Improv in Ybor every Sat. at 4am. Camille - Soft kitty, warm kitty Little ball of fur Lazy kitty, pretty kitty purr, purr, purr)<br />
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(c) Karrel Buckingham 2010 </div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-16829021407061447422010-09-03T13:39:00.002-04:002010-09-04T06:47:48.103-04:00Pardon me NAACP, but you have offended me!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below are pictures of organs and a baby in the womb, they indicate no race, they are just human. By looking at them, can you tell what race they are. Did the person have dark skin or light, straight hair or curly. What race is that baby? Why can't you tell? Because you can't see the skin. Because under the skin we are ALL THE SAME!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipR3BAPGg2DP4GLspBsHs25vW7K9R1KUtUkmjS_KdnTUxeC9deIR7V7nAgFgnNs779tYE997zO4EejDVQfQAX1nbgTYzfhEF-Rsacxu528kLWLMEXbHv1QRuRXnyjwrVDiQMxAobzJl5o/s1600/800px-Liver..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipR3BAPGg2DP4GLspBsHs25vW7K9R1KUtUkmjS_KdnTUxeC9deIR7V7nAgFgnNs779tYE997zO4EejDVQfQAX1nbgTYzfhEF-Rsacxu528kLWLMEXbHv1QRuRXnyjwrVDiQMxAobzJl5o/s200/800px-Liver..JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Human Kidney</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/AVvXsEira1QcMGpHfsklX8zW8aLf64_NirGJS7Qpc7EWQ6Yyo9Teu8x7oLFgzZh46Wd7yhHEDCw5Ir9BoAzV8CCrZnUsgoD_FHWOMRnpN5b5WC76d5p5rzLl2iPXaAkB04hHnYADSYaUSsbYgX8/s1600/1779083_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEira1QcMGpHfsklX8zW8aLf64_NirGJS7Qpc7EWQ6Yyo9Teu8x7oLFgzZh46Wd7yhHEDCw5Ir9BoAzV8CCrZnUsgoD_FHWOMRnpN5b5WC76d5p5rzLl2iPXaAkB04hHnYADSYaUSsbYgX8/s200/1779083_f520.jpg" width="153" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Human Heart</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/AVvXsEiXnSjIy3iPEVN0EuDr8SIy5vTsBF-TlVbftR5pjPjcChrA7J6grcCuv6hx-rB_oQ2IIXO5WQTsaz8QDMSnQB2I2Lq6NFxjW5ZO5lLwoDV9CgR4c3280Eo7bQX8w2SD6V96CNEtLAfCrU0/s1600/lung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXnSjIy3iPEVN0EuDr8SIy5vTsBF-TlVbftR5pjPjcChrA7J6grcCuv6hx-rB_oQ2IIXO5WQTsaz8QDMSnQB2I2Lq6NFxjW5ZO5lLwoDV9CgR4c3280Eo7bQX8w2SD6V96CNEtLAfCrU0/s200/lung.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Human Lung</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Human</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I heard about a new group today, <a href="http://teapartywatch.org/">teapartywatch.org</a> which was set up by the NAACP. Tea Party Watch, their goal is to see if ANYONE at ANY tea party event says something, has a sign, or a t-shirt that has racist remarks on it. Is there a NAACPwatch.org? Why would anyone do this? I am so offended. I think the biggest hater I am aware of is Rev. Al Sharpton. He not only hates, he lies. He is a pot stirrer. I am always amazed that he is given a voice on Fox News. But I guess they figure he makes TV interesting. But he is bad for the races.</div><br />
He said that Martin Luther King Jr would have not liked what happened at the Restoring Honor Rally, he said that it wasn't what Dr. King wanted. Dr. King's niece spoke at the Rally and because of her participation in the event she received death threats from those of her race. The liberal TV, blogs & radio say that everyone there was old white people. Not true, the pictures speak for themselves. But here is what I want to say about "old white people".<br />
<br />
Most of the "old white people" there were my age, or a little older. Many of the men fought in Viet Nam, side-by-side with men of all races. They are younger than Rev. Sharpton. We aren't old, we are from the generation that Dr. King was speaking too. And we listened. We tried hard to raise our children not to see the color of the skin, but rather, the content of the character. Now I have grandchildren and I see that race usually isn't even an issue with them. I heard it say that almost everyone in the US has friends from other races.<br />
<br />
I realize that race relations aren't perfect, but you know what, they aren't as horrible as Rev. Al wants us to believe. But if they weren't, he wouldn't have a platform, he wouldn't have a voice, so he stirs. The old people at the NAACP, they stir.<br />
<br />
Yes there are still ghettos and poverty, but who started welfare, and public housing, etc. Not my generation. Those before me, Rev. Al's generation & Dr. King's generation.<br />
<br />
When I was younger, if a person of color wore a suit and got a job where they were successful, they were called Uncle Tom's. One man, Charles Payne (Fox News), who grew up in Harlem and appears on Fox Business Network talks about how he dreamed of carrying a briefcase when he was a child. He finally got plastic one and another child stole it and broke it. They said he was trying to be white. But I say no, he was trying to succeed and lift himself up out of Harlem. And he did!<br />
<br />
I don't pretend to understand what it is like to be black, but I know this, the people at the Restoring Honor Rally, the majority of the people that attend "tea party" events and Glenn Beck and ME, we are not racists. We want success and happiness for all mankind. We don't want to fight with people because of their religion. We know that people believe different things, we accept that. We don't want to fight with people because of their skin color, most times we don't see it, unless it is pointed out to us, in deed, attitude or word.<br />
<br />
If you have more than me, then I am not mad if you are of a different race. I am not jealous, I am not hateful. If you have less than me and I can help, I am there for you. If you need a hand or a prayer. I am there. Everyone I know is like that. EVERYONE. Why must NAACP, Al Sharpton and their kind (not their race, their attitude) paint us all with the brush they taught us in the 50s and 60s not to pick up anymore.<br />
<br />
On August 28, 2010, were Dr. King still alive and had he retained his message, the one he had when I was just a kid, I think he would have stood with Alveda King and the others of all races and religions on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with Glenn Beck and I think he would be ashamed of people like Rev. Al Sharpton who have rode on his coat tails lo these many years! Rev. Al would have done a lot more good standing their with Alveda King that he did by disrespecting the event.Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-26428468364257002232010-08-29T20:52:00.000-04:002010-08-29T20:52:52.643-04:00Tribute to The Knees<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">My friends, The Knees</span></span></div></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div>When I was a baby The Knees were small too, cute, fat and dimply. They were soft and pliable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Z0gyfv7gwQ2xm1vV-moBixbpr6tOlwWx4G4ymSNUUqKJMMpeGu-eo6RkJRuR_cjieULDc3lFaMQp5omIa-Fhg4AmwXe3J3pFG54ORY0DBq4HPWBg1-gJjn2beEgcNIblZpkABnYvDE/s1600/Image158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Z0gyfv7gwQ2xm1vV-moBixbpr6tOlwWx4G4ymSNUUqKJMMpeGu-eo6RkJRuR_cjieULDc3lFaMQp5omIa-Fhg4AmwXe3J3pFG54ORY0DBq4HPWBg1-gJjn2beEgcNIblZpkABnYvDE/s320/Image158.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby knees, innocent, unaware</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Before long they were helping me to travel as I crawled everywhere. Soon I learned to walk and climb stairs. There were The Knees, they helped my little legs bend and they carried my chubby load.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Concentration & The Knees help me scale these stairs.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPOGRJTMJuKj4lIufRqY8YlYNZf-t1F09xiE0pfGEzZar8I6UcYMBSJ5x7fPXi_7AvVwMhwyYdf7JNazOCyAYXGZWVNgJOT5lFcz7PyBtRaH4d47qA4ogpw1xcHqveasNE7mOa3InlTM/s1600/Image160a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPOGRJTMJuKj4lIufRqY8YlYNZf-t1F09xiE0pfGEzZar8I6UcYMBSJ5x7fPXi_7AvVwMhwyYdf7JNazOCyAYXGZWVNgJOT5lFcz7PyBtRaH4d47qA4ogpw1xcHqveasNE7mOa3InlTM/s320/Image160a.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Falling & getting up, that is just a part of the job of The Knees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They were there when I learned to ride my bike and skate. They held me up, when as a skateboarder, I flew down the high hills of my neighborhood, around un-level sidewalks, broken by earthquakes. They were there, unnoticed, unless they became scrapped, just helping me do all the things kids do. I would fall down and they helped me to get up with ease. I even got tapped by a moving car on one of The Knees but nothing would stop them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcm4U5TzYFrWu2w6OnTZjpmlTSKkbvdjg93dftPqNPYPdk3YBDzE-bC4ZIDdaed59-ucm7MH89CxldO_JLQEScG0onD2Q6x7L8nKI6LWzHQU5DTfkUy58Z4mtqSpjKnqtX1NyxdHqpsXk/s1600/onskates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcm4U5TzYFrWu2w6OnTZjpmlTSKkbvdjg93dftPqNPYPdk3YBDzE-bC4ZIDdaed59-ucm7MH89CxldO_JLQEScG0onD2Q6x7L8nKI6LWzHQU5DTfkUy58Z4mtqSpjKnqtX1NyxdHqpsXk/s320/onskates.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrapped & cut, The Knees rarely complained through my learning years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As grew, I was called a Tomboy, I would jump from the roof of our house to the ground. I would leap from the swing into the wading pool. Who was there to aide my landings - The Knees!</div><div><br />
