tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29993896884826043482024-02-18T21:46:39.225-06:00Walk2Write in Floridawalk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.comBlogger308125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-6369943510706777042018-04-29T00:48:00.000-05:002018-04-29T00:48:42.348-05:00Our New Liesegang on Life<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/AVvXsEgWJcURcWwpM8UPAFA0_SM0KgWxMnGGQ8yST2pLK82QkJghRCK1eGjr1iYt_12eAnKzCHH-u8zf3bjlYjERFmLWBAkNmaG7cn-zZMNrQFiOnwe0ibad8OEXWbkKCBxQ7y3JdBxtiN2yPWNE/s1600/IMG_0693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJcURcWwpM8UPAFA0_SM0KgWxMnGGQ8yST2pLK82QkJghRCK1eGjr1iYt_12eAnKzCHH-u8zf3bjlYjERFmLWBAkNmaG7cn-zZMNrQFiOnwe0ibad8OEXWbkKCBxQ7y3JdBxtiN2yPWNE/s640/IMG_0693.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gaining a new "Liesegang" on life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Southern Illinois is nothing if not rich in photogenic rock formations. These particular sandstone ledges on a trail in the Crab Orchard National Wildlife Refuge and others like them have served as backdrop and inspiration for many of our (SAM's and my) adventures and misadventures. The Liesegang rings that have formed inexplicably over time and space remind us that the shaping of us, individually and together, is not done yet.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy6h4cUW63pwsX9RO-CiGVj7FhDLcwQOmatMou9p_HiyiE6zWLcDt0iDhYp3c8ObDWYEbnvYFmCF3NbNZ9g5zES8pO2d2kvc7cKJJAAw1mrow8BRYSV0ZqFR9zEag2etSyI3Z_T0B-UVv/s1600/IMG_0695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy6h4cUW63pwsX9RO-CiGVj7FhDLcwQOmatMou9p_HiyiE6zWLcDt0iDhYp3c8ObDWYEbnvYFmCF3NbNZ9g5zES8pO2d2kvc7cKJJAAw1mrow8BRYSV0ZqFR9zEag2etSyI3Z_T0B-UVv/s320/IMG_0695.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We are endlessly fascinated with the many faces that Southern Illinois presents for our inspection and delight. Every step we take on trails throughout the region precipitates an idea, an action, perhaps a prayer:<br />
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Lord, make us be solid yet fluid, weathered yet refined. And may our imperfections, our follies, our blunders be nothing if not instructive, nothing if not amusing?walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-67161024102792684472018-04-19T13:47:00.000-05:002018-04-19T13:47:20.058-05:00Seeing 555 Through the Lens of Gematria: When Laws of Mixed Bird Offerings and Calculating Menstruation No Longer Apply<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/AVvXsEhnyvRToKSO9B2is5jsBzQ2ohVo4Qryy2QNQloNZZ28g1K0-WN3q6f0LGRzKeQpHkprG72JH1oKITVWMi3YZxXKE_rGivulqaYAXiTGgv4MKe-dkge8KkfYeGg2s0bjxqq4B9Jf75n9_zJ7/s1600/IMG_0661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyvRToKSO9B2is5jsBzQ2ohVo4Qryy2QNQloNZZ28g1K0-WN3q6f0LGRzKeQpHkprG72JH1oKITVWMi3YZxXKE_rGivulqaYAXiTGgv4MKe-dkge8KkfYeGg2s0bjxqq4B9Jf75n9_zJ7/s320/IMG_0661.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeing 555? It may be positive, may be negative...</td></tr>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Gematria</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="nowrap" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"><span class="IPA nopopups noexcerpt"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA/English" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none !important;" title="Help:IPA/English">/<span style="border-bottom: 1px dotted;"><span title="/ɡ/: 'g' in 'guy'">ɡ</span><span title="/ə/: 'a' in 'about'">ə</span><span title="/ˈ/: primary stress follows">ˈ</span><span title="'m' in 'my'">m</span><span title="/eɪ/: 'a' in 'face'">eɪ</span><span title="'t' in 'tie'">t</span><span title="'r' in 'rye'">r</span><span title="/i/: 'y' in 'happy'">i</span><span title="/ə/: 'a' in 'about'">ə</span></span>/</a></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> (</span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebrew_language" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Hebrew language">Hebrew</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">: </span><span class="script-hebrew" dir="rtl" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Ezra SIL", "Ezra SIL SR", "Keter Aram Tsova", "Taamey Ashkenaz", "Taamey David CLM", "Taamey Frank CLM", "Frenk Ruehl CLM", "Keter YG", Shofar, "David CLM", "Hadasim CLM", "Simple CLM", Nachlieli, "SBL BibLit", "SBL Hebrew", Cardo, Alef, "Noto Serif Hebrew", "Noto Sans Hebrew", "David Libre", David, "Times New Roman", Gisha, Arial, FreeSerif, FreeSans; font-size: 16.1px;">גמטריא</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="script-hebrew" dir="rtl" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Ezra SIL", "Ezra SIL SR", "Keter Aram Tsova", "Taamey Ashkenaz", "Taamey David CLM", "Taamey Frank CLM", "Frenk Ruehl CLM", "Keter YG", Shofar, "David CLM", "Hadasim CLM", "Simple CLM", Nachlieli, "SBL BibLit", "SBL Hebrew", Cardo, Alef, "Noto Serif Hebrew", "Noto Sans Hebrew", "David Libre", David, "Times New Roman", Gisha, Arial, FreeSerif, FreeSans; font-size: 16.1px;">גימטריא</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">, plural </span><span class="script-hebrew" dir="rtl" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Ezra SIL", "Ezra SIL SR", "Keter Aram Tsova", "Taamey Ashkenaz", "Taamey David CLM", "Taamey Frank CLM", "Frenk Ruehl CLM", "Keter YG", Shofar, "David CLM", "Hadasim CLM", "Simple CLM", Nachlieli, "SBL BibLit", "SBL Hebrew", Cardo, Alef, "Noto Serif Hebrew", "Noto Sans Hebrew", "David Libre", David, "Times New Roman", Gisha, Arial, FreeSerif, FreeSans; font-size: 16.1px;">גמטראות</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> or </span><span class="script-hebrew" dir="rtl" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Ezra SIL", "Ezra SIL SR", "Keter Aram Tsova", "Taamey Ashkenaz", "Taamey David CLM", "Taamey Frank CLM", "Frenk Ruehl CLM", "Keter YG", Shofar, "David CLM", "Hadasim CLM", "Simple CLM", Nachlieli, "SBL BibLit", "SBL Hebrew", Cardo, Alef, "Noto Serif Hebrew", "Noto Sans Hebrew", "David Libre", David, "Times New Roman", Gisha, Arial, FreeSerif, FreeSans; font-size: 16.1px;">גמטריאות</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">gematriot</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">)</span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-JE_1-0" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: isolate; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gematria#cite_note-JE-1" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none;">[1]</a></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> originated as an Assyro-Babylonian-Greek system of alphanumeric </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Code">code</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> or </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cipher" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Cipher">cipher</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> later adopted into </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_culture" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Jewish culture">Jewish culture</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> that assigns </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Number" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Number">numerical value</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> to a word, name, or phrase in the belief that words or phrases with identical numerical values bear some relation to each other or bear some relation to the number itself as it may apply to </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nature" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Nature">Nature</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">, a person's age, the calendar year, or the like. (Source: Wikipedia)</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">For the last several weeks, on multiple occasions, I have seen </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">555</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> when checking the time on my phone or on other time-keeping devices. The latest occurrence was this morning when I was preparing to make coffee and found the digital display on the coffee pot was blinking 12:00. I knew for a fact that time was incorrect as I had been awake, tossing and turning since 2:30, so I turned around to look at the clock on the stove and saw those three fives again. Could this be a digital dispatch from angels? Some websites claim a spiritual message is being conveyed if you are astute enough to take notice. Of course, divining the meaning becomes a little tricky depending on which online source you choose to believe. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">If I were inclined to see things from a negative point of view (who me? never!), as some experts suggest I might, 555 could spell disaster. Dare I say death? Icky! I would rather perceive 555 as something positive, a good change in fortune coming my way. The number 5 does seem to be a forward looking, progressive sort of thing, kicking dust back in the face of the Past. I can buy into that meaning. The past few years have not been particularly advantageous for me or my loved ones, and I would just as soon not have to face anything like them again. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I could, as J. D. Vance, the author of <i><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/i-grew-up-in-poverty-in-appalachia-jd-vances-hillbilly-elegy-doesnt-speak-for-me/2017/08/30/734abb38-891d-11e7-961d-2f373b3977ee_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.8e0fd59b59ba">Hillbilly Elegy</a></i>, lean into his Marines-instilled stance that my circumstances are mostly a result of making poor choices in life, or I could look through the prism of pragmatism, a philosophy that claims an ideology or theory is true and should be adhered to if it works satisfactorily (for whom, I'd like to know?) and tossed out if it doesn't. Better yet, I could be <a href="http://biblehub.com/1_corinthians/1-27.htm">"foolish"</a> enough to think that there is a divine purpose to my meandering missteps, a labyrinthine challenge to my ingenuity and spiritual fortitude. I could wander endlessly, (like Abraham?) seeking to understand why I'm here, what I'm made for, and where I'm going, or I could just be satisfied with my <a href="https://rcg.org/youth/articles/0504-tlol.html">LOT</a> in life, vexed in my soul but reluctant to step away from the source of the vexation. </span><br />
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Decisions, decisions! If only life today were as easy to navigate as in the old days. The ancients didn't have to worry about retirement planning, market analysis, healthcare costs, etc. Things were fairly simple, if you knew what was good for you and paid attention to what your elders advised:<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Rabbi <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleazar_Chisma" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Eleazar Chisma">Eleazar Chisma</a><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-9" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: isolate; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gematria#cite_note-9" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none;">[9]</a></sup> said: the laws of mixed bird offerings and the key to the calculations of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menstruation" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Menstruation">menstruation</a> days—these, these are the body of the halakhah. The calculation of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Equinox" style="background: none; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Equinox">equinoxes</a>and <i>gematriot</i> are the desserts of wisdom.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">An alternative translation to the Hebrew word <span lang="he" title="Hebrew language text">פרפראות</span> is "minor side dishes".</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Minor dishes may be served before, during, or after a meal, to add interest and variety; they are the appetizers, side dishes, desserts, tid-bits — never to be served as main dishes. In other words, these sciences, while important, are yet only auxiliary and secondary. What is primary is the Torah. What is central is the life-giving law. (Source: Wikipedia)<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></span></div>
