tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-160383742024-03-07T15:57:45.761-08:00Sparrow's FlightWhere imagination soars and dreams take wingSparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.comBlogger268125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-71102803908922735162012-10-29T17:46:00.002-07:002012-10-29T17:50:04.504-07:00Family Farm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At long last, I'm returning to my journals of our trip back east last summer. This post is especially meaningful because it's about our visit to an ancestor's farm. I'll include a few more pictures than usual so the extended family can enjoy more of our history.<br />
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Monday, June 25<sup>th</sup>, 2012<o:p></o:p></div>
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We crossed
the Champlain Lake on a ferry that looked to be a normal size. Then three huge
tour buses pulled up next to us and we were afraid they’d make us wait for the
next boat. Imagine our surprise when they squeezed three buses, one semi truck,
one van, and something like 18 cars onto one ferry. It’s a gray, drizzly day,
but it was pretty to drift across the water, watching the little boats darting
around us. Thankfully the big vehicles only blocked our view on one side.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we were
almost across, all of a sudden Mom says, “What are we waiting for?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What do you
mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We’re not
moving.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We already
crossed the whole lake, Mom. We’ve been moving.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You mean I
missed the whole trip? I was reading the newspaper!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Turns out
the voyage was so smooth she’d somehow missed that we were moving. Ah the joys
of long trips on little sleep. I know she’d been glancing out the window, but
somehow thought the water moving was just the current.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuHdisdmWN-PFiE4Gcucq_9Lk1OcKzRMh-NyY5emRpAwdOffo1M8RZF_u0MnerQ4yx2AkTb21ev1rWTo9HIRCygTqU8Jem0U4yYm9xwuDclUhUcuOusMwrt1im6CbbBvysi2g/s1600/08+Heart's+Delight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuHdisdmWN-PFiE4Gcucq_9Lk1OcKzRMh-NyY5emRpAwdOffo1M8RZF_u0MnerQ4yx2AkTb21ev1rWTo9HIRCygTqU8Jem0U4yYm9xwuDclUhUcuOusMwrt1im6CbbBvysi2g/s1600/08+Heart's+Delight.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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"When I named the farm I could not think of anything which would express my
feelings towards this particular spot on the earth’s surface more correctly than
the phrase ‘Heart’s Delight’ and it certainly is my heart’s delight every time I
am permitted to enjoy the beautiful things which the Creator has showered upon
us with such a lavish hand... It is an expression of the great joy reflected to
me by the farm and the beautiful country round about." ~William H. Miner</div>
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Our stop at Heart’s
Delight Farm was amazing. Starting in 1903, William Miner built or renovated
300 buildings over the 15,000 acres in Chazy, NY (pronounced chay-zee). They
raised and sold huge numbers of cattle, pigs, horses, chicken, corn, and
celery. He was a brilliant man who had grown up a poor orphan but invented so many
types of railway equipment that he became rich at a young age. The farm was run
based on all the scientific knowledge and technology available at the time, and they were constantly researching and working to make things even more effective. They even built their own dams right on the farm to run electricity to the
whole thing—the Miners had electricity before the governor did!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mom’s family
had passed down the story that we are direct descendants of William, but
recently Mom had contacted the farm and discovered he didn’t have any children.
It threw us for a loop and we realized we were actually cousins of him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Miner and his wife, Alice.</td></tr>
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The farm has
always been open to the public, even when it was first built. Today there is a
little museum set up but they still farm it and raise horses. The horses were excited to see us and neighed to us the
whole time we were there, and some sniffed me all over to see if I might have a
treat hidden in a pocket somewhere.I also spotted some kitties curled up in
chairs, which made me miss my Leika.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> It was amusing to see the above horse watching us out of a second-story window.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William used much of his fortune to help start schools.<br />
This is the institute's bus that would go pick up students every morning.</td></tr>
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Throughout the beautiful gardens and farm, there are garden stones or signs posted with poems or sayings that remind the reader to appreciate the beauty given us by the Creator.<br />
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It made us proud to see the efficient farm focused on not only technology and research, but on helping the community around it and on glorifying God.</div>
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Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-65608139887625551052012-08-22T00:13:00.001-07:002012-08-22T00:30:59.516-07:00I'm back with tales of blessings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The last few weeks have been so busy I haven't even had time to add pictures to the blog journals I've already written. The first couple of weeks it was because I was working hard formatting a different kind of project--an autobiography called <i>From Ruby Ridge to Freedom</i>. A small publisher, Overboard Books, hired me to work with the author on the story, do an edit, and then (after another editor's proofread) format the paperback. The last few months have been spent on that process, on the phone or over email with Sara, giving the book a final polish.<br />
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It's been a blessing to be a part of this powerful book. Sara's story is a difficult one of terror and death, lies and oppression. But most of all, hers is a story of finding grace and offering forgiveness to those who hurt her the most. Check out <a href="http://www.khq.com/story/19325934/ruby-ridge-20-years-later-daughter-finds-freedom-in-faith-and-forgiveness#.UDPcA4XbY_U.facebook" target="_blank">an interview about her story here</a> and check out the book on her website, <a href="http://www.rubyridgetofreedom.com/">http://www.rubyridgetofreedom.com/</a>.<br />
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Only hours after finishing the book, I headed south to the Oregon Christian Writers' conference. Wow, what a blessing! The four-day conference took a toll on my health and it'll take a while to recover, but it was worth it. There were a lot of "divine appointments" with other writers I met who needed a bit of encouragement and we exchanged a lot of business cards and arranged to exchange critiques and encouragement.<br />
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There was a professional photographer there offering author photo shoots, but I'd decided I couldn't afford it, even though I need one for my website and have people asking for it when I get short stuff published. Then they drew my name for a free giveaway! Thank you, God. Another writer there who happens to be a professional stylist flagged me down and offered to do me up before the shoot. So many blessings. I should get the photos in a few weeks.<br />