</div><div>As a teenager I played sports a little in school. I was a center on the basketball team. Center's jump for that ball, thank you to The Knees. And Volleyball, there they were again, supporting me as I made a serve or had to get under a ball! But my favorite sport was the running broad jump. In running broad jump is important to make sure you (1) land on your feet (2) don't fall backwards. Again, The Knees knew just what I needed them to do. Without complaint!</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1pQzQrlJmPB7orIEzFPm0S1j-pN4EX9l2zfLfDwPb8U3RVeEe5_5P06CuvOWeI3dybk4brd-fAf8EaO4vG3pDOlwaUib5qdXHtPolUBM0jEZvtUM7QhoTC_IjNkkUj44L_0JF_9huR4/s1600/Image161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1pQzQrlJmPB7orIEzFPm0S1j-pN4EX9l2zfLfDwPb8U3RVeEe5_5P06CuvOWeI3dybk4brd-fAf8EaO4vG3pDOlwaUib5qdXHtPolUBM0jEZvtUM7QhoTC_IjNkkUj44L_0JF_9huR4/s320/Image161.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can no longer get in this position, not without pain anyway.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As I got older The Knees carried me everywhere, to the swimming pool, to school, to the library, to the park. Before I could drive, it was me and The Knees. Then I started having children and adding that baby weight, but The Knees didn't mind. They were strong and could carry the load.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hU23fJKubYfVXoOsG837OnvphL7IFIt9ApaO8In9Ay2Q9-4pZeIt4Nt2XEZ53Y6KR9WLnvhf76gSjT65n1HR4WLGjXsAfJgLV0OqTq1iXcLgJfRBiZ1qymXpDCY71ZqNNIp1gCNnkjQ/s1600/karrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hU23fJKubYfVXoOsG837OnvphL7IFIt9ApaO8In9Ay2Q9-4pZeIt4Nt2XEZ53Y6KR9WLnvhf76gSjT65n1HR4WLGjXsAfJgLV0OqTq1iXcLgJfRBiZ1qymXpDCY71ZqNNIp1gCNnkjQ/s320/karrel.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father would remind me, I would never be Miss America with my scared up legs & knees.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ah, my little children, how would I have raised them without the help of The Knees. Carrying around baby and all his gear was quite a strain but The Knees, they NEVER failed me. Before we knew it there 4 little runny noses to wipe, down I would go, resting upon one of The Knees. I did it so much that for years I was wearing out the right knee in every pair of pants I owned. And they were jeans, not slacks. I would get down on The Knees and crawl and play with the kids, I would run around bases or run after them to catch them when they did something bad.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJq1jeGlk9icSwB55N6O-bnZQvjaTcwzwTnWovoMfNJotGq-1ZMNg0WmxIIAxvebYMKoDadhPrd9y8qGiXgDcLSZIIZ7tu6HjikJwm6VbWLNmWti5IFSYRMX3ERqV74_jzrsbeEqGLWRk/s1600/Image6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJq1jeGlk9icSwB55N6O-bnZQvjaTcwzwTnWovoMfNJotGq-1ZMNg0WmxIIAxvebYMKoDadhPrd9y8qGiXgDcLSZIIZ7tu6HjikJwm6VbWLNmWti5IFSYRMX3ERqV74_jzrsbeEqGLWRk/s320/Image6.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div>The Knees, they never complained then. They let me do whatever I needed to do without even a whimper. One day the last of the babies went to school and my running around curtailed a lot. That is when I first started gaining weight. Oh Mr. Sciatic Nerve complained! He wouldn't even let me stand up sometimes, but not The Knees, they carried on. Pound after pound went onto my body but the good old Knees persevered.</div><div><br />
</div><div>As you know, with every good weight gain comes a good weight loss. Up and down, up and down, through the years. The Knees stuck with me. On good days at the gym, they would help me to push that leg lift with 240#s of dead weight. They were funny though, although they didn't mind a nice bench press they hated squats. And the despised the Elliptical Machine, they even began to avoid the bike. It was then when the complaining started. And the weight and the weights went up and down.</div><div><br />
</div><div>There was the time Tiffany the dog tripped me, down I went, falling upon both of The Knees. I was sure I crushed them, oh they complained, loudly for a while, but the recovered and I went on to climb stairs and walk distances and do leg presses. Oh and gain weight and lose it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Suddenly, a few years ago The Knees, they began to complain a little more often, a little louder. Sometimes it would be a gnawing, annoying whine. Usually it was just one of The Knees, but more and more it became both. Then there would be weeks where they didn't say a word, just did their duty, carrying around my ever increasing girth. And there were the screams, oh, the screams.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa4ld11Hi6GnJGW9_vUYyUimHhNh7IK78Ai9IkQeN4pXJkfCt6v8tisGNYP4Cpqkl8GXlHAamTcJ7E9pT6WdVHQ75h5YsNb33RIdeN1LEiUeXJxz5FqHTNKCgERjz1H-dU7ejA8nhLUk/s1600/knee_anatomy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa4ld11Hi6GnJGW9_vUYyUimHhNh7IK78Ai9IkQeN4pXJkfCt6v8tisGNYP4Cpqkl8GXlHAamTcJ7E9pT6WdVHQ75h5YsNb33RIdeN1LEiUeXJxz5FqHTNKCgERjz1H-dU7ejA8nhLUk/s320/knee_anatomy.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Knees. What a wonderful machine! It is the body that convinces me there is a God.</td></tr>
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</div><div>A few months ago The Knees began to nag, even when they lifted me off the seat of a chair. And then one of them began to cry almost all the time. I bought it the most expensive lotions, I massaged it, I would apply ice to sooth the pain and even take medication, just to help it feel better. Finally, I had to change chairs so that The Knees could lift Big Fat Butt up a little easier. </div><div><br />
</div><div>My body no longer works together like a well nourished machine. Big Fat Butt and Patella Buster Belly hate The Knees. Patella Buster Belly, because it is nothing but a parasite, hates The Knees the most. Patella Buster Belly KNOWS it doesn't belong here. Big Fat Butt serves a purpose under that fat layer, but Patella Buster Belly has no good reason for being there other than it HATES me and The Knees.<br />
<br />
Patella Buster Belly wasn't always so large and unruly, but it has been there for quite a few years. In fact, at first it was barely noticeable if it were covered with clothes. Now 40 years since it took hold over my womb and with the all trips up and down the weight ladder, it decided that these bones of mine made a pretty good rack to hang onto and Patella Buster Belly started to grow, like a yeast loaf. Oh yes, I have vowed to Patella Buster Belly that I would cut it off, detach it from my bones and have it tossed into the trash, but it laughed at me. That is only for the rich and it knew that at this point, no matter what I do, it will be with me in some shape or form until I die. And it hates The Knees. Patella Buster Belly is bent on destroying The Knees. It is destroying the knees.<br />
<br />
I apologize to you, The Knees, my knees, I didn't know I was destroying you. I NEED you still. I want to be around a long time, I want to walk that entire time. And so, I promise to fight Big Fat Butt and especially Patella Buster Belly. I promise to stop neglecting that band of Merry Muscles - the Thigh. I will re-strengthen them so they can help you, my friends, The Knees, and so they can protect The Hips (oh The Hips, I can't even tell you what I did to them!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwFAzIBvWdFnt3sPtSIncPnKJx238Dh4zL_isymko0UNxzU_-TRiPmMBXNEJEmgx0qPYguzhN-JSbylbM_v-a81r8sX3JQ5X7BHVS05tL_-ZJwE9y-4zyNd14sZErYJa-w-_0lsfWaVk/s1600/muscles_of_the_thigh1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwFAzIBvWdFnt3sPtSIncPnKJx238Dh4zL_isymko0UNxzU_-TRiPmMBXNEJEmgx0qPYguzhN-JSbylbM_v-a81r8sX3JQ5X7BHVS05tL_-ZJwE9y-4zyNd14sZErYJa-w-_0lsfWaVk/s320/muscles_of_the_thigh1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have athletic thighs, they are excellent tools!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Dear God, I was wrong, I took for granted the gifts you gave me that are encased in this skin of mine. I abused it all, each and every minute cell. I was wrong, I hope it isn't too late to correct the damage. But you know me God, I need your help. The Flesh is weak...In Jesus Name - Amen. ME<br />