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-44919172682045757772018-04-16T17:40:00.000-05:002018-04-16T17:40:20.775-05:00The Gulf Between (Us)<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/AVvXsEhbpJhDw_5QY36q35gZEIh8FkFKDlrL88NL1_qJ8XHxoRamrbKqjzQRLhAGrK4g9oRd-bA8gdjsaiYDpD-unpncSOAvcVq4Dc6e57B5UdU6v_B_dXYeUE4jPz8C5mCpvllCsLr1g3QNqyAP/s1600/IMG_0481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpJhDw_5QY36q35gZEIh8FkFKDlrL88NL1_qJ8XHxoRamrbKqjzQRLhAGrK4g9oRd-bA8gdjsaiYDpD-unpncSOAvcVq4Dc6e57B5UdU6v_B_dXYeUE4jPz8C5mCpvllCsLr1g3QNqyAP/s320/IMG_0481.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peanut has bid this world adieu</td></tr>
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<h1 class="page__title title" id="page-title" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #fcf9f9; font-family: "poets electra web italic", "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; font-size: 38px; font-weight: 500; letter-spacing: -2px; line-height: 1.20301em; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px;">
Ode on the death of a favorite cat</h1>
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<span class="node-title"><a href="https://www.poets.org/node/46060" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(211, 211, 211); color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_top"><span itemprop="name">Thomas Gray</span></a></span></h2>
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<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden" style="background-color: #fcf9f9; font-family: "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; line-height: 24px; padding-right: 15px; width: auto !important;">
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<pre style="font-family: "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.26316em; margin-top: 1.26316em; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;">Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ‘midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
A favorite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.</pre>
<pre style="font-family: "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.26316em; margin-top: 1.26316em; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;">*****************************************************</pre>
<pre style="font-family: "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.26316em; margin-top: 1.26316em; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;">I thought it only fair to bridge the gulf between us and let my dear readers know that I'm still kicking in Southern Illinois and Peanut the Grand-Cat in Florida is no more. She gave us much love, was a source of joy and laughter, and comforted us in times of sadness and loss. Her illness came on quite suddenly (shallow breathing, loss of appetite) and occurred right after being boarded at an animal hospital in Tallahassee where she had received regular exams, vaccines, and previous boarding. Of course, we suspected some sort of nosocomial infection, but the vet told Daughter that x-rays showed a mass near her heart and lungs filled with fluid. The vet was fairly certain that the tumor had been present for a while, slowly compromising her health, and that the stress of being away from home and family was the proverbial nail in the coffin for Peanut.</pre>
<pre style="font-family: "poets electra web", "times new roman", Times, serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.26316em; margin-top: 1.26316em; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"> A nasty thing, <span style="color: red;">STRESS</span> is. Just look at the word--a serpent that swallows up serendipity and slithers across our serenity. It robs us of life's pleasure and enjoyment and ultimately of life itself. It must be a close cousin to Malignant Fate, and I hope they both soon drown in the </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgvUaOuEdwA"><span style="font-size: large;">Lake of Fire</span></a><span style="font-size: 17px;">.</span></pre>
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-44505274432032895252016-07-20T17:11:00.000-05:002016-07-20T17:14:33.590-05:002016: Time For Another Presidential Election and #Trump-Pence-A-Bag!<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/AVvXsEjScDf5U9vRwT5PX8O01y3fc-h8c1yVjNjyRhu1TXncaSRdzfi4fZb41nIz3JmAjn03nBQ5gPz8X5u8-hqxIPzm5WB0vL_WJzaRC7pMmvBcp0ZfQWtw4JnT0Zc1-UfZrqSRIYUutBJZTv94/s1600/Trump-Pence-A-Bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScDf5U9vRwT5PX8O01y3fc-h8c1yVjNjyRhu1TXncaSRdzfi4fZb41nIz3JmAjn03nBQ5gPz8X5u8-hqxIPzm5WB0vL_WJzaRC7pMmvBcp0ZfQWtw4JnT0Zc1-UfZrqSRIYUutBJZTv94/s400/Trump-Pence-A-Bag.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Feed the Birds!</span> <span style="color: red;">#Trump-Pence-A-Bag</span></td></tr>
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Please excuse my poor attempt at artwork. I just can't help myself, what with the presidential election coming up in just a few more months. I used to think that presidential candidates (or even presidents) should be models of dignity and decorum, great statesmen or women, not so eager to be making asses of themselves or careless with sensitive, classified information. There must have been one or two of them in the not-so-distant past.<br />
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Well, I guess too many sitcoms, talk shows, and silly game shows, not to mention reality television, have dulled our nation's <span style="color: red;">sense and sensibility</span> to the point that we think it doesn't matter who is leading this country anymore. It could be that this country's moral compass has been tampered with to the point that we don't know or care what's right or wrong. Scientists will probably tell us that sunspots have messed it up or that the tilt of the earth is just a wee bit off and so are we.<br />
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Maybe it's just me that's a wee bit off. For some reason, I can't summon up any enthusiasm for this year's presidential election. But at least I can find some <span style="color: red;">humor</span> in it. I hope you do too.<br />
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<br />walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-11122570159812763502016-07-13T15:39:00.000-05:002016-07-13T15:39:02.233-05:00Coaxing Old Gardening and Blogging Habits and Marketing My Tonico Jardin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0fiG59MKg_ObOjmdpD2s_Ko7mK0YFXJOlaUL_XuVp8I0wE8BAg2cbEqmN2ayD-cT6ihs5O-Li6t5og4SXQiU1lFsGcHtiT79Y8zibM6pn4E_bujqpq62GNgRzBxGIsdwAvKneHvlylWZ/s1600/DSCN9859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0fiG59MKg_ObOjmdpD2s_Ko7mK0YFXJOlaUL_XuVp8I0wE8BAg2cbEqmN2ayD-cT6ihs5O-Li6t5og4SXQiU1lFsGcHtiT79Y8zibM6pn4E_bujqpq62GNgRzBxGIsdwAvKneHvlylWZ/s400/DSCN9859.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Habit is habit and not to be flung out of the window by any man but coaxed downstairs a step at a time." (from Mark Twain's <i>Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar</i>)</span></div>
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As you can see, I've been coaxing my gardening habit since we moved back to Southern Illinois. Old habits die hard and so do (I hope!) old gardeners (and bloggers?). This one anyway is still alive and kicking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZwDRCQKD-TjZL0sJAFLH-Af3XV9oHd8hO2njnZh0996cVYV5-_miyGT_SmPY79A63nDkPtSCgjc_zy8ttwh2JVOqe-3FPHJq_OpQHIehN90zqJN0AjLnwIWTC6GzVO5rKpshrwdug0Wp/s1600/DSCN9865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZwDRCQKD-TjZL0sJAFLH-Af3XV9oHd8hO2njnZh0996cVYV5-_miyGT_SmPY79A63nDkPtSCgjc_zy8ttwh2JVOqe-3FPHJq_OpQHIehN90zqJN0AjLnwIWTC6GzVO5rKpshrwdug0Wp/s320/DSCN9865.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I wonder if the Echinacea I've planted in my garden is adding years to my life? </div>
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Or could it be the Salvia?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXTKVkhbm6QYFDI5bvYAt-IKPkReQDuTTFj81opBsFBGsynTvXm1ro4Z7rY9uLk0VuC14r9czxI8BTxTrC8bL26FHE1vBUSU0CFxrlu3pLSKFrQA69FtLpuM6KGnFlL2HO_dyKhX9GhKx/s1600/DSCN9868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXTKVkhbm6QYFDI5bvYAt-IKPkReQDuTTFj81opBsFBGsynTvXm1ro4Z7rY9uLk0VuC14r9czxI8BTxTrC8bL26FHE1vBUSU0CFxrlu3pLSKFrQA69FtLpuM6KGnFlL2HO_dyKhX9GhKx/s320/DSCN9868.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Perhaps it's the Bee Balm?</div>
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If there were a way to bottle and market this <i>Tonico Jardin</i> I've coaxed here, I would be a wealthy woman... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPG6L5j5MA5gPA06MgWJmH2AIAz6HU7GOeUAzQpkOj3ia25AtTsrzFxq6W24mEOuvc6GR1Y4tMjyAGCnAXipGI2Hawi0TVkNjNUg3b37nBSY5MAvTZKGq5OrGs8icPhl8R6yNRv0qWqVu/s1600/DSCN9871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPG6L5j5MA5gPA06MgWJmH2AIAz6HU7GOeUAzQpkOj3ia25AtTsrzFxq6W24mEOuvc6GR1Y4tMjyAGCnAXipGI2Hawi0TVkNjNUg3b37nBSY5MAvTZKGq5OrGs8icPhl8R6yNRv0qWqVu/s320/DSCN9871.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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...or perhaps I am one already.</div>
walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-42990178857507441102016-02-16T14:17:00.001-06:002016-02-16T14:25:50.984-06:00Black? White? Brown Month? Pied Beauty Month!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcuRTKjUdfs4MsUw5eaFGnWP2d7IR09kd_zVghsZi05x2ZXcfKh0I5ZbOKbUrYqaKLpjuPA90PkTgy2mmO619dm6oA07uQYIDJj9TMDQUeygcB8z3Ie0Xu6w5S9i0-cM0guCuKqwp4Po62/s1600/IMG_1036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcuRTKjUdfs4MsUw5eaFGnWP2d7IR09kd_zVghsZi05x2ZXcfKh0I5ZbOKbUrYqaKLpjuPA90PkTgy2mmO619dm6oA07uQYIDJj9TMDQUeygcB8z3Ie0Xu6w5S9i0-cM0guCuKqwp4Po62/s320/IMG_1036.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Pi</span><span style="color: blue;">ed</span> <span style="color: purple;">Bea</span><span style="color: #38761d;">uty</span></div>
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(poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, pub. 1918)</div>
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<i>Glory be to God for dappled things--</i></div>
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<i>For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;</i></div>
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<i>For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;</i></div>
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<i>Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings;</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdDXSgzlEBzjFoqcZq5szMc2IWa_QxQvMtj67OwHlslJtT3QmYaCcOohdN9SW3b4Yg_rjiTLGSYzDhiXWXrZJjbBVJQu8APfBDzkHkxDP40c5u6p2XV8LAgPN9XeU2fulXyymnWyJi_fl/s1600/IMG_1057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdDXSgzlEBzjFoqcZq5szMc2IWa_QxQvMtj67OwHlslJtT3QmYaCcOohdN9SW3b4Yg_rjiTLGSYzDhiXWXrZJjbBVJQu8APfBDzkHkxDP40c5u6p2XV8LAgPN9XeU2fulXyymnWyJi_fl/s320/IMG_1057.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwt3KNRoiaUdJuAnSo1uI0pRYfxW5gwacj7dgXayx3BdmrSPmJpWvy6XWE-Jwzo8a5oBwCHExzEv6_dlv_-oWGwrFl4TlqNmSDicX2O9VfEMw4BKJamIGLi5MALV0PIBC0Avmu7Stuc9FX/s1600/IMG_1071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwt3KNRoiaUdJuAnSo1uI0pRYfxW5gwacj7dgXayx3BdmrSPmJpWvy6XWE-Jwzo8a5oBwCHExzEv6_dlv_-oWGwrFl4TlqNmSDicX2O9VfEMw4BKJamIGLi5MALV0PIBC0Avmu7Stuc9FX/s320/IMG_1071.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DDsvBAGaUyTHmk05vEiBideALsdao5odteIfx0hCRbHWX6XTPIxs75qNHifFlgkDvFIC_vATwdxVQHGL4flzvyblupK3N6i9E8VUGWPoa-7ejR_jq-YTwbIvV4fDLx6XTJ70OefhyNXS/s1600/IMG_0933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DDsvBAGaUyTHmk05vEiBideALsdao5odteIfx0hCRbHWX6XTPIxs75qNHifFlgkDvFIC_vATwdxVQHGL4flzvyblupK3N6i9E8VUGWPoa-7ejR_jq-YTwbIvV4fDLx6XTJ70OefhyNXS/s320/IMG_0933.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>All things counter, original, spare, strange;</i></div>