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I brought along the<a href="http://www.sparrowsflight.net/Amys-books.htm" target="_blank"> creative writing workbook</a> I wrote, <i>Bring Your Writing to Life</i>, to sell at the bookstore. The teacher of my coaching class included it in his list of recommended books and I sold out all the copies I brought and had people asking for more.<br />
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Most exciting was that I met with a big name publisher who asked to see <i>Voices of the Dark</i> when it's finished and then I met with one of the top agents in the industry who rarely takes new writers. He said, "I don't ask people to send me their manuscripts. Will you send me your manuscripts?" So I sent them off this weekend! Maybe nothing will come of it but it's so encouraging to even get asked for a second look.<br />
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Wishing I felt better to be working hard on finishing Voices, but I still have a few weeks before the term starts back up at the college I work at, so hopefully can recover some in that time and get a lot done.</div>
Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-85711039182887324442012-07-27T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-27T08:00:05.862-07:00Tea Party Hills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Journal from Saturday, June 23rd, part two</i></div>
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Next stop was Boston and the Tea Party Ship and Museum. It was closed but we could
have taken pictures of the outside of the ship, but by then it was raining cats
and dogs so hard on the roof we could hardly hear each other talk, and we
didn’t have jackets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjPv0l_y4yj3rbQ37KjTdMEwK-K7RiCVNUalp-pAL4_e_1l_vYzATkT717wZYPOvLm1STI91_8Jf0b4L1p-2Foxo_L2ykpTSFLvYhnixlPixVZlP0FrEvyCYBPS9PpiBVmIcc/s1600/07+rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjPv0l_y4yj3rbQ37KjTdMEwK-K7RiCVNUalp-pAL4_e_1l_vYzATkT717wZYPOvLm1STI91_8Jf0b4L1p-2Foxo_L2ykpTSFLvYhnixlPixVZlP0FrEvyCYBPS9PpiBVmIcc/s200/07+rain.jpg" width="200" /></a>But it was
too strong to even drive in, so we hung out and eventually it slowed down
enough for us to slog down the road and take pictures of the replicas of the boats that were carrying the tea. There was
one anchored on either side of the museum and the third will be built in the
back. A worker happened to be coming out as we walked up and he was kind enough
to stop and chat with us about the project and the history of the ships, and
then offered to take a picture of all of us together. Previously I’d had to
Photoshop us all into the same picture.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Journal from Sunday, June 24th</i></div>
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Today we
meandered through Concord and little villages in New Hampshire and Maine. We
went through Northwoods in Maine and then back into NH in the White Mountain
area. The little roads opened into gorgeous lakes and rivers every short bit,
each one surrounded by little houses and cabins and families enjoying boats and
fishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw two
deer and Dad saw a turtle running across the road, but I forget what states
those were in. Now we’re in bear country and I’m keeping my eyes peeled in
hopes of seeing one. I’ve only ever seen a bear outside a zoo once, and that
was in Alaska from a long distance, when I was in gondola and a bear cub was
spotted way below us, sleeping under a tree.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4NYA82-PXSseN7zb9fWUpnVEco058gG0nJ_Me26yj6lCVfyoI_VNtrZu_GWIlf0vCAz8cVpaR0_qQyiT5u4v49FqETtGcgCLLdh-RNyDMDA2l_yuG8KS4U6P5lNUXTZ0wQpn/s1600/07+building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4NYA82-PXSseN7zb9fWUpnVEco058gG0nJ_Me26yj6lCVfyoI_VNtrZu_GWIlf0vCAz8cVpaR0_qQyiT5u4v49FqETtGcgCLLdh-RNyDMDA2l_yuG8KS4U6P5lNUXTZ0wQpn/s320/07+building.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somehow I missed getting notes of which city these buildings were in,<br />but I think this must be Concord. The buildings were very ornate and old.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2tVX3UfAG6Vx8u9xuQzuNyEfdUDNHy-2yEOxpNI4iUwSC_j6tAxMjyOxht3-Sh638iDhwq0AqaM0DxyjrxWuW65GsreVzREADlkkW-ssKGIyRWu0nKy-_FCZJZWPghOzmngI4/s1600/07+church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2tVX3UfAG6Vx8u9xuQzuNyEfdUDNHy-2yEOxpNI4iUwSC_j6tAxMjyOxht3-Sh638iDhwq0AqaM0DxyjrxWuW65GsreVzREADlkkW-ssKGIyRWu0nKy-_FCZJZWPghOzmngI4/s320/07+church.jpg" width="217" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcIqnTJ7v8B1z52jc4BD0PzCIa9zwOT5jEMTN6tuTvpaZMH-rqb53u7x3Kli4ztD99_Uu4jEcQn_Vh7vqwhchgwiRaFoKtZ2-HkRJrYXpMB3HhyphenhyphenH0n1anqvURzZw0xnQynwvP/s1600/07+fancy+building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcIqnTJ7v8B1z52jc4BD0PzCIa9zwOT5jEMTN6tuTvpaZMH-rqb53u7x3Kli4ztD99_Uu4jEcQn_Vh7vqwhchgwiRaFoKtZ2-HkRJrYXpMB3HhyphenhyphenH0n1anqvURzZw0xnQynwvP/s320/07+fancy+building.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I rested in
the back seat trying to keep up with editing jobs, though that’s hard when my
nose is running so badly. Yes, that’s right. I’m working on two different
editing jobs during this trip. My new laptop with six hours of battery life was
a good investment.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ_yb400ZXmN0WehJavXlGKuvD7bPt9ZITlHUrFyNorrokxhe8kOgAZbDVQHwRAGDiC98L5jX63MZ2VMcPdtAQAD7D35RVLbYwNFCmiGRSqfMXWVwXCUmYwDZgPTbi7UHmxEt/s1600/07+me+tired.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ_yb400ZXmN0WehJavXlGKuvD7bPt9ZITlHUrFyNorrokxhe8kOgAZbDVQHwRAGDiC98L5jX63MZ2VMcPdtAQAD7D35RVLbYwNFCmiGRSqfMXWVwXCUmYwDZgPTbi7UHmxEt/s320/07+me+tired.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can tell the trip and the cold are taking their toll--I look exhausted.</td></tr>
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New Conway,
NH was full of adorable little shops, restaurants, and hotels that were themed
everything from Bavarian chalets to western style. It’s apparently a vacation
town with lots of outdoor stuff to do year-round. They call the area White
Mountain, but their “mountains” are only a little bigger than my foothills and
very green this time of year. Still pretty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We saw the
neatest ski resort that has been very clever in turning its slopes into
year-round fun. They have water slides, dirt bike trails, and wheeled toboggan
runs all along the slopes. We would have loved to play for a while, but were
hoping to make it to Chazy, NY by evening because my mom’s distant relatives
have a famous farm there. Her first cousin third-removed, Amos Miner, owned
Heart’s Delight Farm (that would be her great-grandmother’s cousin).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Check back on Tuesday for some cool pictures of the amazingly-huge farm that belonged to my great-great grandmother's cousin. He put a hydro-dam in the middle of the farm and was one of the first who had electricity.</div>
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-39181825916129846122012-07-24T07:00:00.000-07:002012-07-24T07:00:04.613-07:00Pilgrim Travelers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Journal from Saturday, June 23<sup>rd</sup>, 2012</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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We stayed
overnight in Rhode Island and passed over a long bridge over a beautiful bay
with lots of boats and islands and a ton of tiny sailboats that must have been
one-person sizes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then we
passed into Massachusetts and visited <i>Mayflower
II</i>, a full-sized replica of the original MayFlower. It was really cool to
get to go in the boat to see what the cramped quarters really would have been
like. The voyage itself was about two months but there were delays before and
after, so the families were stuck in the hull for almost eight months. Some
people brought wood, so they were allowed to construct a bed or partition.