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</div></div></div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-54942592448673344142010-08-29T10:53:00.000-04:002010-08-29T10:53:54.456-04:00Go outside & play!<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/AVvXsEguygvDeIXEaHQlSRLt6FH427FMjkmWjjYsAqZeb60vtAAW3gFb_T9-3-mvqdoFm2NknQw3rW1Rb2xwp45LCVE4HKMdLoKYrVXvzJTLmH6jxTV1QwETN-mwvVftRjcBwJu21ZDYi4byQvM/s1600/onBike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguygvDeIXEaHQlSRLt6FH427FMjkmWjjYsAqZeb60vtAAW3gFb_T9-3-mvqdoFm2NknQw3rW1Rb2xwp45LCVE4HKMdLoKYrVXvzJTLmH6jxTV1QwETN-mwvVftRjcBwJu21ZDYi4byQvM/s320/onBike.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheels!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Go outside & play!</div><div style="text-align: left;">That is what I heard when I was little, after Captain Kangaroo & Romper Room. The TV was off until my mom's stories were on in the afternoon & I was kicked outside to play. Free to roam the neighborhood, only required to be home when the street lights came on. Ah, those were the days!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsj3_umOicIZf2aYDecYlCXi7IrKSiz_d7zKpLa7GjA2bwY0UwDV7r2Tz1CBuhbEFPiZw4kFNp7XwL_QuiVBeJaXrdbjDN4eEPRsUc_LHzqD1kKutEQJMR2ek9bQBjP6CmbBRWKyUaAE/s1600/Image1-32_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsj3_umOicIZf2aYDecYlCXi7IrKSiz_d7zKpLa7GjA2bwY0UwDV7r2Tz1CBuhbEFPiZw4kFNp7XwL_QuiVBeJaXrdbjDN4eEPRsUc_LHzqD1kKutEQJMR2ek9bQBjP6CmbBRWKyUaAE/s320/Image1-32_edited-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9th grade</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/AVvXsEijc4fwM7aRoNo6i6bkmwyj2uGESEASKWKViBfy6nAfBlWIxgwIeAEHCQGBT8FKqYsTWFM81Uvx-gPc_MMsUOlCTsX2yUVx33IAWbgKywWZapIGSavplNHHLMEuJGdYeHOcvG1LwPxo2kc/s1600/12yrs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijc4fwM7aRoNo6i6bkmwyj2uGESEASKWKViBfy6nAfBlWIxgwIeAEHCQGBT8FKqYsTWFM81Uvx-gPc_MMsUOlCTsX2yUVx33IAWbgKywWZapIGSavplNHHLMEuJGdYeHOcvG1LwPxo2kc/s320/12yrs.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 1st car</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I was a teen all I wanted to do was be OUT of the house, I didn't mind being IN my friends' houses, I just didn't want to be at MY house! As soon as I got home I would turn on the TV to watch Dark Shadows, House Party & Lloyd Thaxton & then do my homework. After that, if I weren't on restriction I was out of there! If I were on restriction I would sit in the front window, watching who went by and wishing to God I was not cooped up in the house. By the way, I was on restriction a lot - I had a bad habit of climbing out of my bedroom window. I was bad, what can I say. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94enyFXHktTDMhBKLEiEOvEDTGzHG43E6Syf0yrZJCruQv2toHI-am80xhKffqc1tf4ZUXTZLxjBECVpiNnQQofmSC9ucTm7C1lD5O6f6fl_lxmNb97QhHZwSGe-v2sIoGIoo0bcbCzk/s1600/Image1-33_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94enyFXHktTDMhBKLEiEOvEDTGzHG43E6Syf0yrZJCruQv2toHI-am80xhKffqc1tf4ZUXTZLxjBECVpiNnQQofmSC9ucTm7C1lD5O6f6fl_lxmNb97QhHZwSGe-v2sIoGIoo0bcbCzk/s320/Image1-33_edited-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Danny & me, ready for a walk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Nothing changed after I had my 1st son, we walked EVERY day, rain or shine. I think that is why he was rarely sick. But then things changed and I started having more kids and I got a car. (I got the car after my dad died, before that it was my mom's car.) I stopped walking but I was gone a lot in the car. I can pretty much say I maintained that MO until just recently. Now, if I don't have to go out I won't. If I have to go out, I don't want to. I mean I go to work everyday and all that, just when I am home I don't want to leave. Have I finally settled down? Has my restlessness subsided? I know I don't have any kind of agoraphobia. I guess it is just that I have so many things to hold my interest at home now. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXm5hlRAkwAOgfcesXr2BKLu5dYL2208iifHkyZxRUZvKNtMDBbrFZzANz51tHgE3p3YaYpfOX-xyCCSS4pymHynOtK5ZVEngBmKoA1wAlvY6O6n0KIQI0-rxUGJUmyjz_1BlGF46sgI/s1600/library1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXm5hlRAkwAOgfcesXr2BKLu5dYL2208iifHkyZxRUZvKNtMDBbrFZzANz51tHgE3p3YaYpfOX-xyCCSS4pymHynOtK5ZVEngBmKoA1wAlvY6O6n0KIQI0-rxUGJUmyjz_1BlGF46sgI/s320/library1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where I am right now!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I know I might need to go out and I just don't want to and I really don't have to. It is hot outside, maybe that is the problem. I don't like hot so much any more. Gas costs too much, maybe that is it. I am too fat, maybe that is it. Who the hell knows, but I wish I could just find a happy medium. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><br />
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</div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-8892030633423385902010-08-06T06:36:00.002-04:002010-08-06T06:36:37.811-04:00My e-mail to Stand Up Speak NowI find your program interesting & I am hoping it is successful. But given the times I have to ask you…where do you and your committee stand politically. Pardon me for bringing politics into this program, but when I heard the program title “Speak up Speak now” I thought of Glenn Beck, who is doing just that. He is trying to alert the people that the times they are a changing, and not for our greater good. We are being bullied by those in Washington (on both sides of the aisle) and I just have a feeling that those at your organization and the Florida Holocaust Museum might not support his call to action. I really think most of you have not taken even the time to listen to Mr. Beck. <br />
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No one is suggesting another Holocaust will happen or that there is a Hitler-in-waiting, but rather that our country and our freedoms are in danger. So I am writing to see where you really stand on “Speak up Speak now”, because Glenn Beck is doing just that, are you listening? Or is that premise only relevant according to your organizers’ ideals. <br />
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The people of the United States, while we still have our Freedoms, need to have a program like “Speak up Speak now”. We need to know that the time to be bystanders and poo-pooer’s has passed. It is now time to be “upstanders”*. On what side of this street do you stand? You have the ear of some of the youth, you have what seems to be a decent program that could reach into the schools & you have the legitimacy the Florida Holocaust Museum offers. Are people like Glenn Beck, who are speaking out and providing supporting facts, respected by your organization or are you just another arm of liberal progressiveness. <br />
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I look forward to your response and not a canned reply. I am posting this and your response on Facebook and my blog so that we can all know where your organization really stands. It is nice to say “Speak up Speak now” and use Holocaust survivors to push home the point, but if YOU aren’t willing to listen to certain people with open minds then I have to wonder about your true intent.<br />
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Never again! <br />
<br />
Carol Klein-Buckingham<br />
Tampa, FL <br />
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From the http://www.speakupspeaknow.org web site<br />
*Upstander: <br />
up-stand-der, Noun<br />