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<i>Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how??)</i></div>
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<i>With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYTRj8J_Nsqwb19m9ecgbtmqGp6L6KZ3ex614uD753v61YdX-anTxz2dmwlkV7CPNvZi-jqvBhe9b5sF7RaN_wsaTkwqAIp6o4S9V2xt_UNnF4UJDi2y_qV49O056qqyT3Hog17uef6J3/s1600/IMG_1073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYTRj8J_Nsqwb19m9ecgbtmqGp6L6KZ3ex614uD753v61YdX-anTxz2dmwlkV7CPNvZi-jqvBhe9b5sF7RaN_wsaTkwqAIp6o4S9V2xt_UNnF4UJDi2y_qV49O056qqyT3Hog17uef6J3/s320/IMG_1073.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;</i></div>
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<i>Praise him.</i></div>
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Arlee Bird of the blog <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://tossingitout.blogspot.com/">Tossing It Out</a>,</span> in his post dated 2-15-16, observes that in this month, known as Black History Month in the United States and Canada, much (maybe too much?) has been made of "black" history: </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">"There is no doubt that the descendants of </span><a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_diaspora" rel="wikipedia" style="background-color: white; color: #b03300; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="African diaspora">African diaspora</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> have made important contributions throughout the world, but so have the peoples from many other cultures. My preference is to become aware of as much history as I can absorb and have a very keen knowledge of the history that made my country of the United States of America what it is and to discern where it can go in the positive sense."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #545454; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">SAM has told me, and I find it interesting, that many job applications now have a new choice to fill in for the category "race." It's "two or more;" which, I believe, is as it should be. No one race can (or should) be claimed to the exclusion of (or preference for) any other one. There are unintended ethical, legal, and political consequences for making </span><a href="http://oregonstate.edu/dept/humanities/claims-genetic-race-differences-rise-again"><span style="font-size: large;">racial distinctions</span></a><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">, as we all should know by now. We, as Americans, must acknowledge our differences but celebrate our unity--one nation, you know?</span></span></span></div>
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-30262035753901966872016-02-09T22:37:00.000-06:002016-02-13T10:27:12.182-06:00Land o' Goshen!: Finding Hidden Explosions and 'Sunlight on the Garden' in Southern Illinois ('Egypt')<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "pebble pup" pores over a pile of mostly purple fluorite for sale that was extracted from a mine in Hardin County</td></tr>
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Weekend before last, we traveled with a group of ardent rock hounds, members of the <a href="http://www.siesclub.org/"><span style="font-size: large;">Southern Illinois Earth Science Club</span></a>, to Hardin County. We were on a quest to find ancient, cryptoexplosive breccia and associated treasure, hiding for untold centuries under <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.disclosurenewsonline.com/2015/11/19/carmi-oil-company-to-drill-after-permit-issued-for-hicks-dome-in-hardin-co/#sthash.0FBAw8yl.0FBAw8yl.dpbs">Hicks Dome</a></span> and elsewhere nearby, that miners would eventually discover: Fluorite...</div>
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and chunks of iron. We raked and picked through a section of the leaf-littered forest for the tailings of a long-abandoned iron mine. An old iron furnace nearby that dates back to Civil War days helped to fire up my imagination and make me wax poetic in this <a href="http://www.lib.niu.edu/2004/ih071004.html"><span style="font-size: large;">land called Egypt</span></a>...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Sunlight on the Garden</span></div>
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The sunlight on the garden</div>
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Hardens and grows cold</div>
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We cannot cage the minute</div>
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Within its nets of gold,</div>
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When all is told</div>
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We cannot beg for pardon.</div>
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Our freedom as free lances</div>
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Advances towards its end;</div>
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The earth compels, upon it</div>
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Sonnets and birds descend;</div>
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And soon, my friend,</div>
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We shall have no time for dances.</div>
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The sky was good for flying</div>
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Defying the church bells</div>
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And every evil iron</div>
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Siren and what it tells:</div>
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The earth compels,</div>
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We are dying, Egypt, dying!...</div>
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(from the poem by Louis MacNeice, c.1937, 1938)</div>
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I found Mr. MacNeice's poem in my <i>Norton Anthology of English Literature</i> and was struck by the editors' comment that "in love with life's irreducible multiplicity, he [MacNeice] strives to embrace life's <span style="font-size: large;">flux</span>, despite an underlying sense of sadness and, sometimes, tragedy: 'All our games are funeral games.' " The editors note that he traveled to the United States at the beginning of World War II. I can't help but wonder if he ventured into Southern Illinois during his travels? The words of his poem certainly have an eerie sense of belonging here. </div>
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The book club at our local library is at present reading <i>Murder in Little Egypt</i> by Darcy O'Brien. It's a true story of filicide, but I consider that it's also a story of community culpability. Mr. O'Brien's in-depth study of the history of this place called Egypt at the beginning of the book supplies the reader with building blocks for constructing a <span style="font-size: large;">pyramid of plausibility</span>: Tyrants/terrorists are, essentially, enabled by their communities. "When all is told, we cannot beg for pardon."</div>
walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-32217290550905385612016-01-25T15:33:00.000-06:002016-01-25T15:33:34.725-06:00Secret Aging Man: What a Catch!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a dark and stormy night...but at least the redfish was biting!</td></tr>
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You won't find redfish in Southern Illinois or Tallahassee (at least not live ones still in the water), and Secret Aging Man was sure chomping at the bit to catch one after our Christmas visit with Daughter and her husband. As soon as we dropped anchor (the Lance camper) at our spot in <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.santarosarvresort.com/">Navarre's Santa Rosa RV Resort</a></span>, SAM hightailed it to the end of the fishing pier so he could drop some bait (live shrimp) in the Sound and try his luck. A few other hardy souls (including yours truly) joined him there as it began to rain. The rain held on and so did his luck. He caught the only fish of the evening and asked around if anyone had a cleaning table? No luck there, so he took matters into his own hands and used the bed of the trusty Dodge truck to filet the fish.<br />
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After our tasty supper of pan-fried fish, I asked him what he intended to do with the bloody remains on the bed of truck? Surely not let the rain wash it off? This RV resort is kind of classy. We felt like the <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beverly_Hillbillies">Jed Clampetts</a></span> (in reverse) of the camping world with our crater-dashed Dodge truck and little Lance truck camper. I'm surprised they even let us stay, what with all of the fancy rigs parked there. SAM just smirked a little and left me to tidy up our tiny camper kitchen. He was back a few minutes later and assured me that there would be no tell-tale signs of the redfish slaughter for any of the other campers to see come morning. This kind of camping comes with the convenience of a car-washing place nearby. My Secret Aging Man--what a catch!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Navarre Beach from the fishing pier at Santa Rosa RV Resort</td></tr>
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<br />walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-19883526588142465022016-01-21T14:17:00.000-06:002016-01-21T22:06:05.702-06:00Moving Forward But Still 'Lookin' Out My Back Door': Watching the Slow, Painful Death of the Illinois Oil Industry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peaceful autumn scene from Lake Murphysboro State Park</td></tr>
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The plummeting price of oil elicits barely a ripple of reaction from most Southern Illinoisans. They're not the ones who have lost good-paying jobs. Again. <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2008/09/earth-hath-bubbles.html">"Drilling for Oil in Southern Illinois?"</a> </span>No fracking way! Not now and maybe never again, if current conditions continue for too much longer. Experienced oilfield geologists, engineers, and drilling equipment operators are going the way of the dinosaurs. And now that sanctions on Iran have been lifted, even more oil from the Middle Eastern countries will flow like wine from California, glutting the market and gutting the oil industry here in Illinois and elsewhere in the United States.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many sinkholes at Leon Sinks Geological Area</td></tr>
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So what? you might say. Isn't it grand paying less at the pump? <span style="font-size: large;">Cheap, cheap, cheap!</span> Sure it is, until there's another <a href="https://history.state.gov/milestones/1969-1976/oil-embargo"><span style="font-size: large;">oil embargo</span></a> imposed on us (<span style="font-size: large;">sheep, sheep, sheep</span>) by those friendly folks over there in the Middle East. I'm sure there are still some people here in the States who remember the sinking feeling of waiting for hours in line for fuel only to be told there's no more of it to be had until the next shipment comes in, courtesy of those friendly folks over there in the Middle East.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our trusty, crater-dashed Dodge truck and Lance camper</td></tr>