There was an actual may flower on the front of the boat, which I didn’t know or
had forgotten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcJD7D5NVXo5MrQVGdmy-AReY0ZiDS1h-mFpChd3r664OUyM33Km6ukejPyjhxcvQyRUmkAhdUuQIzvImym4JyciBxNQPRomcv2MSDcSXjFmrtrJq4aWrhYDJGRWrSf5nBp7L/s1600/06+map+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcJD7D5NVXo5MrQVGdmy-AReY0ZiDS1h-mFpChd3r664OUyM33Km6ukejPyjhxcvQyRUmkAhdUuQIzvImym4JyciBxNQPRomcv2MSDcSXjFmrtrJq4aWrhYDJGRWrSf5nBp7L/s320/06+map+copy.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a map of where voyagers came from, with our<br />ancestors' names enlarged.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKHveptOzPcVhyscsfECq_sypi5mcNipsjDF15pP5mJ_31JkZnpUkROTVkkJ5F2XJfvSPTo5k11zFMqFom3Dj2I3KHxbJNF21gisNtKFYMXns0nFR8co7Q6XhAlXH9T3SkvQV/s1600/06+Dad+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKHveptOzPcVhyscsfECq_sypi5mcNipsjDF15pP5mJ_31JkZnpUkROTVkkJ5F2XJfvSPTo5k11zFMqFom3Dj2I3KHxbJNF21gisNtKFYMXns0nFR8co7Q6XhAlXH9T3SkvQV/s200/06+Dad+and+me.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNx_YBYmwQvCQ92S4vUt6hS8A2_L89fECZiLQn-Im8Ejc8v5sMyLSS4-tXdzMOemLkk6SjaofeMaDZYW6xjmRXszPpzr88-jHPVTrv6Y95NnjAqIGSqMlwv0JSYRWgWTRv2jIh/s1600/06+on+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNx_YBYmwQvCQ92S4vUt6hS8A2_L89fECZiLQn-Im8Ejc8v5sMyLSS4-tXdzMOemLkk6SjaofeMaDZYW6xjmRXszPpzr88-jHPVTrv6Y95NnjAqIGSqMlwv0JSYRWgWTRv2jIh/s200/06+on+boat.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmxx8dR3h11xnvadtxQSxURXB9v97TJdLzGHQyx0b5Rk4SwRdFAB0tvzaPw3wwWBpfyEzMAQHqaMYPfdbjrIPgSkKXxh2zJZXgEGR7N5PAxfNvfLARek4Bn8YJUN6Bc9r2N3A/s1600/06+ballast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmxx8dR3h11xnvadtxQSxURXB9v97TJdLzGHQyx0b5Rk4SwRdFAB0tvzaPw3wwWBpfyEzMAQHqaMYPfdbjrIPgSkKXxh2zJZXgEGR7N5PAxfNvfLARek4Bn8YJUN6Bc9r2N3A/s200/06+ballast.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ropes were wrapped around this to<br />give leverage to get heavy items in<br />and out of the holds.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_na32X3xy7P-wk7XAh9IgmakoXJFrjQWukAioIo-Fv_OHaoISP_whEXRScGhGhZbbaNYr65Uz68choZA5yPY9WsV9GJc6CFm8EEpL_n1fKfo8V9ZznR6HiMCekAi19PpqBeX/s1600/06+gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_na32X3xy7P-wk7XAh9IgmakoXJFrjQWukAioIo-Fv_OHaoISP_whEXRScGhGhZbbaNYr65Uz68choZA5yPY9WsV9GJc6CFm8EEpL_n1fKfo8V9ZznR6HiMCekAi19PpqBeX/s200/06+gun.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cannon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEhdonO0cHIPPJCu6Tg3Cvrr9ZCggixsDSWFtAX7olb7Y9quU9ReZa13rR-Hk8vJe4XDgN4XBJhybkRIUNeGCj-z7nv7ttqeMDVWpdwZRhz2i5cvy_NZybQa6oSjpetPt4j6hgZl/s1600/06+interior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdonO0cHIPPJCu6Tg3Cvrr9ZCggixsDSWFtAX7olb7Y9quU9ReZa13rR-Hk8vJe4XDgN4XBJhybkRIUNeGCj-z7nv7ttqeMDVWpdwZRhz2i5cvy_NZybQa6oSjpetPt4j6hgZl/s320/06+interior.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A whole family would use one of these bed compartments.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUH26FN89ZFMTEa9NusIjMR_PuIJMZ5FFuQ1tPOe-WUvn95B2m-0ZzgBYpvrRvQJfH7hcEQakuzeqnC417iHwmjSei658Q_tVrmDcyw_x718wYZ_qkF_oHJANLZbJYw9nu9mA/s1600/06+hammock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUH26FN89ZFMTEa9NusIjMR_PuIJMZ5FFuQ1tPOe-WUvn95B2m-0ZzgBYpvrRvQJfH7hcEQakuzeqnC417iHwmjSei658Q_tVrmDcyw_x718wYZ_qkF_oHJANLZbJYw9nu9mA/s320/06+hammock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoJqD87ar4apiHloEuYiHW5boLeic0dqVFbmPFq-zNuEfM2btHhIdZX0wBkI9C0gK7QCkJynymIoaY22uVdOcZeazuSAF2I9tNjDQ9KclUrDLgZHjRJwRsxNiQyV1pDvyRm78/s1600/06+Mom+&+Amy+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoJqD87ar4apiHloEuYiHW5boLeic0dqVFbmPFq-zNuEfM2btHhIdZX0wBkI9C0gK7QCkJynymIoaY22uVdOcZeazuSAF2I9tNjDQ9KclUrDLgZHjRJwRsxNiQyV1pDvyRm78/s320/06+Mom+&+Amy+boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr07kk6YoAsNQNOTshvpzumx2w9x7yUJbKwn4DNomK363YTgo5-joI3nZxWUuGJO4uDoBrHnkCcZosVGE5DEtiXAe9NG-MwNEMWzccOHgGci58RoKJA6XTsApy0QQNzo8uMj82/s1600/06+rigging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr07kk6YoAsNQNOTshvpzumx2w9x7yUJbKwn4DNomK363YTgo5-joI3nZxWUuGJO4uDoBrHnkCcZosVGE5DEtiXAe9NG-MwNEMWzccOHgGci58RoKJA6XTsApy0QQNzo8uMj82/s320/06+rigging.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this picture of the riggings.</td></tr>