Those who do not simply stand by in silence in the face of injustice, but understand that each one of us can make a difference.Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-23485767694343065492010-04-25T00:43:00.004-04:002010-04-25T01:02:42.631-04:00Earth Day-what good is it.Summer 1969 - U.Cal Berkeley & Telegraph Avenue. I wish you & I could go back to that summer and I could just let you know how very awesome it was to be there, to be 15 and hanging with your friends, with no parents around to spoil it for you. I wish you could taste the Orange Juliuses that were sold across from the student union building or that I could play billiards with you there in the student union building. We could sit and have rum cake and cappuccino ( with half a cup of sugar) at Cafe Med. I wish you could hear the tambourines that the Hare Krishna played on the corner in front of the book store, and I wish you could read a Berkeley Barb. It was probably the best summer I had as a teenager. But I can't go back, nor can I take you. 41 years later and I am not that person, I changed. I grew.<br />
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Earth Day was born that year, thanks to the hippies who moved to the No Cal mountains to live in communes and smoke pot, or who became professors so they could teach at schools like Cal Berkeley and smoke pot. What good have any of them done in 41 years? Esp. Earth Day? I still cannot afford solar energy nor can I get any kind of financial breaks for it. Wind energy is still way way too expensive to realistically use it as an alternate energy. In fact here in my county I cannot even have my own wind turbine because they have to be higher than we are allowed to build. Despite the lies of Al Gore and his band of merry men America has more forest land than ever. The Alaska pipeline didn't ruin Alaska. No animals are extict, even though California has spent ALL of its money and all its citizens money trying to protect creatures and plant matters above people. Nothing and no one is any better off because of Earth Day or Government Environmental Protection Act.<br />
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And what about dependency on oil? Has it changed in the past 41 years? Yep, back then it was 50 cents a gallon. Thank you Earth Day for that, who is worse for the people you & the EPA, or OPEC. Partners I say. Why aren't we all riding bikes and rapid transits? Why is the air in Los Angeles still yellow? What have you done Earth Day? <br />
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At my house we have a compost pile. We have a wildlife certified back yard. We have no grass. We xeriscape. (Do not xeriscape unless all you want to do is pick weeds!) We have not watered anything in our yard in 10 years yet it grows like the Amazon jungle. It was treeless when we moved in but now it is well shaded. We use very little water inside either. If I could have a wind turbine I would in a New York minute. We recycled before the blue bins. I think we are pretty green around here, but so what? We still live in a land of green chemically treated expanses of lawn. These people hate our yard and especially our front yard of artificial grass.<br />
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So here we sit, 41 years later, Earth Day and I, we are 41 years older. I have been thinking Earth Day and you have been pretty disappointing. I shake my head and wonder out loud, how is it you are still hanging around, what keeps you alive? Ahh, I know, I know, it is those hippies out there in California, who came down from the mountains and who were voted into office and now govern our land, and those pot smoking professors who have lied to our children for 41 years, so now it is like you are actually the truth...I see your ways Earth Day, I do...<br />
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I have grown and changed and faced reality. And you, you Earth Day are you still the idealistic, ineffective lump of nothing that you were 41 years ago. Give it up, grab your Birkenstocks, head back up to the No Cal mountains and toke up. Take the EPA with you, loosers.Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-43380298352272057412010-01-16T09:03:00.003-05:002010-01-16T09:13:50.777-05:00What Pat Robertson REALLY said...<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have listened to Pat Robertson's remarks about Haiti over & over in the past few days. I haven't once heard him say that the earthquake was because the people in Haiti today made a pact with the devil. He did not say that it was true that the devil came to the people. He told a story about a pact, the Bois Caiman, that he<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> believes to be true. <a href="http://www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti/history/revolution/caiman.htm">THE BOIS CAIMAN CEREMONY: FACT OR MYTH</a> Daniel Simidor 2002 <br />
This isn't anything new, religious leaders have been citing this co-relationship for YEARS. See this <a href="http://www.blackandchristian.com/articles/academy/gelin-10-05.shtml">2005 article by Jean R. Gelin, Ph.D.</a><br />
Mr. Robertson said that way back when the people in Haiti made a pact with the devil to get out from under the rule of the French. He said that this story was true. He said that these people believed they made a pact with the devil. A lot of people in Haiti still believe in Voodoo & Santaria & they believe in the devil and they believe that the devil is real. To this day. So is it far fetched to believe that they believed it then? If it happened...which is debatable. Dr. Gelin proposes that the story was begun by CRISTIAN MISSIONARIES to control the superstitious Haitians & that through the centuries it is has become not just a story but "actual fact". I tend to believe this theory because I have seen & see daily how RELIGION has caused nothing but harm to the World. (Not faith, not God, but religion.) Dr. Gelin goes on to say: "The worst part of the whole picture is that the story is believed by many sincere Christians in America and around the world; and not only do they believe it, they also spread it as fact. The tragedy of our age is that repeated lies are often mistaken for the truth, especially when repeated long enough. That’s particularly the case in religious circles where faith on the part of the audience is generally expected, but that should never be so for those who believe in the Bible."<br />
<a href="http://www.fatherjonathan.com/">Father Jonathan Morris</a>, a Catholic priest and Fox News correspondent has made several appearances debunking Mr. Robertson & the devil. Excuse me Father, but <a href="http://www.catholic.org/international/international_story.php?id=2755">the Catholic Church STILL DOES EXORCISMS</a>. John Paul II said 'One who doesn't believe in the devil doesn't believe in the Gospel." I believe the Catholic Church, since its beginning, has done more to promote the Devil through the years than any other religion! They did this as a way to control the church. So Father Jonathan, why not do some research before you answer these questions off the cuff. <br />
I think Mr. Robertson was repeating a story, a story that he feels offers an explanation for the suffering. In these politically correct times, he was mistaken. Had he said this from the pulpit as just your regular Joe Pastor there would have been no outcry, just "Amens". Don't you know, had he not said this on the air, this very "devil pact" story would have been related in pulpits around the world tomorrow. In pulpits of all religions and all races, and the congregation in the pews would all have nodded and said "Amen brother, Amen". Can I get a "Praise the Lord"? <br />
Get off Pat Robertson's back Media & actually do something useful for Haiti & the world? Why not actually do a story about the pact , you know, Research rather than React! And President Obama, your statement was "stupid"! Oh & Cass Sunstein - bring it on! Please put your focus back on the people of Haiti and their families around the world. Donate, pray, peace, love and Rock the World.<br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.givedirect.org/give/givefrm.asp?CID=11299">The Haitian Health Foundation-please Donate, even $1.00</a><br />
KB- Tampa, FL</span>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-46499920264519762832009-11-25T07:03:00.003-05:002009-11-25T07:19:38.638-05:00The Will to Live (or Die)Have you heard about the man who was in a coma for over 20 years and says he was aware the entire time. He can't talk now & someone is guiding his hand as he types out what it has been like for him lo these many years.<br />
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So who knows if it is valid, but let's assume it is. Dr. Michael Baden (Dr. Death) was on Red Eye discussing this guy. Greg asked if people like him were fighting inside to live and Dr. Baden opined that yes, yes they were. That no matter what, we have it in us to fight to live.<br />