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In that case, our trusty, crater-dashed Dodge truck and Lance camper might have to be turned into permanent yard ornaments or sold for scrap.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lookin%27_Out_My_Back_Door"><span style="font-size: small;">Lookin' out the back door</span></a> of the Lance camper at Navarre Sound</td></tr>
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And in that case, we (or any other camping folk) wouldn't dream of heading (moving forward) down the highway to Florida. Yuletide visit with Daughter and Son-in-law? Forget it. You'd better get used to lookin' out your back door because fuel is in short supply, and it's stay-cation from here on out. That is, if you still have a home or community in Southern Illinois in which to enjoy that stay-cation. Guess who pays a lion's share of income and property taxes in many counties around here? That's right. Those fricking-fracking oil producers and mineral right owners do, as long as there's income and oil property to tax.<br />
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<i>Forward troubles Illinois</i></div>
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<i>Lock the front door, oh boy!</i></div>
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<i>Look at all the happy</i></div>
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<i>Creatures dancing on the lawn.</i></div>
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<i>Bother me tomorrow,</i></div>
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<i>Today I'll buy no sorrow.</i></div>
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<i>Doo, doo, doo,</i></div>
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<i>Lookin' out my back door.</i></div>
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--John Fogerty/CCR</div>
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-43053655025107902002015-10-30T10:32:00.000-05:002015-10-30T10:32:44.646-05:00Comments Are On Again! Europeans: Beware of Cookies!<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/AVvXsEimEfXazXZCG2wDyqKjYmlV5VzQX_3rUpBvZY2zSxpDRjGmudD8t4vhH5SPD4RDDTPEBcgiHjtFFFTFIVXGWtsEga-7OSWbKQd79nXsMsgSuPZUjXrEDZYgnBN_Hz0KedP8pKEbN3XKrkrK/s1600/IMG_0830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEfXazXZCG2wDyqKjYmlV5VzQX_3rUpBvZY2zSxpDRjGmudD8t4vhH5SPD4RDDTPEBcgiHjtFFFTFIVXGWtsEga-7OSWbKQd79nXsMsgSuPZUjXrEDZYgnBN_Hz0KedP8pKEbN3XKrkrK/s320/IMG_0830.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My version of Spanish eggs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Blogger has let me know on my dashboard that hiding cookies on my blog is a big no-no. Since I'm not sure that I understand how to properly warn my European friends that there may be cookies on my blog, let this post serve as my notice: <span style="font-size: large;">There are cookies as well as other food items on this blog!</span><br />
<br />
There. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and thanks to bloggers <a href="http://trainrideoftheenigmas.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Geo</span></a> and <a href="http://kaholly.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">KaHolly</span></a> (who has a quilt pattern giveaway going on, by the way) for letting me know you missed being able to comment on this blog. You should now be able to leave comments again if you so desire. Take some of my cookies along to share too...<br />
<br />
<br />walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-55987780852746006312015-10-30T00:37:00.000-05:002015-10-30T09:45:30.074-05:00Walking at Heron Pond in Southern Illinois: A Tale (or Tail) of Us Two "Sitties"<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/AVvXsEh8iVtuF9zlPYhyelA7E3dZW16WzlyLQQoxbYUcfMLE0d85IhBpAMhcuatq_FgXoLdNpKnr8bXqsWNFg_ZpmT2zMt5005b3LWziPQEPCEnNYyEcYYC7IeY5WgfL3V6vu9bNJeaTZlYF6EtQ/s1600/IMG_0824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8iVtuF9zlPYhyelA7E3dZW16WzlyLQQoxbYUcfMLE0d85IhBpAMhcuatq_FgXoLdNpKnr8bXqsWNFg_ZpmT2zMt5005b3LWziPQEPCEnNYyEcYYC7IeY5WgfL3V6vu9bNJeaTZlYF6EtQ/s400/IMG_0824.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A reminder to tread as lightly but as often on those feet as possible: the rest of your body will thank you for it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">The reflex is an only child</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He's waiting by the park...</span><br />
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Sitting and working at the computer all day can lead to pain of the posterior, or PITA, as we acronymically refer to it around here. But--does the problem begin or even end with the tail? Bone, that is. If the evolutionists are correct, then our sitting so much, which is forcing the coccyx or remnant of our ancestral tailbone to remain constantly tucked under and out of the way, may cause it to just disappear altogether! Never fear! There are solutions. Reflexology and walking are here...and here...and here (see pictures above and below) to save the day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOuD8BUWHHvdN4HVtawSGJCjA3eIwB7Zw9ZlIubKSfuh6x456P4E3bOCXeWQ596NVknPTLENndwQ1GZdAoZLf3FLuEfo70xKpy4Zng6HRodvkk_crloLU8U7ZOa0h50YDi8CELioraTmh/s1600/IMG_0851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOuD8BUWHHvdN4HVtawSGJCjA3eIwB7Zw9ZlIubKSfuh6x456P4E3bOCXeWQ596NVknPTLENndwQ1GZdAoZLf3FLuEfo70xKpy4Zng6HRodvkk_crloLU8U7ZOa0h50YDi8CELioraTmh/s320/IMG_0851.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The reflex is in charge of</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Finding treasure in the dark...</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaoVvCMKqz6McJfNBMOWb88wdWuwc6nisTRxjHomOtvIbfZ4lFtTyacLH4av8ehpMp94ntl0hMMhDFt2xmwG3bUDLWfbC2k1HWFTLMxKWE9usAv_o4Oq7unOZ1hvHgWXf4auuwbu_2Lfz/s1600/IMG_0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaoVvCMKqz6McJfNBMOWb88wdWuwc6nisTRxjHomOtvIbfZ4lFtTyacLH4av8ehpMp94ntl0hMMhDFt2xmwG3bUDLWfbC2k1HWFTLMxKWE9usAv_o4Oq7unOZ1hvHgWXf4auuwbu_2Lfz/s320/IMG_0856.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No clover here--just lots of duckweed and cypress trees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">And watching over lucky clover</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Isn't that bizarre?</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EHnUarHZ-urDxdzUyNLs8jXywJuKRo8zOh9vw7Tjg6uf_4RzRVzEPp5DbsAyQ1zGb_PIJ83QUkMEsllIVSpwXoJddHPcCD959bgwoYTieRjOWM-YGUWJ5JdhnIPxXrcZR_F-QM2lrwz8/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EHnUarHZ-urDxdzUyNLs8jXywJuKRo8zOh9vw7Tjg6uf_4RzRVzEPp5DbsAyQ1zGb_PIJ83QUkMEsllIVSpwXoJddHPcCD959bgwoYTieRjOWM-YGUWJ5JdhnIPxXrcZR_F-QM2lrwz8/s320/IMG_0857.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friendly face (or two) along the trail at Heron Pond</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every little thing the reflex does...</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiajPELxUShP2tntcJL48tHJG4jZLV8KmMD8q9U8Thak73ndwbaDVdVqWu3eZJOiTtHlc_-ZmfjuzTRz0RLhXxbXmTK00lQUwCU2Szud1HajvD4j8HkfM5i6-SfUa_QLxrntTHzQJKykqxL/s1600/IMG_0860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiajPELxUShP2tntcJL48tHJG4jZLV8KmMD8q9U8Thak73ndwbaDVdVqWu3eZJOiTtHlc_-ZmfjuzTRz0RLhXxbXmTK00lQUwCU2Szud1HajvD4j8HkfM5i6-SfUa_QLxrntTHzQJKykqxL/s320/IMG_0860.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmXtqpmSekrCLxiOiz7XZhP18X-RuKfxSqTLWVEE74a_zmU8VPQeOu2QXh6hMSg14hhE93_VnFJKjmDJF9epMonXiUqfpyBylfXWgxOCw4XgGf7YepcnaUm3PA-G1QDm0qhnCFJ0MWMhZ/s1600/IMG_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmXtqpmSekrCLxiOiz7XZhP18X-RuKfxSqTLWVEE74a_zmU8VPQeOu2QXh6hMSg14hhE93_VnFJKjmDJF9epMonXiUqfpyBylfXWgxOCw4XgGf7YepcnaUm3PA-G1QDm0qhnCFJ0MWMhZ/s320/IMG_0864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsy34CtoicREJ2ld-JC0mgVSzlIm1MxA0cXAmvYLJD_Rt4ZeC9daO6JNTKRzOOdi42jnRcKLKRy8pziSZsG5fJWZ4bkDQLICysFCjd95z9D8zTkTccI3BphiFMVxErp6yoRVfGadw61Ip/s1600/IMG_0868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsy34CtoicREJ2ld-JC0mgVSzlIm1MxA0cXAmvYLJD_Rt4ZeC9daO6JNTKRzOOdi42jnRcKLKRy8pziSZsG5fJWZ4bkDQLICysFCjd95z9D8zTkTccI3BphiFMVxErp6yoRVfGadw61Ip/s320/IMG_0868.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only time I seem small</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpjLpVPGJPQTSXfEhcn-VJfwgCkbCf2w5qG2M_2ZuyeA5QBo2gluODB0io65BJhP3o3brndlSMcCl33_h08wWQK4QPu2LuC4nsqBmsMMviuwGjapPshqQGi98ZcviovZcZARtTp5WEc3i/s1600/IMG_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpjLpVPGJPQTSXfEhcn-VJfwgCkbCf2w5qG2M_2ZuyeA5QBo2gluODB0io65BJhP3o3brndlSMcCl33_h08wWQK4QPu2LuC4nsqBmsMMviuwGjapPshqQGi98ZcviovZcZARtTp5WEc3i/s320/IMG_0862.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They don't grow 'em like this anymore!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leaves you answered with a question mark...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
(Like what does that <a href="https://play.google.com/music/preview/Txo6e3gnccacdk3erit5uhrf75q?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-songlyrics">song by Duran Duran</a> really mean? And why is SAM wearing a camouflage shirt while gesturing with a peace sign?)walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-5406595459161016562015-10-23T16:20:00.000-05:002015-10-23T16:20:03.197-05:00Phantoms in Murphysboro State Park (or Phasma of the Optera)<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/AVvXsEjDDAt6xtN3AYDzruwAgJmkeqLhKmIJTPcF_e2hbgtXtVb9LaVKa13bKGALQ_1vlVgaeLYmtV6dP7NzaHgu6oEL_ayhsKjewPxngVb6Ug53yb8ZiuR7SR_Yj83W1k14ljQEH_Dzd0-iNerg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDAt6xtN3AYDzruwAgJmkeqLhKmIJTPcF_e2hbgtXtVb9LaVKa13bKGALQ_1vlVgaeLYmtV6dP7NzaHgu6oEL_ayhsKjewPxngVb6Ug53yb8ZiuR7SR_Yj83W1k14ljQEH_Dzd0-iNerg/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two members of the Family Phasmidae out for a stroll together at Murphysboro State Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Secret Aging Man, known to my regular readers as SAM (if I still have any regular readers?), was quick to spot these two walking stick lovers out for their own kind of walk whilst we were taking our usual stroll at the park. I have been meaning to post about them since last month when I snapped the picture, but my thoughts of late have been preoccupied by weightier matters. <i>Time for something light and fun</i>, I decided this afternoon. "All walk and no write makes W2W a dull girl," you might say.<br />
<br />
According to one site I found on the subject of <a href="https://www.nwf.org/Wildlife/Wildlife-Library/Invertebrates/Walking-Sticks.aspx"><span style="font-size: large;">walking sticks</span></a>, the ladies of the species appear to have the upper hand (don't they always?) as far as reproduction goes. They can lay eggs that hatch without any help at all from their male companions. And of course, these eggs only produce females. Judging from these two specimens that we saw on our walk, <span style="color: red;">parthenogenesis</span> is the furthest thing from their little minds: <i>Time to make some males or else the females will end up ruling the world! We can't have that happening, can we?</i><br />