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Then we
walked over to see Plymouth Rock. It’s pretty small now and unimpressive, but
he told us that it used to be three times larger before people chipped off
pieces as souvenirs. Plus, originally it was the only boulder on a big stretch
of sandy beach. Now lots of rocks have been added to the edge of it to make a
marina.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi769mckbBN_EG-QxvkQssFnOULFgUkEiT0dCpBPYI4gO15Xdov81anW5uha0oolVN22HrOpq7x0aBTZPCRLFyqTsfT6mk8mBWo6p2XWZ5amVH-7cE2uQhyphenhyphenCizuLLBFxYr0IfcM/s1600/06+Plymouth+building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi769mckbBN_EG-QxvkQssFnOULFgUkEiT0dCpBPYI4gO15Xdov81anW5uha0oolVN22HrOpq7x0aBTZPCRLFyqTsfT6mk8mBWo6p2XWZ5amVH-7cE2uQhyphenhyphenCizuLLBFxYr0IfcM/s200/06+Plymouth+building.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This building was protection around the rock.</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/AVvXsEggV7WQwIkmSPQn6-K8uLC6dciEZ2krzAYoUkRqbgaR8QvxiAdT219MzxH2U5lpwrdI5DtqTW1NnpaRP1-Ms0yFf0U4ypm5m5-QY79Cid-KqirO7_-ISanvwLi5c4b8iESDCdet/s1600/06+plymouth+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggV7WQwIkmSPQn6-K8uLC6dciEZ2krzAYoUkRqbgaR8QvxiAdT219MzxH2U5lpwrdI5DtqTW1NnpaRP1-Ms0yFf0U4ypm5m5-QY79Cid-KqirO7_-ISanvwLi5c4b8iESDCdet/s320/06+plymouth+rock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see our shadows against the rock.</td></tr>
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Check back next Friday for more pictures!</div>
</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-42347168944284896472012-07-20T07:00:00.000-07:002012-07-20T07:00:04.787-07:00Quaint and Queer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Journal from Friday, June 22nd</i></div>
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Today my
sore throat turned into a full-blown cold. I knew the sniffling sneezing man
next to me on the airplane was bad news. We drove through New Jersey, New York,
and then Connecticut, but got stuck in bad Friday traffic that was compounded by
a thunderstorm and strong rain. Somehow it was still fairly hot, though better
than the day before. Finally we reached the little town of Guilford and stopped
to look around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksi9lk5ccJP4AozvWORxT-XfvTFRaLv9sch-fpt_qVj5spt1ejqRMGncsontbT85U2ZUg0hAPQeAyVhhQDylxSIj7mV85PfZIvXcesPkpJxzD_SeSRdJbPUjutEdl2kNn8PIi/s1600/05+stone+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksi9lk5ccJP4AozvWORxT-XfvTFRaLv9sch-fpt_qVj5spt1ejqRMGncsontbT85U2ZUg0hAPQeAyVhhQDylxSIj7mV85PfZIvXcesPkpJxzD_SeSRdJbPUjutEdl2kNn8PIi/s320/05+stone+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The oldest
stone building in the U.S., built in 1639, is in Guilford. At the time the communities built a
bunch of tiny thatch houses and usually squished them all together with a
protective wall around them. Gilford decided to spread out a bit and
instead of the wall, they added four big stone houses that everyone would be
able to crowd into in case of danger or bad weather. The one that has been
restored and is still standing was for Reverend Henry Whitfield and was three stories tall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We weren't allowed to take pictures inside, but there were a lot of household items that were commonly used during that time, like a light that held a reed dipped in wax, which was cheaper than a candle. There was also a kitchen sink that had a wide spout that would lead outside the house for dirty water to drain out of.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1qdtrwnhncBpKXCZBaniDU2Xzkf2yjaLF7Rulw2IIAcIQKwcvz_55Pi-8UEm0SaNM2qLcNtO5KlduGEnGMvt_sVthhczlgWtjulqp6RGoW0rZg4-GSPxp7AyTtbxzPN1IZzV/s1600/05+Whitefield+marker.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1qdtrwnhncBpKXCZBaniDU2Xzkf2yjaLF7Rulw2IIAcIQKwcvz_55Pi-8UEm0SaNM2qLcNtO5KlduGEnGMvt_sVthhczlgWtjulqp6RGoW0rZg4-GSPxp7AyTtbxzPN1IZzV/s320/05+Whitefield+marker.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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Then we