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And at that point I started rethinking my end-of-life decision. I fought with others that Terri Schivao should be allowed to die and at that time I entered into a Living Will, wherein I outlined my own decisions. Even though I have spoken these verbally & had put them online, I knew they needed to be in writing, so there would never be a fight over me the way there was over Terri.<br />
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But last night I thought of the deaths I have witnessed. Our family seems to have been plagued by death for years now and to tell you the truth, it is starting to get me down. I have only watched two people actually die. The 1st one was my ex's elderly grandfather, who died in the nursing home as we stood at the foot of his bed. It was very peaceful & we weren't even sure he had passed. There was no "death rattle", no moans, nothing. (FYI - God, I would like to go like this please.)<br />
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The other was my dear dear friend, my California "Carol" sister. My inspiration, my mentor. When she was dying from breast cancer I was honored to asked to be in on the decision about life sustaining matters. I had no hesitation. She was not going to recover. I didn't want her to suffer if she didn't have to. But it wasn't easy or quick. She struggled against medications to ease pain. She struggled against receiving a watery sponge. Was she struggling to stay alive? Or was she struggling to stop the prolonging of the inevitable? The thing that stuck with me the most was that her vanity remained strong - even as death beckoned. I won't tell her secret here, but when the nurse wanted to take a safety precaution upon her person, my friend struggled and did not want to give up her last shred of dignity.<br />
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And I pondered this last night. Was she fighting to live? Have I made the wrong decision? I really don't want to live if it means I would be a vegetable. I know this in my lucid, although some might question, sane mind. I am not influenced by drugs or impending death. I have been exposed to the horrors of nursing homes and Alzheimer's & I know that I do not want to experience that, nor do I want my family too. I don't want to live if I survive a firey inferno & my skin is melted. I don't want too - now.<br />
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I know what it is like to loose someone suddenly from a silly accident that exacerbated other underlying conditions and three days later that person was dead (my mother, my daughter-in-law's mother, my son-in-law's mother). I have experienced a loved one doing something routine & dying on the spot from a failed heart (my dad, my 2 son-in-law's fathers). I have lived through the horror of a child's suicide. I have found a beloved pet smashed in the middle of the road and held another while I wished I had it in me to just put a pillow over his head & end his misery. I have seen a loved ones family stunned when their beloved died in a car crash. I have had other family members die from cancer, from ALS, from alcoholism, from heart failure. And I have felt the sharp slap in the heart upon learning of the murder of a family member more than once. Since 2001 my grandchildren have lost 3 grandfathers and 2 grandmothers. All they have left is me, 1 other grandma & 1 grandpa. And of course Papa, who loves them like he was their blood grandpa. It is touching that the other grandma (one son-in-law's mother) & the other grandpa (my daughter-in-law's father), are called Grandma & Grandpa by all the kids.<br />
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And a couple of years ago suddenly I lost my dear friend. For two years we were joined together in grief. She for her husband who died of a heart attack when she stepped out of the room for 5 minutes. She never saw it coming. And me, grieving for my son, who was a favorite of hers. Deaths 6 months apart. We were there for each other through so much. Then one day, we were taking a drive & she told me she had a lump. And then just a few weeks later she was in the hospital and a few weeks later we were in the hospital with her, sleeping in her room. Willing her to just let go. To give up the fight. Knowing we were losing her, in this world.<br />
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Like I said, it is weighing on me, all this death. That is the price of humanity, of loving. Death, its inevitability. But I think I should be given a small break.<br />
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Anyway, this isn't about that, it is about my decision regarding end-of-life moments. Am I wrong? While I was writing this I remembered the last moments with my friend, the one in a bedroom, in her home, surrounded by her loved ones, wearing a pretty gown her daughter dressed her in, so when she met her husband again she would be pretty. And she died - peacefully. None of the fighting we had seen in the hospital. Was this all she wanted?<br />
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And based on that I think we made the right choice for her & I for myself. I have watched 2 people die, peacefully, in bed. Since this is our luxury, to make end-of-life decisions, I would encourage you to take that time now. During Thanksgiving, to fill out a Living Will & Healthcare Surrogate form. Make your wishes known. You can always change your mind down the road. But the length of that road isn't a guarantee.<br />
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Each state has different rules, here is a web site to get you started: <a href="http://www.hcdecisions.org/AdvanceDirectives.asp">http://www.hcdecisions.org/AdvanceDirectives.asp</a><br />
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Your health care provider or your health insurance company should have the forms you need for your state - for free.<br />
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Wishing you a healthy, happy Thanksgiving.Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-35933683049442924112009-11-17T12:06:00.000-05:002009-11-17T12:06:06.033-05:00I was green, when green wasn't cool.Back in the day my parents grew during the Depression in poor families. Then they went through the war when there was rationing. So when I was "coming up" I was constantly reminded: turn off the lights - you are wasting electricity, turn off the water - you are wasting water, etc. We had glass bottles that the milk man would pick up & recycle with new milk. Or you took your glass soda bottles in for the deposit that you had paid when you bought them. Wax milk cartons were used to grow seedlings in or to through food scraps in for the garden. Tin cans were washed & reused. Glass jars were washed & reused. Newspapers were used in the garden, or for cleaning up spills, rolling into fire logs, you name it. The mailman walked the entire neighborhood delivering the mail door to door. We didn't drive our 8cyl cars all over, we had no need too, our lifes took place in our hometowns. And on & on.<br />
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Then in the 70s, when I still lived in California we went through a drought. We put bricks in our toilets & we flushed only when it was #2 or so stinky you couldn't stand it. <br />
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But you know, plastic bottles & aliuminum cans came along & changed everything. People started working in the city & moving hours away from their homes. Women started working so everyone needed 2 cars. The streets became so scary you couldn't let your children out on them any more so they had to be driven to school. They couldn't play outside anymore so they had to have more and more organized sports that meant the mom's who didn't work had to have another car to drive the kids all over. And snow ball and snow ball.<br />
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I hate Women's Liberation, I think it ruined the world as we know it, and this is just one more example. Were it not for Women's Liberation there would be NO hole in the Ozone & life would be simpler. Al Gore stick that in your craw & smoke it!Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-6736587654066289482009-11-15T14:52:00.004-05:002009-11-15T15:16:13.964-05:00Why size DOES matter (pixel size that is!)<div>We have a family Flickr site, it is unlimited & I pay for it. Yet it doesn't get used by everyone. One reason is the uploader can be slow & a hassle if you upload large size pix. But, I need large size pictures for my digital scrapbook pages, plus larger size pictures are a better quality all around, esp. if you want to print them.<br />