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No, we wouldn't want those males to become "Phasma (phantoms) of the Optera." They are needed (and wanted) for various things from time to time, not the least of which includes accompanying those female walkers on long strolls through the park.walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-89181196529842912012015-05-31T22:05:00.000-05:002015-05-31T22:05:37.061-05:00Merlin's Magicicadas<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/AVvXsEjvNnXjqV8aEc-YpILzCYy3mW6m3DMutodWDAoqKFWmjNxYtZbuxgklEQ8GM0zPCmDpnKyo69fvv6BgIKgVrRlZQXGjVUX4TYkuGoInJhELgEmGL4hZ6RJxRJmAtsKMLl22nCJIwE2QGjB9/s1600/IMG_0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNnXjqV8aEc-YpILzCYy3mW6m3DMutodWDAoqKFWmjNxYtZbuxgklEQ8GM0zPCmDpnKyo69fvv6BgIKgVrRlZQXGjVUX4TYkuGoInJhELgEmGL4hZ6RJxRJmAtsKMLl22nCJIwE2QGjB9/s400/IMG_0654.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many 13-year Magicicadas recently heard and spied at Murphysboro State Park</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">...Blameless master of the games,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">King of sport that never shames,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He shall daily joy dispense</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hid in song's sweet influence.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Things more cheerly live and go,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What time the subtle mind</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sings aloud the tune whereto</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Their pulses beat,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And march their feet,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And their members are combined...</span><br />
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--(from <i>Merlin (I)</i> by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1846)--<br />
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The "daily joy" I find while walking in nearby woods or working in the garden has a beat of its own, a rhythm of life that is so invigorating it cannot be ignored or silenced by fear or dread or "change" of anything that modern society seems intent on smothering us with. The sound of the <i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.magicicada.org/magicicada_2015.php">Magicicada</a></span></i>, when many "members are combined" may be annoying to some people, but SAM and I somehow find the "tune whereto their pulses beat" an affirmation of eternity, of periodicity, of inexplicable magic, of life itself. I hope you hear and feel their "song's sweet influence" just as clearly:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxRrats21tctPUOHnwpNdkd7qqvGySKJAwU6mkU8Iz1OooMrUInhfhXcgl67OpO7CBOHj9r2hHpPKy-I5evow' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-2831745610164352622015-05-21T20:47:00.000-05:002015-05-21T20:47:26.678-05:00Climate Change and Gearing Up for the Next Heave-Ho: It's Turtles All the Way Down, You Know!<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/AVvXsEj_c8J12sroefPGOaTpclRk7xQu4elz0evFkAgGrwWo54TDLt4bUPF7hVXMsFEuVQZVhNvhuNiGkXyE7IMaMps0mEsQQBemCqAhKuTjPuwTsHR-paPx5CsY4OcmNqBa_TCsa6RaecGW4eEO/s1600/Spring+2015+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_c8J12sroefPGOaTpclRk7xQu4elz0evFkAgGrwWo54TDLt4bUPF7hVXMsFEuVQZVhNvhuNiGkXyE7IMaMps0mEsQQBemCqAhKuTjPuwTsHR-paPx5CsY4OcmNqBa_TCsa6RaecGW4eEO/s400/Spring+2015+059.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grow fast, little turtle! You've got a big job ahead of you!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">'After a lecture on cosmology and the structure of the solar system, </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_James" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="William James">William James</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">was accosted by a little old lady.</span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;">
"Your theory that the sun is the centre of the solar system, and the earth is a ball which rotates around it has a very convincing ring to it, Mr. James, but it's wrong. I've got a better theory," said the little old lady.<br />"And what is that, madam?" Inquired James politely.<br />"That we live on a crust of earth which is on the back of a giant turtle,"<br />Not wishing to demolish this absurd little theory by bringing to bear the masses of scientific evidence he had at his command, James decided to gently dissuade his opponent by making her see some of the inadequacies of her position.<br />"If your theory is correct, madam," he asked, "what does this turtle stand on?"<br />"You're a very clever man, Mr. James, and that's a very good question," replied the little old lady, "but I have an answer to it. And it is this: The first turtle stands on the back of a second, far larger, turtle, who stands directly under him."<br />"But what does this second turtle stand on?" persisted James patiently.<br />To this the little old lady crowed triumphantly. "It's no use, Mr. James – it's turtles all the way down." '</div>
<div class="templatequotecite" style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; padding-left: 1.6em;">
—J. R. Ross, <cite>Constraints on Variables in Syntax 1967</cite></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Men are making speeches... all over the country, but each expresses only the thought, or the want of thought, of the multitude. No man stands on truth. They are merely banded together as usual, one leaning on another and all together on nothing; as the Hindoos made the world rest on an elephant, and the elephant on a tortoise, and had nothing to put under the tortoise." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> --Henry David Thoreau, journal entry, 4 May 1852--</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15.3299999237061px; line-height: 22.9949989318848px;">"When you’re on deck, standing your watch, you stay vigilant. You plan for every contingency. And if you see storm clouds gathering, or dangerous shoals ahead, you don't sit back and do nothing. You take action — to protect your ship, to keep your crew safe. Anything less is negligence. It is a dereliction of duty. And so, too, with climate change. Denying it, or refusing to deal with it endangers our national security. It undermines the readiness of our forces...."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15.3299999237061px; line-height: 22.9949989318848px;"> --<a href="http://ctmirror.org/2015/05/20/text-obama-speech-on-climate-change-at-coast-guard-academy/">President Barack Obama, addressing the Coast Guard Academy Class of 2015</a> on May 20--</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Heave Ho! My Lads! Heave Ho!</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">VERSE<br /><span style="font-size: large;">Give us the oil, give us the gas</span><br />Give us the shells, give us the guns.<br />We'll be the ones to see them thru.<br />Give us the tanks, give us the planes.<br />Give us the parts, give us a ship.<br />Give us a hip hoo-ray!<br />And we'll be on our way.<br /><br />CHORUS<br />Heave Ho! My Lads, Heave Ho!<br />It's a long, long way to go.<br />It's a long, long pull with our hatches full,<br />Braving the wind, braving the sea,<br />Fighting the treacherous foe;<br />Heave Ho! My lads, Heave Ho!<br />Let the sea roll high or low,<br />We can cross any ocean, sail any river.<br />Give us the goods and we'll deliver,<br />Damn the submarine!<br />We're the men of the Merchant Marine!</span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--</span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span>Official Song of The U.S. Maritime Service </span></b></center>
<b style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span>Song of the Merchant Marine</span></b></div>
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<b><span>Heave Ho! My Lads! Heave Ho! </span></b></div>
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Words and Music by Lieut. (jg) Jack Lawrence, USMS, 1943--</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15.3299999237061px; line-height: 22.9949989318848px;"><br /></span>walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-8515824177976707772015-05-11T18:44:00.000-05:002015-05-11T18:44:34.451-05:00Withering Into Truth...About Maidenhair and Mandrake<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/AVvXsEjaA2SHLKW0p0M5UThmR45RtRwPP5HKUg5zs-nUUgu9XDarCsfpQ3se-91WpLTobBpZ5FQIXZYwUqLtXu1v_r6lf2e5m6Rud-_I06krCdM3F8iEeqodKks5peHQ15EV-5i9IjWqnc1f5XLc/s1600/Spring+2015+044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA2SHLKW0p0M5UThmR45RtRwPP5HKUg5zs-nUUgu9XDarCsfpQ3se-91WpLTobBpZ5FQIXZYwUqLtXu1v_r6lf2e5m6Rud-_I06krCdM3F8iEeqodKks5peHQ15EV-5i9IjWqnc1f5XLc/s640/Spring+2015+044.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SAM, don't sit under the ginkgo tree with anyone else but me!</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />The Coming of Wisdom with Time</div>
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<i>Though leaves are many, the root is one;</i></div>
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<i>Through all the lying days of my youth</i></div>
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<i>I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;</i></div>
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<i>Now I may wither into the truth.</i></div>
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(a poem by W. B. Yeats)</div>
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Now that the ginkgo (stinko) fruit produced last Autumn in the back yard has dried up, been raked up, and piled up in the corners of my <strike>mind</strike> yard, SAM and I can comfortably sit, soak up some afternoon sun this Spring when our work for the day is done, and possibly wither into truth. I daresay that we are working and living more wisely these days, and the ginkgo (maidenhair) tree may play a part in that supposition: SAM is able to work from home except when supervisory field work is required; we now live close enough to many amenities like the library, a small grocery, the bank, and a video store to walk to them; and I don't have to pay rent for my work space. Of course, I don't have many clients yet, but time and a few good referrals will take care of that shortage. I just need to make sure those future clients--if they arrive for the first time next Autumn--understand that ginkgo is just all right with me. In fact, it's more than all right. It's essential (as in oil extract), used for centuries as a medicine and dietary supplement (reputed for its positive effects on the circulatory and nervous systems), and loved by squirrels and birds--at least the ones locally--as a food source and nesting habitat.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBk3iC0qaDwamQotA09jeHK0oVMoGDXgXkl96A7yahg_KqLIWFeHpDTKstC8XjgwAELezD-TNmU95pVhdlbxbBOvv6MLtjs_1250VWhwW_jdcetlXoAPWqNhnp4ptuDIxaKpcqyyX5a60n/s1600/Spring+2015+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBk3iC0qaDwamQotA09jeHK0oVMoGDXgXkl96A7yahg_KqLIWFeHpDTKstC8XjgwAELezD-TNmU95pVhdlbxbBOvv6MLtjs_1250VWhwW_jdcetlXoAPWqNhnp4ptuDIxaKpcqyyX5a60n/s400/Spring+2015+030.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American mandrake (Podophyllum) seen at Murphysboro State Park</td></tr>
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Besides admiring the ginkgo we have acquired along with our house, we have taken to walking around the lake at Murphysboro State Park, which is about a 5-mile, quite hilly stroll (though we have seen some youngsters take a run at it). The Mayapples, otherwise known as American mandrake, are among the first plants to pop up from last year's leaves and attract attention in the Spring. The picture above was taken several weeks ago, and the flowers that were so attractive then have now formed small "apples" or fruit that are barely visible beneath the large leaflets. This <a href="http://www.webmd.com/vitamins-supplements/ingredientmono-806-american%20mandrake%20%28podophyllum%29.aspx?activeingredientid=806&activeingredientname=american%20mandrake%20%28podophyllum%29"><span style="font-size: large;">article about the Mayapple from WebMD</span></a> suggests that some people (despite most medical advice to the contrary) still use these plants for various medicinal purposes. I have to wonder...<br />