drove around the cute town, saw the pretty shore, and then meandered through
the neighborhoods of quaint Colonial homes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0ncrXbwHJe_fYsSiXjK5oLjZ4BQlk6X_vdb1fGge7y6tfUb_2kjENOnhRbKUE08LYk2EzS_OnbuyGuAZHwm78mOgSpIfgJoLmsfNgA3QJlt57T2rhsmQ0f1jurvUlo1YMh3V/s1600/05+colonial+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0ncrXbwHJe_fYsSiXjK5oLjZ4BQlk6X_vdb1fGge7y6tfUb_2kjENOnhRbKUE08LYk2EzS_OnbuyGuAZHwm78mOgSpIfgJoLmsfNgA3QJlt57T2rhsmQ0f1jurvUlo1YMh3V/s320/05+colonial+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And then we
saw it—a monstrosity of metal. In the midst of all the light, tall, square
houses was a dark metal round… thing. We finally decided it was a house, but it
was very long and almost looked submarine-ish. We passed it and talked about it
for a bit and then decided we just had to turn back around to take pictures! I
very much would love to know the story behind this house. Or whatever it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIb_eUbEVsb6XDiteHqYPCzZUfu2NRPn54MJt3QB4XHLpTBqMzAHGADenL18nawUmI1mo-dApD9dJKVYgnYDeOWvkV7gQLtkKbwlEdHP_23a2369Ors4ACQG6mX1R_bXNaOvfy/s1600/05+metal+building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIb_eUbEVsb6XDiteHqYPCzZUfu2NRPn54MJt3QB4XHLpTBqMzAHGADenL18nawUmI1mo-dApD9dJKVYgnYDeOWvkV7gQLtkKbwlEdHP_23a2369Ors4ACQG6mX1R_bXNaOvfy/s400/05+metal+building.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjY_p_l-fm9prg7p2Na7q0W163IHAjyQW7Hcf5m1EW72toCH7AllC8Hs9oDJEve1dszKuB9XfpMxCeXRnzq3Z21uuVZluV8yIpzPx5pot958SwdLfz9_QMZvXI_aSUMCUGBdug/s1600/05+round+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjY_p_l-fm9prg7p2Na7q0W163IHAjyQW7Hcf5m1EW72toCH7AllC8Hs9oDJEve1dszKuB9XfpMxCeXRnzq3Z21uuVZluV8yIpzPx5pot958SwdLfz9_QMZvXI_aSUMCUGBdug/s400/05+round+house.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Ah ha! I found it. As I was posting this blog, I checked Google one last time and realized I'd been previously searching in Gilford, NH rather than in Guilford, CT. The above picture is of a condominium, dubbed "The Spaceship" for obvious reasons. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/13/garden/13who.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1" target="_blank">Here is a New York Times article</a> about it.</div>
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Check back on Tuesday for the next leg of the trip.</div>
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-55007682347000350862012-07-16T20:03:00.000-07:002012-07-16T20:24:15.414-07:00Dork in New York<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Journal from Thursday, June 21st, part two</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQkfQKua707Vlmor3aBFC8RUTAbz2SAN0rSLy5JB-Akz29h5bkmw9fYxQfEwAdkn9nJnnXckTGJmisW_59Sqxd799sMt957lQfqmRmZFuxmV-Zec0AydJGZsPRWEbVj3vnCmh/s1600/04+Liberty+silloette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQkfQKua707Vlmor3aBFC8RUTAbz2SAN0rSLy5JB-Akz29h5bkmw9fYxQfEwAdkn9nJnnXckTGJmisW_59Sqxd799sMt957lQfqmRmZFuxmV-Zec0AydJGZsPRWEbVj3vnCmh/s320/04+Liberty+silloette.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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After seeing the 9/11 memorials, we headed toward South Ferry to
ride to Staten Island so I could see the Statue of Liberty. Dad
decided to walk, but I was worn out, so Mom and I took the subway. But when we got to the entrance we needed, there wasn’t anywhere
to buy tickets. When we finally found a booth, the teller didn’t
accept credit cards and the machine would only give a minimum of $10
on the pass card. Dad had our cash with him.</div>
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Somehow Mom and I scrounged up the
$2.25 each, with only ten cents to spare. Earlier there had been a
woman singing in the subway car and I’d given her fifty cents.
Later I saw that the other subways stations charged $2.50 a person.