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I do not use Flickr as my back up & I don't recommend that you do. I have all my pix saved on an external hard drive, that hard drive has another external hard drive that is a back up, and I also have Carbonite, a cheap online back up. But Flickr works well for sharing & if you are on a trip, etc. Mainly because it saves the pictures in various sizes (including original) & it also allows for the uploading of video.<br />
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As I said I need large, good quality pictures for my scrapbook pages & when I do photo manipulations. An article in December Issue Photoshop User Magazine (1<sup>st</sup> of a 3 part series) explains about image resizing. "The Pixel (size) is the Thing" written by Dave Cross on Page 64. You can get the magazine at the bookstore – or you can become a National Association of Photoshop Professionals (NAPP), like me, & get the magazine & lots & lots of extras & discounts. It really helped me to understand how to resize a picture (not just click & drag). If you are interested I would check that article out. (See bottom of post for links on how to become a NAPP member.)<br />
</div>But this isn't about sites, it is about pictures. So let's get down to business:<br />
<ol><li>Set camera pix size<br />
</li>
</ol><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="336" id="videojugplayer" width="400"><param name="movie" value="http://www.videojug.com/views/player/Player.swf?embedded=true&ClientType=2&type=interview&id=bdf81351-428c-38f8-b9e3-ff0008c963a1&items=1be327ba-0e9a-40a7-ba13-ff0008c963a1&unique=c9190119-6470-4021-a59c-99bb0cc2e607"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.videojug.com/views/player/Player.swf?embedded=true&ClientType=2&type=interview&id=bdf81351-428c-38f8-b9e3-ff0008c963a1&items=1be327ba-0e9a-40a7-ba13-ff0008c963a1&unique=c9190119-6470-4021-a59c-99bb0cc2e607" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="336" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always"></embed></object><br />
<a href="http://www.videojug.com/tag/digital-cameras-buyers-guide">Digital Cameras: Buyer's Guide</a>: <br />
<a href="http://www.videojug.com/expertanswer/digital-camera-photo-files/how-does-file-size-affect-my-digital-cameras-image-quality">How does file size affect my digital camera's image quality?</a> <br />
</div><div>Since each camera is a little different, get out your manual and look up image quality. You should be able then to scroll through the options and select a larger picture size.<br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><br />
</div><div><ol><li>I am not going to explain pixels, etc. to you as there are lots of articles on the internet & free articles, just think of it like this. The MORE pixels you have the better your picture quality when you print it. The LESS pixels you have, the less information you have to work with if you ever want to use that photo for anything. Your print quality will not be good and your image will not enlarge well.<br />
<br />
I do photo composites & digital scrapbooking & I sometimes use photos taken by my family members. I have gotten a variety of picture qualities from them, when I ask that the original .jpg be e-mailed to me. Here are some examples – please note that size of the photo & then read the pixels & file size noted. Each is placed on the exact 12x12 background (from Scrapgirls.com) and there has been no retouching or resizing when I created the document. The pictures are the exact same size as they were when I took them or received them.<br />
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The pix here are from various sources – a cell phone, downloaded from Facebook, downloaded from an album type web site and then e-mailed to me from a camera set on its lowest quality setting:<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/4106864972/" title="Small photos by karrelbuck, on Flickr"><img alt="Small photos" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2785/4106864972_cea0dc74ac_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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</div>The next is a picture at high quality from a 7.1 MP point & shoot camera:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/4106098489/" title="7.1 MP photo by karrelbuck, on Flickr"><img alt="7.1 MP photo" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2580/4106098489_11a0247b51_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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Finally a photo at high quality from a 10MP camera:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/4106865692/" title="10 MP photo by karrelbuck, on Flickr"><img alt="10 MP photo" height="223" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2600/4106865692_1304d4019a_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
</div><div>As you can see, the size difference alone is dramatic. You can always reduce a picture and still retain some quality, but enlarging one with very few pixels isn't a pretty site. <br />
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</li>
<li>The only drawback of having a high quality pictures is storage size. But today that is easily remedied. The price of external storage is cheap. I do not keep any of my photos on my computer for storage, as I said above, I keep them on external hard drives.<br />
<br />
I also have a Pro Flickr account (there are others, I like Flickr). It comes in really handy when I travel. Every night I upload all the pix I took that day to Flickr. That way, just in case anything bad happens, my pictures are at least on Flickr and can be recovered from there if need be. I don't retouch them or anything at that point.<br />
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After a photoshoot I download immediately all the pix on my card. I use Adobe Bridge – it does video too, &/or Adobe Lightroom – but there are many out there & your computer probably came with one too.<br />
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I have my program set to put my photos in the file I want and also to create a back up file on my C: drive. (I only do that because Carbonite does not back up from external drives.) Then once I have checked to make sure ALL my pictures have made it off of the card, I reformat the card & it is ready to use again. The first of every month, after I make sure Carbonite has backed up the files in my back up folder on the C: drive, I move them onto ANOTHER external hard drive (that I keep in a separate location from my computer), then I delete those pix off of my C: drive.<br />
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You can also get thumb drives that hold several gigabytes now, so you can use them as your external storage and back up also. I would still check the integrity of these devices every quarter or so. Hard drives have been known to fail.<br />
<br />
So it costs me $55/yr for Carbonite & $25/yr for Flickr. But I feel safe that my pictures are going to be around if someone were to come in my house & steal all my equipment or there was a house fire, etc.<br />
<br />
</div></li>
</ol><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/">Flickr</a><br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www/smugmug.com">Smug Mug</a><br />
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</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/">Shutterfly</a><br />
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</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.photobucket.com/">Photobucket</a><br />
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</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.picsa.com/">Picsa</a><br />
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</div><div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><a href="http://www.carbonite.com/">Carbonite</a> (if you contact me with your e-mail address, I can get you an extra month free, but you must do so prior to downloading the free trial)<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 5px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
</div><br />