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If Eve were Lilliputian in size, perhaps the Mayapple was the forbidden fruit she coaxed Adam to eat. After all, one of its common names is the Devil's Apple....<br />
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-39351743150816448842015-04-22T20:57:00.000-05:002015-04-22T20:57:29.672-05:00Unearthing Earth Day: The Earth is a Crystal Ball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yxb9ulr_sBGAc_jxtCfVPyYxeyP0OjV9_T1UqN-Ez0IlNzymKBJmgyWJOgss0lX4xA5X8MQG4qQHw1UODwcsSbye5LXp4Fq6mi_csAeNgdfVZMTcnYEQUSRHNwM6h2fFxYJgG-taABmC/s1600/Spring+2015+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yxb9ulr_sBGAc_jxtCfVPyYxeyP0OjV9_T1UqN-Ez0IlNzymKBJmgyWJOgss0lX4xA5X8MQG4qQHw1UODwcsSbye5LXp4Fq6mi_csAeNgdfVZMTcnYEQUSRHNwM6h2fFxYJgG-taABmC/s1600/Spring+2015+002.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>The Earth is a crystal ball you see</i><br />
<i>It holds the future for you and me</i><br />
<i>The crystal held within its sphere</i><br />
<i>Is salty brine or fresh, it's clear</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The people who would make Earth "Mom"</i><br />
<i>Would truly like to read the palm</i><br />
<i>The outstretched one that You laid bare</i><br />
<i>To help them out of their despair</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>That drowns their thoughts of Providence</i><br />
<i>And takes away their common sense</i><br />
<i>As ebbing tide will wash the shore</i><br />
<i>Or springtime floods sweep forest's floor</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is this trouble about special providences--namely, there is so often a doubt as to which party was intended to be the beneficiary. In the case of the children, the bears, and the prophet, the bears got more real satisfaction out of the episode than the prophet did, because they got the children. -- <i>Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar --</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jXWQtBmtWQJa-arABclwhHA-KSrX-OaR_t1nNnBBjvIuCv2JsbSGhkSIkjZA-v7FSNNm8RCk_oce8bh_v18pzJsY_MglncKxS0CPXuGbpq2hVdOYhnyhnbJVZimpNjgjT_8i7KsqO9OE/s1600/Spring+2015+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jXWQtBmtWQJa-arABclwhHA-KSrX-OaR_t1nNnBBjvIuCv2JsbSGhkSIkjZA-v7FSNNm8RCk_oce8bh_v18pzJsY_MglncKxS0CPXuGbpq2hVdOYhnyhnbJVZimpNjgjT_8i7KsqO9OE/s1600/Spring+2015+029.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steephead or drainage swale in Murphysboro State Park</td></tr>
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Though SAM and I both were brought up in the '70s when Earth Day began to gather steam, we both find peculiar this strange fixation on the health of the planet. Who would have the audacity to think we (alive and present on this Earth) are any worse or better at changing the Earth--for the worse or better--than the generations that came before us? It takes a pudd'nhead, I guess.walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-76758306471956996472015-04-05T22:43:00.000-05:002015-04-05T22:43:54.414-05:00Spring (and Love) is in the Airing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyX4NlKwuR8glTE6TeyWVilKFOaQSO-9haLP7H5ZKMHNgTnqEZ1ffWie3CvWj4y2__LIRVLCXswcaJvz20g-A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Although this Sunday was an exception (it being Easter!), SAM and I enjoy taking in the sights, sounds, and sips of wine that an early springtime visit to a winery can offer. As the video above reveals--taken shortly after our return home from Florida several weeks ago--the loud music lovers had not yet invaded The Bluffs Vineyard and Winery in nearby Ava, Illinois. Now, it's not the music that we find objectionable. It's THE VOLUME! I'm sure the frogs you hear in the video, if they could voice an opinion, would agree: TURN IT DOWN! Let nature speak, softly, of love instead....<br />
<br />
<i>...For, nor in nothing, nor in things</i><br />
<i>Extreme and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere,</i><br />
<i>Then as an angel, face and wings</i><br />
<i>Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,</i><br />
<i>So thy love may be my love's sphere,</i><br />
<i>Just such disparity</i><br />
<i>As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,</i><br />
<i>'Twixt women's love and men's will ever be.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
--from John Donne's "Air and Angels," c. 1633--<br />
<br />walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-49165755972490214582015-02-22T16:35:00.000-06:002015-02-22T16:35:19.243-06:00How Great the Art?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib9bfWU5acoGXq6sAGfXzS_LwWxT3CYL094HJB9cRPKrUXev7vCDbiJEOZmH6SmCaLNWKfb9PDIil4rxTv_jV_P9EYa8NiVH-AXDRd63k-_OHIrXim06MW04JwY1UUj2KdfUxjXPr1mGJ/s1600/Twist+but+don't%2Bshout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib9bfWU5acoGXq6sAGfXzS_LwWxT3CYL094HJB9cRPKrUXev7vCDbiJEOZmH6SmCaLNWKfb9PDIil4rxTv_jV_P9EYa8NiVH-AXDRd63k-_OHIrXim06MW04JwY1UUj2KdfUxjXPr1mGJ/s1600/Twist+but+don't%2Bshout.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twist but don't shout at Bonnet House in Fort Lauderdale</td></tr>
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In a recent twist of fate, SAM and I were invited to stay at a distant relative's condo in South Florida. As fate would have it, this invitation coincides with our 35th wedding anniversary. The place is ours to enjoy for the time being, and what a place! I won't post a picture of the inside of the condo since it's not mine to show off, but I will say that the art it contains is inspiring.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESKqoyM7OzzM_AQ4ZHFgSohWshZItmA7N055Uv2Ij00n6tQPayY5e_T6j6xhWMALaCX7AZP-zK2neEtM5oIzXocC-tXPq0OS3L_LElrsKH9lvRDzSu8kXIu4Zfg3pcaQ7NpSvmHotiYyg/s1600/Daughter+and+me+under+the+Camellia+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESKqoyM7OzzM_AQ4ZHFgSohWshZItmA7N055Uv2Ij00n6tQPayY5e_T6j6xhWMALaCX7AZP-zK2neEtM5oIzXocC-tXPq0OS3L_LElrsKH9lvRDzSu8kXIu4Zfg3pcaQ7NpSvmHotiYyg/s1600/Daughter+and+me+under+the+Camellia+tree.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughter, don't sit under the camellia tree with anyone else but me</td></tr>
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Before we traveled that far south, though, we made a pit[hy] stop in Tallahassee to visit Daughter and her hubby and to deposit Peanut.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrAHLRXto5HNc4n5x1JOQ99sFi1f92mWFcvMQFBPE59u0QH_rTAql52VG-OadMTNWwuj6-1xROZVoGXM6LYeN3tQ-xU6L-PsHqXvCqgkthQ5ymTp_7ei697V62euXxkInI46qhZsFjCve/s1600/Peanut+visiting+Tally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrAHLRXto5HNc4n5x1JOQ99sFi1f92mWFcvMQFBPE59u0QH_rTAql52VG-OadMTNWwuj6-1xROZVoGXM6LYeN3tQ-xU6L-PsHqXvCqgkthQ5ymTp_7ei697V62euXxkInI46qhZsFjCve/s1600/Peanut+visiting+Tally.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peanut makes herself at home while visiting Daughter and Son-in-law</td></tr>
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She (the cat--and possibly I--not the daughter!) has/have put on quite a few excess pounds whilst living up north. Is it the stress of the cold or just living in Illinois that "comPounds" the problem of weight gain? If Peanut could talk, she would probably tell me to take a chill pill and relax. You can't make the wheels of Illinois' state government turn any faster than they are used to moving. Just because Florida could issue a professional license in short order (10 days) doesn't mean that Illinois can or will do the same for me (9 weeks and counting).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT78zh_mN9fgurSuQU17z0VWi2zysT6-jNLWfs4aWCAqZsalnPFJZwxo-LESeCpawOslphO74F1TVRkf7tq2N6QukFLvt7TDHLc6uEPuuOvYWYBsXbs9Kp7ZRwOnTmFdbrepTLP8M8rGlM/s1600/my+guitar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT78zh_mN9fgurSuQU17z0VWi2zysT6-jNLWfs4aWCAqZsalnPFJZwxo-LESeCpawOslphO74F1TVRkf7tq2N6QukFLvt7TDHLc6uEPuuOvYWYBsXbs9Kp7ZRwOnTmFdbrepTLP8M8rGlM/s1600/my+guitar.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Speaking of wheels turning, while waiting on the license, I've been working on a train song. I always have liked that genre for some reason. Daughter gave me a guitar for Christmas in 2013, and I am finally trying to learn how to play the darn thing. Since we gave him a guitar this past Christmas, Grandson and I have been taking lessons together from a teacher employed by <a href="http://www.mikesmusicdale.com/">Mike's Music in Carbondale, Illinois</a>. Ever since I saw <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2013/02/tommy-emmanuel-visits-pensacola-and.html"><span style="font-size: large;">Tommy Emmanuel</span></a> in concert, I've been wanting to try my hand(s) at the art.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf3AcrJRfzR1NrZR9hTC6fStfpanlkAv-JSbR_Ttz4I9N-XzrtlV9Otx0E_9qxGh5dGu_JzQ97KhkIthGz0PCcvUY4FIT3C2-yAHHoQWLFzWP_LXZ0qkWkjCppRS_5Of8BAQdASecgIZK/s1600/Tree-person+at+Bonnet+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf3AcrJRfzR1NrZR9hTC6fStfpanlkAv-JSbR_Ttz4I9N-XzrtlV9Otx0E_9qxGh5dGu_JzQ97KhkIthGz0PCcvUY4FIT3C2-yAHHoQWLFzWP_LXZ0qkWkjCppRS_5Of8BAQdASecgIZK/s1600/Tree-person+at+Bonnet+House.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Trunk art" at Bonnet House in Ft. Lauderdale</td></tr>
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I wonder...If this tree we saw at <a href="http://www.bonnethouse.org/"><span style="font-size: large;">Bonnet House Plantation in Ft. Lauderdale</span></a> could be turned into an instrument, what song would it sing?walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-4474443284791851432015-02-03T21:44:00.000-06:002015-02-03T21:44:27.838-06:00Timing is Everything<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/AVvXsEg3loGl1BYTUz2jdPvDQYc6tBshyy9gQSgLb3pMBhC2vvl24YikHDukYykARos_e9zs-rt4NP1RreChY71RxMa0LHKwEwM32Q4jHEqGFWVfMtHAVh-c9f5x46uYUtCcxo8oD_BfNrDCuSXe/s1600/640px-President_Woodrow_Wilson_portrait_December_2_1912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3loGl1BYTUz2jdPvDQYc6tBshyy9gQSgLb3pMBhC2vvl24YikHDukYykARos_e9zs-rt4NP1RreChY71RxMa0LHKwEwM32Q4jHEqGFWVfMtHAVh-c9f5x46uYUtCcxo8oD_BfNrDCuSXe/s1600/640px-President_Woodrow_Wilson_portrait_December_2_1912.jpg" height="320" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodrow Wilson, 28th President of the United States, who met his Maker on this day in 1924</td></tr>
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The past several months since we have moved to Illinois have certainly been interesting if not at times overwhelming. Deciding to move (for work), selling a home, buying a home, enduring another Illinois oil industry bust (loss of work), losing a mom (SAM's), telling our son that we have no choice but to "unemploy" him, anticipating another grandchild....<br />
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Anyway, I noticed in the local morning paper (<i>Southern Illinoisan</i>) that today is the anniversary of the enactment of the 16th Amendment to the United States' Constitution which, among other things, supposedly buoyed our national confidence and helped fund our involvement in the War to End All Wars (World War I). Yes, indeed, folks, we now (still!) have the privilege of annually (or quarterly, as the case may be) enriching the U.S. Treasury with our hard-earned dollars, or in other words, paying our federal income tax. Thank you, W.W. and your fellow Progressives, for this privilege. We shall <span style="font-size: large;">forever</span> be indebted to you (and your successors). May God have mercy on your soul(s)!walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-58694293206313178432014-12-03T22:54:00.000-06:002014-12-03T22:54:50.309-06:00Ferguson By Way of Aughra: "The Two Made One"<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/AVvXsEixSjxY192RBmGXTbrjUyqzgK1ilEDMPcoVrlMC80Y_q9Bn2u8KUu54yuEODwYLT5tCgPmt7JnjT84eLGFgmFZUKzDkbXMK9Aay55vGjD-914MOZtZx1j8ZUSmgShb2m5O-Do0WViH7gC0X/s1600/odd+stump+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSjxY192RBmGXTbrjUyqzgK1ilEDMPcoVrlMC80Y_q9Bn2u8KUu54yuEODwYLT5tCgPmt7JnjT84eLGFgmFZUKzDkbXMK9Aay55vGjD-914MOZtZx1j8ZUSmgShb2m5O-Do0WViH7gC0X/s1600/odd+stump+face.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aughra!</td></tr>