Not needing that .50 for Mom’s and my ride seemed like I’d been
blessed for my gift to the lady.</div>
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But getting the tickets was only the
start of our trouble. We had one card between us, so Mom went through
and then handed the card back to me through the bars. I swiped it and
tried to go through, but the bars wouldn’t budge. I swiped it again
and Mom and I tugged on the bars. This time the gate opened and the
bars swung around—only I didn’t.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Somehow we’d managed to push the gate
around ahead of me. Now our pass card was depleted, leaving Mom stuck
inside and me stuck outside.<br />
<br />
Sheepishly I went back to the poor
teller we’d already bugged twice and told him what had happened. <span style="background-color: white;">“Well,” he said kindly, “The only
thing I can do is let you into my entrance going north. You’ll have
to go one stop north and then transfer over at that stop and go back
south.” Apparently once you are inside the tunnel, some stations
have stairs that will loop you around to the other direction without
going out and paying to come back in, but others don’t.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<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/AVvXsEigTKDc4XWfFl8GPsKYr52RnmkWEkh9kT_5M5p7QN0_Ykk2dAfip4LAi-oglGFHvEmqI_qGwP_qgDBK2O1qunRuygC0LD3zBOZCT7A0mlrZZqTtWMMnD1nUvEK1fUK9fXnaJPVk/s1600/03+subway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTKDc4XWfFl8GPsKYr52RnmkWEkh9kT_5M5p7QN0_Ykk2dAfip4LAi-oglGFHvEmqI_qGwP_qgDBK2O1qunRuygC0LD3zBOZCT7A0mlrZZqTtWMMnD1nUvEK1fUK9fXnaJPVk/s200/03+subway.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in the middle with the dark shirt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Meanwhile, Dad had arrived at the ferry
and kept phoning me to see where we were, but cell signal comes and
goes in the tunnels, so every time he called or Mom called to check
where I was, I lost them. Then Mom and I discovered we could see each
other across the tracks and had a wave and good laugh. I discovered
later that Mom heard an announcement that said there was a problem
with the north-bound train, and was worried I was stuck in the middle
of it, but I wasn't and didn't hear of it until later.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdwEZdt84_uw5MrwsxXTqhyphenhyphenqjDJHNmnXSyei_LJzRiznxF1f01yHFW2Bk0kx9OCwMdkLRYIgWO3mX0Iap0eeLZI-1I_ix17Aiq18vaqCGhoV0qFaQ46Wnng-FsrgRSDSF6X8e/s1600/04+Dad+and+I+NY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdwEZdt84_uw5MrwsxXTqhyphenhyphenqjDJHNmnXSyei_LJzRiznxF1f01yHFW2Bk0kx9OCwMdkLRYIgWO3mX0Iap0eeLZI-1I_ix17Aiq18vaqCGhoV0qFaQ46Wnng-FsrgRSDSF6X8e/s320/04+Dad+and+I+NY.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Dad on the ferry, with the new Twin Towers under<br />
construction in the background.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After all that, I wasn't feeling so
well, but finally we made it to the ferry and found Dad, and then got
good news at last. As of just a few days ago, the ferry was now free.
It was a bit cooler out on the water and a very pretty ride. As we
moved out, the skyline got more distinct and the statue drew closer. She is beautiful. As we came back, if the sun had been
just a little lower I could have gotten a picture where it would look
like her torch lit up the sun.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1T1Tcv2F0b6-H7nxc1mVFm1mfQc0As-laPgCNNShOOfRX5BFKZKvhgHKFzgvqaRT4eZYkkTi8g5INcuc_bD_yWhNfVTo7aO8FMM23zFOwzplcLiomSfCTb40aJzirQuJJvVvO/s1600/04+Liberty+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1T1Tcv2F0b6-H7nxc1mVFm1mfQc0As-laPgCNNShOOfRX5BFKZKvhgHKFzgvqaRT4eZYkkTi8g5INcuc_bD_yWhNfVTo7aO8FMM23zFOwzplcLiomSfCTb40aJzirQuJJvVvO/s320/04+Liberty+sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad took this beautiful photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwlxuqj1GiRN10uqZ6drQIfBEA8lTt_M7DXAC5lM88nvAvhmB1WNnMvcEseA3uIqn5_DSFEYU9esfytlgXv5UXKF2yXARoMe-fw7kQRitkGYYP78uX8tM-N8I-YdRWULJn5or/s1600/04+Liberty+and+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwlxuqj1GiRN10uqZ6drQIfBEA8lTt_M7DXAC5lM88nvAvhmB1WNnMvcEseA3uIqn5_DSFEYU9esfytlgXv5UXKF2yXARoMe-fw7kQRitkGYYP78uX8tM-N8I-YdRWULJn5or/s320/04+Liberty+and+I.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wind on the water felt great on this over-104-degree weather.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Check back on Friday for the most bizarre picture of the trip.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-7844901614020368422012-07-13T07:00:00.000-07:002012-07-13T07:00:10.043-07:00New York Memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Thursday, June 21</span><sup style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">st</sup><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">,
2012</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWVA3sPwss4G1RNnWc7jssCBgr8gipEJ4Pf1nmQoSDZATt27suUN3RPS6xyFtB0AKE0jSvCDsEJjquOWCdJXQMOIpGOCGhHSoe6BGtUekU05z6_cOCYg1u9b5HTdXKlyATHaj/s1600/03+NY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWVA3sPwss4G1RNnWc7jssCBgr8gipEJ4Pf1nmQoSDZATt27suUN3RPS6xyFtB0AKE0jSvCDsEJjquOWCdJXQMOIpGOCGhHSoe6BGtUekU05z6_cOCYg1u9b5HTdXKlyATHaj/s400/03+NY.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New York skyline. The two towers on the left with the dark tops are the new<br />twin towers that are in the process of being constructed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today our goal was seeing New York. We
were daunted by the almost-100-degree weather. We figured out that
parking costs and toll bridges were about the same cost as paying for
the three of us to take public transportation from New Jersey to New
York City, andecided that it would be easier on me physically if I
could ride in the car. But then we ended up spending most of the day
turned around or stuck in traffic. We passed through even Harlem (and
didn’t see another Caucasian for several blocks).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We finally made it to Central Park but
by then it was mid-day and we hadn’t eaten yet but we were on the
wrong side of the park and I can’t walk far, especially in the heat
and an empty stomach. It was 4:00 before we finally found food and
then got on the subway to the 9/11 Memorial.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNgzrlsWsaO8kR4wKRSD1it-d7ZpcEklEDBqqDRaTx4rZuX33N6PnCxcJFmu5AeEj4C2_GZ4lAvB6m7GHQ17IMAAiit2omMRUoCH1ID3Mhc2L9yY_o7w92rYcfwgM651XV8IN/s1600/03+church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNgzrlsWsaO8kR4wKRSD1it-d7ZpcEklEDBqqDRaTx4rZuX33N6PnCxcJFmu5AeEj4C2_GZ4lAvB6m7GHQ17IMAAiit2omMRUoCH1ID3Mhc2L9yY_o7w92rYcfwgM651XV8IN/s200/03+church.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The middle of the floor is covered<br />with some kind of prayer path.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My favorite was St. Paul’s church
where the firemen and rescue workers went to rest between shifts.