<a href="http://www.photoshopuser.com/?aid=fvkbjt" title="My link to the National Association of Photoshop Professionals"><img alt="Where everyone learns Photoshop - National Association of Photoshop Professionals" src="http://www.photoshopuser.com/members/downloads/napp-referral-banners/nappad-125x125-2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<iframe border="0" frameborder="0" height="250" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=anopeaofmymin-20&o=1&p=12&l=st1&mode=pc-hardware&search=external%20storage&fc1=000000&lt1=&lc1=3366FF&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="border: none;" width="300"></iframe> <br />
<br />
<iframe border="0" frameborder="0" height="250" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=anopeaofmymin-20&o=1&p=12&l=st1&mode=pc-hardware&search=thumb%20drives&fc1=000000&lt1=&lc1=3366FF&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="border: none;" width="300"></iframe><br />
<br />
<iframe border="0" frameborder="0" height="250" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=anopeaofmymin-20&o=1&p=12&l=st1&mode=software&search=photoshop%20editing&fc1=000000&lt1=&lc1=3366FF&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="border: none;" width="300"></iframe><br />
<br />
So please - check & see if you have your picture quality set to the highest your camera will allow. Why have all those megapixels if you aren't going to use them??? And don't forget - get them off of your camera card & back up back up back up! You will thank me someday.<br />
</div>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-15233452038646204732009-11-11T08:18:00.000-05:002009-11-11T08:18:15.641-05:00An Easy Tip to Help Remember the Past<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Here is a tip & I find it is helping me remember lots of things - after all - it is in there, somewhere. Every time I think of a story I write it down. I have a directory called Nana's memories. So if I die the kids will find it, but if not, when I get the inkling I can make a book out of them. I just write what I remember, say one topic might be my mom cooking chicken every Sunday. Then if I think of more, I go in and append it. I don't care that it is cohesive, just want to preserve that memory, as sometimes they flit in & out at lightning speed. If I am not where I can write it I record it on the record feature on my phone or you can even leave a VM. Then write it when you get the chance. It really works, you should try it! Before you know it you may have the remembrance you are looking for. :-} </span><br />
<span style="font-family: monospace; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/237173594/" title="Me at 3 (Christmas 1957) by karrelbuck, on Flickr"><img alt="Me at 3 (Christmas 1957)" height="445" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/88/237173594_8ad3f1d578_o.jpg" width="588" /></a></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Each memory should be a separate file. This really works well if you are going through pictures. Maybe you see a place or a toy or something & have a fond memory about it. Record it. That is how your son & grandchildren will really know who you are.<br />
I do genealogy & names are nothing if they don't have some flesh on them. These are your flesh once you are gone. Pix & words. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">(I told my friend this today & thought it is a good tip I will share it.)</span></span>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-36808532773168496132009-10-18T19:47:00.004-04:002009-10-18T20:05:04.095-04:00Out on a Limb?<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />
<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/4021482033/" title="photo sharing"><img alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2542/4021482033_8aaf92cf46_m.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/karrelbuck/4021482033/">Young boy scaling palm</a><br />
Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/karrelbuck/">karrelbuck</a></span><br />
</div><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am borrowing this from a young cousin's Facebook status: "The only people you need in your life are the ones that prove they need you in theirs."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once again I was put in my place. Not that of revered mother, matriarch of the family, but that of big time loser who ruined the entire world. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My crime - I am not really sure, but I am guessing it is that I didn't do enough to make my children's early years more perfect. Because, as you know, it is proven that if you had some bumps in your early life then you will NEVER EVER grow up to be successful. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn't live a perfect life either. In the 90s I used popular "think" to blame my parents, but really it was me. I have always known that. It was inside of me. My parents only mistake was not disciplining me, at all. So I spent 32 years seeking discipline. (I left out my 1st year of life.) Let that be a lesson to you new parents, you HAVE to set boundaries for your children, so they can learn about consequences. </span></b><br />
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</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I learned, years after both of them were gone, that the problem wasn't that they were shitty parents, but that they had no examples of proper parenting in their lives. My dad's father died when he was 4, leaving his mom a widow with 9 children. He & his brothers lived at his Uncle's house for many years. My mom's father left her mom & the 2 children for another woman when she was 4 or 5. But in those days the woman who was left was the bad woman. My grandma, with little help from her family, had to work hard in the cotton fields everyday while my mom had to raise her little brother. All the while, there daddy & his new family had a nice home and good clothes.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So when they adopted me were they wrong to want to give me everything they never had? Since they never had to deal with selfishness and unruliness how could they deal with me? They had no clue.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I can blame the orphanage where I spent the first 4 months of my life, due to political red tape. They let me lie in my crib, hungry & malnourished, suffer from an untreated umbilical cord, while they sold ½ of the formula my parents supplied to the facility for me to eat. Maybe that made me the bad child I became. Maybe that is why I am fat. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I have given up blaming. I have personal responsibility. I am 55 years old. I was not a perfect mother, but I tried my hardest. God forbid I say that other people had life much tougher than my family. But you know what, that's the truth. I wasn't beat every day of my marriage. My sons were not beat or berated every second of their life either.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, my youngest son suffered from depression. Did his childhood cause that? Maybe. I don't know what causes depression. I have been depressed & can step out of it. But some people can't. For some people it is a lingering disease. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't change what happened. I can't change what happened 3 minutes ago. I could delete all these words, but that doesn't change the fact that I wrote them. I sure as hell can't go back and fix a person's childhood.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took control of my own self about 14 yrs ago or more & changed how I look at my future. I changed how I look at my now. And I realized it is NO ONE's fault the life I have, the life I had, or the life I am going to have but my own. And for anyone who wants to challenge me on that I say to you, put on your big boy/girl panties and get over it. If you aren't where you want to be in life, then you didn't try. Maybe you didn't want to try. Maybe you didn't really want it. I don't want a lot. I am happy with the life I have now. Isn't that where we need to be. Just happy where we are. If you want to be Donald Trump, then you have to work at it. It's not your Mama's fault if you didn't pony up the the challenges and seize the opportunities that were laid before you. You gotta look in the mirror and face reality one day. You will be a much happier person once you to that. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you are in college or just getting started you have to ask yourself what you really want & then go for it. If you don't and you missed the boat, no one tied you to the dock so you couldn't catch it. But there is ALWAYS another boat, so no excuses.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have one more thing to say about this situation. I was condemned for speaking out politically because (1) I have never done it before (2) I must not like black people (3) why don't Jeff & I just say how we want things to be.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 - I have been a Republican my entire life. My dad taught me to be one. My mom taught me I never want to be a Democrat (she was & I had issues with her). It is that simple. I didn't influence my children. I must have been wrong there. I shouldn't have let them think for themselves. I should have taken them into the voting booth with me every time, like my dad did & made them Republicans. Shame on me. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 - I have been a Republican my entire life. The fact that our current president is of a different race is irrelevant, since I personally believe that Presidents, all of them, have very little power. The problem with our current president is - he is a Democrat and I do not subscribe the the Democratic philosophy of Big Government. If Hillary Clinton were President I would have spoke out as much. Maybe more. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The reason I have a "louder voice" now, is the Internet & Facebook, and a blog, & Twitter. It is the reason we ALL have a VOICE now. That is why I wasn't so outspoken before. Also, I trusted my government, I trusted George Bush & the US Government to keep us safe. I was wrong. I was complacent. I was apathetical & then Sept 2008 happened & I realized that there is something serious going on in Washington & it is time to stand up! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3 - I don't think I have ever been unclear on how I think things should be. I think it should be like it was before the 60s, before Viet Nam, before Women's Lib. I don't think Mom's should work, I don't think there should be no-fault 20 day divorces, I don't think there should be latch key kids, I don't think there should be such violence in the media, I don't think there should be so many social programs that have enslaved entire generations. I think a Dad should be a Dad & take care of his family and not leave when the going gets tough. I think abortion is wrong, period. I don't think the Government owes me anything but to protect my rights, as they are spelled out in the Constitution. And I think it should be like that for ALL American's - no matter what your race or religion. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I leave my soap box with this thought, You have to work for what you want, you have to stop blaming the world, in fact, get off the blame wagon & grow the F#%K up. Yes, I am a hard ass. So what!</span></b>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5835630187929384716.post-43609223482201241542009-10-15T11:44:00.005-04:002009-10-15T12:13:38.619-04:00What is Hope & how about Change?<span style="font-weight:bold;">I've been thinking about hope since last night. Here is why I think hope is a pretty useless emotion. I HOPE that when I die I will be reunited with my loved ones & pets who went before me. I have FAITH that I will, but I really don't know 100%. There is nothing I can do to change or influence this out come - so that is what HOPE is. Something that you have absolutely no control over, but you hope it comes to pass.<br /><br />Here are 2 situations where HOPE will fail you every time. You are driving in a car & it skids off the road, into a pond, & starts filling up with water. Now, you can sit in your seat & HOPE that you get out, HOPE that someone saw you, HOPE that they have the ability to rescue you. But as long as you SIT IN YOUR SEAT and do NOTHING, HOPE will do very very little for you. You must ACT to make a difference in this situation. <br /><br />You can HOPE you win the lottery. Every drawing read the winning numbers, plan your future with your winnings, maybe even start buying stuff based on your winnings because you really HOPE it is going to happen tonight. But if you never take ACTION - like buying a Lottery ticket - all your HOPE is kind of wasted. <br /><br />Pretty much everything that can be CHANGED and does not rely on HOPE. But you know, we like that word. "I HOPE you have a great day." "I HOPE to go to college someday." I HOPE I meet the perfect person for me." None of that is ever going to happen if you just sit around hoping.<br /><br />So we have a president who appealed to our love of the word HOPE. It inspires us. I HOPE that he is the guy who makes a difference, who makes the CHANGE for the good. But all in all, he is just ANOTHER Politician. He has nothing different than all the others had before him. He has a shady past and hangs around with shady characters. His Chief of Staff & best friend/adviser are his the puppet masters (a la Dick Cheney). He is NOTHING special. But he DOES want to make a lot of changes really fast & he told a lot of lies to get into the position to make these changes.<br /><br />I know you want to defend him and say, no, he never lied. But the proof is in the video tape. We were to have transparency, all bills were to be on the internet for 72 hours BEFORE they were voted on so the people could see them. On and on. He is trying to force things on us (like Health care and Cap & Trade), again, appealing to your HOPE that it is good. It sounds good, only the really really rich bastards will pay for it, it will be free for me, at least I sure HOPE so. <br /><br />He is also a victim. So because he is a victim, most of his supporters would rather stick up for him than stop and think, maybe there is one ounce of truth in what his critics are saying. If Hollywood loves him, that should be your first clue something is wrong with him. But you think you know him, you think you know all the Hollywood stars. After all, you let them all come into your homes and you read up on them. They are special to you, so they know what is best for you. NOT<br /><br />Recently, I was dressed down by a couple of people for expressing my political views on Facebook - that was because my views didn't line up with theirs. If it had, I am sure they would have said nothing to me. But 1st Amendment & all I can say what I like.<br /><br />I voted for George W. Bush because I was a Republican & I didn't like Clinton & I liked Gore even less. I didn't know anything about Bush, didn't care. Just didn't want Gore to win. You ever voted like that???? Then after 9/11 I became a big Bush fan & I ignored anything he did, as long as my Gov't kept us safe. When we went to Iraq I had no clue why we were there but I figured they knew more than I did. So it went on for 8 years. I couldn't vote for Kerry, another extreme looser.<br /><br />Then this past election came & I was in for Romney. I thought his business experience & his having been a governor would help him run this country well. But we got McCain. So I had a choice of a Republican Liberal or a Far Left Democrat. Had to go with McCain. But by then Obama, ACORN & all the rest had laid the path to it being a sure win for him.<br /><br />I know, you want to protect him. You want to think he won because he WAS the best man for the job. Poor guy, everyone picks on him. But he wasn't. There were dirty politics at all times. There were lies, and you let them slide by, you believed. You believed in HOPE AND CHANGE. <br /><br />Well, you got the CHANGE. I sure HOPE it is what you thought you were going to get, because I personally think America is screwed. Unless someone STANDS UP AND TAKES ACTION against this machine that got Obama elected, you know an unknown nobody, he is PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. <br /><br />So far all I see is Limbaugh & Beck standing up to this mess. Meanwhile, the Administration is trying hard to crush them, playing the victim at every turn. Never answering a question. Because you WANT to believe the lies, why should he even try to explain. So keep feeling pity for your victim president, don't open your eyes until it is too late. We are getting deeper & deeper in that pond, but still just a hopin' someone is up there really concerned about our safety...while you start planning what you will do with your lottery winnings...</span>Another Peace of My Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217824888060309555noreply@blogger.com