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While most media outlets are currently focused on the <a href="http://www.msnbc.com/morning-joe/watch/joe--rams-protest-the-last-straw-for-me-365495875637"><span style="font-size: large;">nature of upraised hands</span></a> (e.g., the St. Louis Rams' silent protest of grand jury decision on Michael Brown case), I got to thinking about one of my walks in Southern Illinois nature before the recent onset of winter-like weather.<br />
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SAM and I like to visit a nearby state park and walk around a bit to see what we can see. As you can see, this photo (above), taken sometime in October of this year, reveals a stump extraordinaire. "Go back!" she seems to say. Or "Turn left!" or right, as per your perspective on the situation. As per my comment to a sibling this evening: "Why can't we all just get along?"<br />
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I don't know. I guess I'm stumped. Perhaps <a href="http://www.darkcrystal.com/encyclopedia_aughra.php"><span style="font-size: large;">Aughra</span></a> has had her outstretched finger (or removable eye, as the case may be) on the right idea all along:<br />
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<span style="background-color: #f2ebd3; color: #252525; font-family: livory, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">"What was sundered and undone shall be whole, the two made one.”</span>walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-5573598034170731172014-11-16T16:39:00.000-06:002014-11-16T16:39:51.248-06:00Living Again in a Place Where the Sun Don't Shine (Much--This Time of Year)<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/AVvXsEieQOyVwz8FGEeDc1_knJUzVJzFSv-N0scBA4qQzFNdyScPlZZLuqkGUpnxKzg81oMgpROPcsuD15_PBO6ZdlkYy136nLnj3K7LtiPIrZHUVMaSLdusVDk8bOOP_5xTToJniZBIEaQ4SpHE/s1600/Autumn+2014+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQOyVwz8FGEeDc1_knJUzVJzFSv-N0scBA4qQzFNdyScPlZZLuqkGUpnxKzg81oMgpROPcsuD15_PBO6ZdlkYy136nLnj3K7LtiPIrZHUVMaSLdusVDk8bOOP_5xTToJniZBIEaQ4SpHE/s1600/Autumn+2014+021.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fruit (nut?) from our backyard ginkgo tree</td></tr>
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The last time I held out my hand for this blog, Winter was winding up, and we were headed for a place where it tends to linger. <i>Not for long</i>, we thought. <i>Just for a season or two</i>. Yes, the house in Florida is on the market, but it will never sell. We forgot what someone once told my parents who were anxious to sell their house at the time. Something along the lines of: <i>There may not be a house for every fool, but there's a fool for every house.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqvOC_1-Jg9ZpSFvpd8Eb8hdtT3RWpYOoEmc8ubP35UzV8s2A5RlCkz69RMcm8BpcNwglpLhFt_THu3jyfmHriZOKazXemptbhZbEFCN1jV0-e_i7NGnrmGOC6PlKxn1Yn33wgzw0oTvG/s1600/Autumn+2014+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqvOC_1-Jg9ZpSFvpd8Eb8hdtT3RWpYOoEmc8ubP35UzV8s2A5RlCkz69RMcm8BpcNwglpLhFt_THu3jyfmHriZOKazXemptbhZbEFCN1jV0-e_i7NGnrmGOC6PlKxn1Yn33wgzw0oTvG/s1600/Autumn+2014+007.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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By the time the house in Florida had sold, we had our eye on an oldy-but-goody one here. Actually, my foolish imagination had an eye on her before we ever saw her. A lovely, grand lady dressed Victorian or Edwardian style floated above SAM's head as he slept. Not literally, of course! She was in my dream, and the next day I found her, solid as a brick house, in a real estate listing online. Initially, SAM must have thought <i>I </i>was nuts. Buy a house based on a dream? <i>Sure honey. I know you're a little shook up about moving from Florida (again), but you want us to buy a house that's more than 100 years old??? </i><br />
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Okay, so she's not brand-spankin' new, but then neither are we. We've got some mileage on us. Besides, she's had a lot of work done to bring her up to speed. More is needed, mainly outside; I'll grant you that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu6FuiLjdkGSfZ1ULdxtMfg8hmV9tv1t4fCh1fxGOiPcSBSqfCzsfav4GA7ere2paQBSrBt0_GWhy6yfTz5iPzONVqv3hJzFAkv1XpmcU6iBUTOfJyBMaETL3RWfD8FV-gFLE9Q8Hf_93/s1600/Autumn+2014+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu6FuiLjdkGSfZ1ULdxtMfg8hmV9tv1t4fCh1fxGOiPcSBSqfCzsfav4GA7ere2paQBSrBt0_GWhy6yfTz5iPzONVqv3hJzFAkv1XpmcU6iBUTOfJyBMaETL3RWfD8FV-gFLE9Q8Hf_93/s1600/Autumn+2014+019.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginkgo fruit, anyone?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underneath those leaves lurk bushels of ginkgo fruits (imagine the smell)</td></tr>
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Most of that work, though, will have to wait until Spring arrives. Hopefully, by that time, the ginkgo-stinko fruit will have dried up. The sun will come out again and warm the soil...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcr1sppEAx-FZdYWADkZSeFpiTPK1ubGBpfmUK9wqtTIDCx3oRBZfD0eX2KktHPZFB9z6p7dHjj3ZbHVoiMeYqtj5d9LL_abfu2S1AIv9TgxqB493a6yr0Lnf-xnTOqrBJ7DWXfCO5ieLP/s1600/Autumn+2014+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcr1sppEAx-FZdYWADkZSeFpiTPK1ubGBpfmUK9wqtTIDCx3oRBZfD0eX2KktHPZFB9z6p7dHjj3ZbHVoiMeYqtj5d9LL_abfu2S1AIv9TgxqB493a6yr0Lnf-xnTOqrBJ7DWXfCO5ieLP/s1600/Autumn+2014+008.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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...and the rose bushes will bloom again.walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-29525884578116716072014-04-17T16:35:00.000-05:002014-04-17T16:35:09.859-05:00A Bird in Hand...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_3JMM9LtZxxnZ3mx8NCMHQOD_XZfbCfbPMCGVg3ax-0nnjYO_vPaVU3v0m-Gbd_uyzPUigyWnwcQnrXJpglXJrcW5KwUebaKtp3e9L8zwz70QEj_Rg-KnUEzndAdHyG2VHUZaMPC5KkB/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_3JMM9LtZxxnZ3mx8NCMHQOD_XZfbCfbPMCGVg3ax-0nnjYO_vPaVU3v0m-Gbd_uyzPUigyWnwcQnrXJpglXJrcW5KwUebaKtp3e9L8zwz70QEj_Rg-KnUEzndAdHyG2VHUZaMPC5KkB/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+005.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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The last (I hope!) of the cruel Winter winds blew this tiny hummingbird into a screen on the North side of our patio a few days ago. He was stuck fast by his tiny beak. I'm not sure how long the poor thing struggled to extricate himself from the screen that held him prisoner. I only wish that I could have found and freed him before it was too late.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FEXByUBJkIetI9NmQ_PB2AxQ2TmgX7zLY70YgcVnVqhj5EZ5zwd-Y-nT_5rvlJQZzXtRy2oqT0c3z8g2aSczdpzGH234z1hzwkEGg7RYYQB47sM4ReIiXSmpTREwwuEwrMmtPZYwC5k9/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FEXByUBJkIetI9NmQ_PB2AxQ2TmgX7zLY70YgcVnVqhj5EZ5zwd-Y-nT_5rvlJQZzXtRy2oqT0c3z8g2aSczdpzGH234z1hzwkEGg7RYYQB47sM4ReIiXSmpTREwwuEwrMmtPZYwC5k9/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+010.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><br />
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A portion of our small veggie and herb garden is climbing high this year on the same arbor that framed our daughter's wedding ceremony on Pensacola Beach last year. Pea and thornless blackberry vines anchor the flimsy structure and provide a foreground for SAM, the perennial lawn care man. </div>
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There is nothing flimsy about these structures under the arbor. They managed to hold up through weeks of wedding preparations as well as a strong sea breeze on that April day a year ago (note the ruffled hair on the sturdy female structure flanking the bride). The flowers and greenery framing them are fake, of course, but the smiles are real. </div>
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We lost most of our tropical plants this past winter, including the <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2012/04/burying-past-cardboard-box-base-for.html">palm tree that our former renter planted</a>. It was never meant for this climate. Apparently, she (the renter) wasn't the gifted horticulturist she thought she was. The citrus trees that I planted, pink grapefruit and satsuma, all died as well. Apparently, I'm not the "Master Gardener" I thought I was. <i>I think I'll snip a few leaves from Sweet <a href="http://umm.edu/health/medical/altmed/herb/lemon-balm"><span style="font-size: large;">Melissa (lemon balm)</span></a> and slink off to make myself some tea. Maybe listen to some <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5XJDxe7TVY"><span style="font-size: large;">Allman Brothers' music</span></a> too.</i><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_3JMM9LtZxxnZ3mx8NCMHQOD_XZfbCfbPMCGVg3ax-0nnjYO_vPaVU3v0m-Gbd_uyzPUigyWnwcQnrXJpglXJrcW5KwUebaKtp3e9L8zwz70QEj_Rg-KnUEzndAdHyG2VHUZaMPC5KkB/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+005.jpg" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_3JMM9LtZxxnZ3mx8NCMHQOD_XZfbCfbPMCGVg3ax-0nnjYO_vPaVU3v0m-Gbd_uyzPUigyWnwcQnrXJpglXJrcW5KwUebaKtp3e9L8zwz70QEj_Rg-KnUEzndAdHyG2VHUZaMPC5KkB/s1600/4-14,+beach,+garden+pics+005.jpg" -->
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-66785759957074260932014-03-04T19:49:00.000-06:002014-03-04T19:49:59.625-06:00Walk This Way on a Fat Tuesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="13" style="background-color: white;">For nature, crescent, does not grow alone</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="14" style="background-color: white;">In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="15" style="background-color: white;">The inward service of the mind and soul</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="16" style="background-color: white;">Grows wide withal.</a></span></i><br /><a href="http://shakespeare.mit.edu/hamlet/hamlet.1.3.html">(Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene III)</a><br />
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Right about now, on this Fat Tuesday, the party day known as <a href="http://www.americancatholic.org/features/mardigras/"><span style="font-size: large;">Mardi Gras</span></a> is either reaching a feverish crescendo or winding down to a hungover whimper in cities along the Gulf Coast and in various other Catholic strongholds around the world. I've never understood this headlong, headstrong, mad, crowd rush to feast and drink before a fast. It's not particularly beneficial to one's health and could actually harm someone who is serious about fasting. But then I don't imagine there are too many individuals caught up in the crescendo who flip the coin of feasting to reveal the need for fasting and its companion: Reflection.<br />