It’s now a memorial, though it’s used at least a little for
services, as well.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0sLZVM1oyrk9uXPE3Wbbfe0sLtadxGd4CCbuWzJGRMvuEZl2vdzfgDtEY6w0vkfmoJBwhcH0AndycrNSquV2nko44DL1Iu_8_OeZUmn20JVvH5c4ASMrvXwqSIafbnEaSfsA/s1600/03+911+hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0sLZVM1oyrk9uXPE3Wbbfe0sLtadxGd4CCbuWzJGRMvuEZl2vdzfgDtEY6w0vkfmoJBwhcH0AndycrNSquV2nko44DL1Iu_8_OeZUmn20JVvH5c4ASMrvXwqSIafbnEaSfsA/s320/03+911+hands.jpg" width="166" /></a>There was a huge tree by the church that was hit
by debris. It fell over but somehow missed hitting the church and the
up-rooted roots did not disturb any graves. It became a symbol of
God’s hand of protection in the midst of the chaos.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The roots on the statue to the left were inspired by that tree and the two trunks represent the towers. This was part of the inscription: "these trunks are cupped by the hands of God to symbolize the grace and spirit
that the Lord is pouring out on people."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCvuF2r5yP1B-4JzJABua5JgZiUXp2p07KBzFQkTC-o0uDnPb9W1M8rFQOE0hMGEMeoLCLiEY1ctGnj1mf4_m2BKu3ZiC76AxsNfPkC1WrI8bbXhiyupRYi_C1kZFdgorpwKv/s1600/03+patches+memorial.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/AVvXsEguCvuF2r5yP1B-4JzJABua5JgZiUXp2p07KBzFQkTC-o0uDnPb9W1M8rFQOE0hMGEMeoLCLiEY1ctGnj1mf4_m2BKu3ZiC76AxsNfPkC1WrI8bbXhiyupRYi_C1kZFdgorpwKv/s320/03+patches+memorial.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="182" /></a>This colorful memorial on the right is made up of patches off everything from firemen outfits to boy scouts badges. Anyone who visits is able to leave one in honor of the volunteers, and I believe ones were sent from all over the country.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTk4j-WfMCxyldUnoeyc6_ePIfWQNXLdBGCCiecaqSwxe8ikj8-r9PF56NL7oC4bosh04Gw8BrWKR3yFCtc5ujPwpV894dKZHNGoQ3tvGvkxgwCjROx9fPElH54x_umthEaK9/s1600/03+cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTk4j-WfMCxyldUnoeyc6_ePIfWQNXLdBGCCiecaqSwxe8ikj8-r9PF56NL7oC4bosh04Gw8BrWKR3yFCtc5ujPwpV894dKZHNGoQ3tvGvkxgwCjROx9fPElH54x_umthEaK9/s320/03+cross.jpg" width="180" /></a>The cross on the left was created from pieces of metal in the ruins, and the backdrop is pictures of people who came to help and pray in the aftermath.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAOUtLnjTymZcUrY07ZRtaMQi54rtFs3qPFiaZegsU77Aa4KFnhn9WRYd27LpDR4y4x0UI-Ds1kloP58yUQ8I3hBkna2ep6mD6NiV5xMweJ-Ui7XV0CGDDTPKElrjY5hFrm5r/s1600/03+memorial+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAOUtLnjTymZcUrY07ZRtaMQi54rtFs3qPFiaZegsU77Aa4KFnhn9WRYd27LpDR4y4x0UI-Ds1kloP58yUQ8I3hBkna2ep6mD6NiV5xMweJ-Ui7XV0CGDDTPKElrjY5hFrm5r/s200/03+memorial+flag.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This flag was created out of all the<br />names of those who died.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Jx1o2JrVXA2J31ZUmiCxEKeN2Oe3Gui1tDECzLjZpXwyw92xnvqrrEphiClPl6gK2xH2B7cJfWG0V64HpDYQrKtwW-Nvstmb_YYvpoMZeKLA1Hqjs8Kxh6C0HBdf6CIP9DP/s1600/03+banners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Jx1o2JrVXA2J31ZUmiCxEKeN2Oe3Gui1tDECzLjZpXwyw92xnvqrrEphiClPl6gK2xH2B7cJfWG0V64HpDYQrKtwW-Nvstmb_YYvpoMZeKLA1Hqjs8Kxh6C0HBdf6CIP9DP/s320/03+banners.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banners were hung all round the church that had been sent<br />from states and groups around the country.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The official 9/11 Memorial didn’t
have quite as much there as I thought it would. They are still doing
construction all around it, so only one entrance was open and we had
to stand in a long line and go through security, though we bypassed
one area that could have been filled with hundreds more people in
line if it had been busier. I had trouble standing just in our shorter line, so I was thankful it wasn't longer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG28P7iii7oqNkVpLnvVy44sPnshsSP7BNZ3ToOVEOOAwQOmZc05ba2Hl_Tjpxe6772HE2j1h00qrc_2wRO2S3Be5ARGpF5ziwM0YAmBFtWn_Qq5U_JyRFuLV2kW7sTNxAAZZW/s1600/03+911+pool+and+names.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG28P7iii7oqNkVpLnvVy44sPnshsSP7BNZ3ToOVEOOAwQOmZc05ba2Hl_Tjpxe6772HE2j1h00qrc_2wRO2S3Be5ARGpF5ziwM0YAmBFtWn_Qq5U_JyRFuLV2kW7sTNxAAZZW/s320/03+911+pool+and+names.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The memorial itself was two pools. The
big craters the towers left were filled with a waterfall and then
surrounded by a stone wall that is carved with names of those who
died.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qm2D0Wn_9T6MtUg9JgeO6mHJ-jcyon30Px6rxyY8RZWl1gX8GK97QC_JfpfnmCBfScif0BybuGwWRRrAVPb36h9E5Ruz7nY4ATlC7-xNhS27vyXj5xUXGwJFB9QyVE0xyMzG/s1600/03+tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qm2D0Wn_9T6MtUg9JgeO6mHJ-jcyon30Px6rxyY8RZWl1gX8GK97QC_JfpfnmCBfScif0BybuGwWRRrAVPb36h9E5Ruz7nY4ATlC7-xNhS27vyXj5xUXGwJFB9QyVE0xyMzG/s320/03+tower.jpg" width="189" /></a>It was powerful to stand there on Ground Zero and see the huge holes and all the buildings towering around, including the two new towers that are being constructed. There were also a couple of places where they left some of the actual remnants of buildings and just covered them with a glass structure. The emotions from seeing the collapse live so many years ago and all the ensuing footage flooded back. Even as I looked around and knew it had been choking dust and suffering and panic, I tried not to dwell too deeply on things, for fear it would be too overwhelming, but did say a few prayers.