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I'm glad that I've reached the ripe old age where I have an excuse to escape the partying and parades and settle down with The Good Book, some Shakespeare, or a good blog like <i><a href="http://cosmosenglishwritingblog.blogspot.com/2014_02_01_archive.html"><span style="font-size: large;">Cosmos English Writing Blog</span></a>. </i>My Japanese blogger friend knows a thing or two about taking a step back from the mad pace of life and finding the tenderness, the sweetness we often miss when we grow up, get caught up, and start to <b>"grow wide withal."</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X6QBGFeOws2DqvghSXkw7b5-6ndkiqV8CcELeYqw7kprMTLE4qvDJmg_llgdR3xaVguy1QcZI4K9h3RMFCqFBN9NJniSytZiGYo9KoLRnyAf9y2gphCbssiuZ4-dvsWYD9pqStrn03nc/s1600/IMG_20140210_173536_134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1X6QBGFeOws2DqvghSXkw7b5-6ndkiqV8CcELeYqw7kprMTLE4qvDJmg_llgdR3xaVguy1QcZI4K9h3RMFCqFBN9NJniSytZiGYo9KoLRnyAf9y2gphCbssiuZ4-dvsWYD9pqStrn03nc/s1600/IMG_20140210_173536_134.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of my favorite places to turn back and <b>wane my temple</b> is <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2009/12/for-theres-kind-of-world-remaining.html"><span style="font-size: large;">Torreya State Park</span></a>. We traveled from the west, when the weather was at its best, and took a chance to hike and camp there a few weeks ago. Daughter came, traveling from the east (she wouldn't miss it!) to grace SAM and me with a visit, toting her guitar and musical talent along to sing a song or two and maybe inspire...<br />
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A post about Torreya, a place to build a story, after hiking, whilst sitting around the fire.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of several headstones found near a trail in Torreya State Park</td></tr>
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walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-31363492874568957162014-01-29T18:32:00.001-06:002014-01-29T18:32:13.105-06:00The Cold Truth About Florida: Not Much Funnin' or Sunnin' This Winter (2014)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Winter Storm Leon's Ice</b> Leans On The Pool Enclosure Last Night (I warm up by imagining <a href="http://www.chihuly.com/persian-ceiling-florida-001_detail.aspx">Chihuly's Persian Ceiling</a> covering the icy white canvas)</td></tr>
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Once we recovered from the flu-like illness that plagued us for most of December, SAM and I headed south to the <b>Florida Keys</b> for some funnin' and sunnin', hoping to escape the cold air those Canadians keep sending our way...<br />
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Arctic blasts chase us as we wind our way down the west coast of Florida. We take our sweet time, stopping along the way at <b>Crystal River</b> (much too cold to swim with the manatees)...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.floridastateparks.org/homosassasprings/">Homosassa Springs</a>...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtfSULWczl7LA0iRlyPu_dZLLsFyCJ2tUW05pMoLe_jaiAl5Bp4vHM5x-QTMozrhnXxBl6iQut-R40afTId0aAmwYBvR3q3vtU4GbPFisgkeFuCnPELmyhkT2yHUyGnDmufgt5GvBCdtw/s1600/1-14,+pics+from+Keys+and+home+038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtfSULWczl7LA0iRlyPu_dZLLsFyCJ2tUW05pMoLe_jaiAl5Bp4vHM5x-QTMozrhnXxBl6iQut-R40afTId0aAmwYBvR3q3vtU4GbPFisgkeFuCnPELmyhkT2yHUyGnDmufgt5GvBCdtw/s1600/1-14,+pics+from+Keys+and+home+038.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Ranger tossing heads of lettuce (looks like Romaine) to manatees taking a <b>"Spring Break"</b> from the cold</td></tr>
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and <b>Naples</b> (love the warm, indoor exhibits--Chihuly's Ceiling and other works--at <a href="http://artisnaples.org/museum"><span style="font-size: large;">The Baker Museum</span></a>; "sorry, no cameras or other recording devices to be used inside")...<br />
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as well as various walking places along the <a href="http://www.evergladesfoundation.org/what-we-do/projects/tamiami-trail/"><span style="font-size: large;">Tamiami Trail through the Everglades</span></a>.<br />
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We finally make it to the Keys where we enjoy a few days of sunny warmth, a fishing expedition with <a href="http://www.captainperry.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Cap'n Perry Scuderi</span></a> among the mangrove islands...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good eatin' size snapper and sea trout</td></tr>
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and some mighty fine food at various local restaurants, including <a href="http://www.lazydaysrestaurant.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Lazy Days Restaurant</span></a>, recommended by Cap'n Perry for its "you hook 'em, we cook 'em" preparation of fresh snapper.<br />
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Once we have our fill of fun and sun in the Keys (not really! I wanna go back!), we drive part way up the east coast to visit some of SAM's relatives. <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2009/01/though-much-is-taken-much-abides.html">One of them, 97 now</a>, seems to go on forever like the lady in Tom Petty's song. Her kids joke that she's determined to outlive them.<br />
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Sobered by the visit, yet somehow <b>fortified or steeled</b> by it too (remember the <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2010/10/book-review-taking-evans-walk-across.html">irascible someone</a> from another trip?), we cross the state again. We stop in Clermont and find <a href="http://www.lakeridgewinery.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">Lakeridge Winery</span></a>, complete with a wonderful wine host (Doug) who breaks up the monotony of highway travel with his lighthearted banter. Who knew that wine (and its imbibers) could be so funny?<br />
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One of our last stops on the way home is <a href="http://www.floridastateparks.org/fanningsprings/"><span style="font-size: large;">Fanning Springs State Park</span></a>. Though it is close to sunset, and the evening is predicted to be another cold one, we need a place to stretch our legs and use the "facilities" so we pay the entrance fee and take a short walk to the springs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuhHDoOaHXOQguaFBT0kYfu1ZMbG_0dp8cvSv_w_3OS0dSz9wpAknKpUAH_ZBP1D1n8EjBziAgZD9OOXQprtAqMGj6kQPEOLH7plVLRlofrXaOWfP6DP1V0V_vuFv0-bkHodsZVeDJevr/s1600/1-14,+pics+from+Keys+and+home+124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuhHDoOaHXOQguaFBT0kYfu1ZMbG_0dp8cvSv_w_3OS0dSz9wpAknKpUAH_ZBP1D1n8EjBziAgZD9OOXQprtAqMGj6kQPEOLH7plVLRlofrXaOWfP6DP1V0V_vuFv0-bkHodsZVeDJevr/s1600/1-14,+pics+from+Keys+and+home+124.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Once again, we find that the manatees have made their way inland to warm up for the night. I hope for their sake (and ours!) that this cold weather ends soon. Truth be told, most of Florida just ain't fit for much funnin' or sunnin' so far, this winter of 2014 :(walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2999389688482604348.post-85663993244946479032013-12-25T21:23:00.000-06:002013-12-25T21:23:45.236-06:00Help Wanted: Special Delivery; No Heavy Lifting; Beautiful Feet Required<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/AVvXsEiZcjJZLtE1rRBKfs55ZU0XZVveFqMjYFOrSc-ESe8semJIk-JmjV0YtHyNfrsjjsxNqiZ-A1Uu3xOlNQjdCFF3KZI19DfzDzcfwfB6M15JBZYzr5S1o9aDgX8Orkb5WUmuDWCdeizpy5pz/s1600/DSCN9513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcjJZLtE1rRBKfs55ZU0XZVveFqMjYFOrSc-ESe8semJIk-JmjV0YtHyNfrsjjsxNqiZ-A1Uu3xOlNQjdCFF3KZI19DfzDzcfwfB6M15JBZYzr5S1o9aDgX8Orkb5WUmuDWCdeizpy5pz/s320/DSCN9513.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack Frost's Christmas Day handiwork on SAM's Dodge truck</td></tr>
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It was quite chilly outside when I woke up this Christmas morning. The windshield on SAM's truck parked in the driveway became Jack Frost's canvas. Old Jack painted some interesting shapes for our enjoyment. Do you see the yin-yang heart figure at the bottom left corner of the glass? Then again, maybe it's not a heart shape. It could be that Old Jack was giving his backside a break from all the havoc he's been causing with my plants. Thanks a lot, Jack!<br />
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After a breakfast of <a href="http://learningtoheal-walk2write.blogspot.com/2010/12/recipe-roundup-from-heart-of-4-h-er.html">sweet roll (recipe here)</a>, Havarti cheese, and strong coffee, I was ready for Christmas morn to begin. Wait, though. No stockings were hung by the chimney with care. No children or grandchildren were wiping the sleep from their eyes to find presents under the tree. It was just SAM and me present and accounted for this Christmas morn. It felt weird, I have to admit. Son and his family have moved back to Illinois. Daughter and her husband are spending Christmas with his parents. SAM and I are still recovering from a flu-like respiratory illness (stubbornly resisting going to the doctor). We've stayed home for the past nine days or so, trying not to infect anyone else if at all possible. Friends and neighbors know that we're sick so we've not had any visitors except for the package delivery people, God bless 'em. The Fed Ex man even brought a package this morning. Poor fellow, having to work on Christmas Day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBpOdZwQI7-_bES1NnLn2LNq_RacDPOYRjnLek6AxAnDoba191V5uWp2gbjnhY48yqrg55VNZ86AzqOLyXwGgYfBe9fQQpY9VOLxdPhxYZU4IDW3mQBCO8t0iXVZn5uL_aAV2rD46_8xN/s1600/DSCN9511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBpOdZwQI7-_bES1NnLn2LNq_RacDPOYRjnLek6AxAnDoba191V5uWp2gbjnhY48yqrg55VNZ86AzqOLyXwGgYfBe9fQQpY9VOLxdPhxYZU4IDW3mQBCO8t0iXVZn5uL_aAV2rD46_8xN/s320/DSCN9511.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peanut wonders if there will be any Christmas present for her?</td></tr>
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Thinking about people who deliver things, I read a Christmas story that Charles Dickens wrote called <i><a href="http://www.literature.org/authors/dickens-charles/chimes/chapter-01.html">The Chimes</a>, </i>in which a delivery man (known as a "porter" in Dickens' time) is charged with delivering more than a letter or a package. He falls into a reverie of sorts, is haunted by the spirits of the local church bells (sound somewhat familiar?), and encouraged (or rather scared witless) to change his sour attitude about life and his circumstances. Those footsteps have been followed before, I think, in other Dickens' stories and the like. They're amusing, I admit, but not life-changing.<br />
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After finishing up Dickens' story this morning, I turned to another book that I've been neglecting, which could account for my own recent sour attitude about life and circumstances. I wish I'd looked into it sooner rather than later.<br />
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Now here is a present that doesn't need any special packaging. No cardboard, packing tape, or postage stamping is necessary. A few instructions for use, though, might come in handy for those not familiar with it or needing a refresher: "Handle with care"? Nope. No kid gloves necessary. "Do not immerse"? Well, that's not a bad idea after some use and much contemplation. How about "Take to heart on a daily basis and get those lovely feet in motion"? Yes! That's the ticket!<br />
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How beautiful on the mountains</div>
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are the feet of those who bring good news,</div>
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who proclaim peace,</div>
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who bring good tidings,</div>
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who proclaim salvation,</div>
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who say to Zion,</div>
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"Your God reigns!"</div>
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(Isaiah 52:7) </div>
walk2writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13501812375142037251noreply@blogger.com7