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz73KL9dvl0mPR6p1Qktx6Xkh1FZTGO9UdrQcrGij_W_2ywFWQCG7hKL4lmcRWf-q2TKmIqeKXIWcBi0Vjd4msKpVOMOtEXkXbSeEuNIhm0bUJ-J0-OK2YgYkkTmik61sPiEyO/s1600/03+Amy+and+911+pools.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz73KL9dvl0mPR6p1Qktx6Xkh1FZTGO9UdrQcrGij_W_2ywFWQCG7hKL4lmcRWf-q2TKmIqeKXIWcBi0Vjd4msKpVOMOtEXkXbSeEuNIhm0bUJ-J0-OK2YgYkkTmik61sPiEyO/s320/03+Amy+and+911+pools.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Check back on Tuesday for more New York pictures and the funniest story yet!</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-32914446961170256282012-07-10T08:00:00.000-07:002012-07-10T15:07:10.313-07:00Amish Country<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Journal entry Wednesday, June 20th, 2012</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3sghk57y-mav1Kv9VKMJxrhvIHNbNcESfGACg2AnSMplB52sYYyjlIvce0vpV0-lTJZx_faM3aNlTwEGs_GbaPWrpv3JuQI3C3VZm238C1L9yQSAz9-thauM77ug-hyr3PrU/s1600/02+horse+hitches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3sghk57y-mav1Kv9VKMJxrhvIHNbNcESfGACg2AnSMplB52sYYyjlIvce0vpV0-lTJZx_faM3aNlTwEGs_GbaPWrpv3JuQI3C3VZm238C1L9yQSAz9-thauM77ug-hyr3PrU/s400/02+horse+hitches.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was outside a grocery store</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRipn0_PmvC_FhonFvIcDhoCAaXv9WGTspi2_ZKA5mUkr28jlR43J5JqwlJpwKlW2TAEz-RcFjUTlreNrZuMZt8AJSarPqU9EmCKe3ymDWLrfHMUVxDToKIM6HUQuJlicKRnUJ/s1600/02+Amish+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRipn0_PmvC_FhonFvIcDhoCAaXv9WGTspi2_ZKA5mUkr28jlR43J5JqwlJpwKlW2TAEz-RcFjUTlreNrZuMZt8AJSarPqU9EmCKe3ymDWLrfHMUVxDToKIM6HUQuJlicKRnUJ/s200/02+Amish+kids.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture is blurry but that's just as well<br />
since they don't want their faces in pictures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We headed toward Lancaster and even before we got there we saw Amish and
Mennonite farmers. It was really cool to get glimpses of them out working naturally
in places that weren’t for tourists. We saw one man and his daughter on a
horse-pulled plow, and then a young girl with a delighted grin trotting down
the road in a tiny surrey. I saw a line of towels hanging on a line that were
arranged in order of size, with the bath towels slowly shrinking to washcloths.
It would have made a cool photo.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGNxxNxr4GyqIkgboFQlrHJ-ZZpVomyr68kbctKBSDxw2akcMF3fcjSDbLloX06jJMEK17EveiVJ7kDWFG3cJPbB6R9NdTsg-lx8thDAQcjWiyQCIfxDSeGvOJL_lWna212rY/s1600/02+boy's+clothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGNxxNxr4GyqIkgboFQlrHJ-ZZpVomyr68kbctKBSDxw2akcMF3fcjSDbLloX06jJMEK17EveiVJ7kDWFG3cJPbB6R9NdTsg-lx8thDAQcjWiyQCIfxDSeGvOJL_lWna212rY/s200/02+boy's+clothes.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzy7cTW0dUALe32rN1BVwQSVNkUqrpS83yXXwYhQEWyRGzB6mrMWUPLDtIN2RZxjLpzCGagoghDEs8xRMy0-XNEsmPTbjvYTPPZM-MXNzvjjbwvv73dLXaOZnci2BvrEqoBMeB/s1600/02+girl's+clothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzy7cTW0dUALe32rN1BVwQSVNkUqrpS83yXXwYhQEWyRGzB6mrMWUPLDtIN2RZxjLpzCGagoghDEs8xRMy0-XNEsmPTbjvYTPPZM-MXNzvjjbwvv73dLXaOZnci2BvrEqoBMeB/s200/02+girl's+clothes.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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In Lancaster
we went to a farm that had been turned into a tourist place. We took a tour
where they showed us all the rooms and talked about the Amish way of life. Outside
there were lots of out buildings with a kitchen for cooking in hot weather so
as not to heat the house, barns, and big dryers.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir83jBX1lnmt0dKPzvpX3akrnz1qq7LCp6pbufH_bkWJpYZ-462JWjxDQ-WRRTnloarhnpTt-rgZ0hgX8Sg7iQ7j6rf4RcOJhVUYrdJMnzYZ5ugOZw2E9uXvcdeAvvHnuQiRjd/s1600/02+schoolhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir83jBX1lnmt0dKPzvpX3akrnz1qq7LCp6pbufH_bkWJpYZ-462JWjxDQ-WRRTnloarhnpTt-rgZ0hgX8Sg7iQ7j6rf4RcOJhVUYrdJMnzYZ5ugOZw2E9uXvcdeAvvHnuQiRjd/s320/02+schoolhouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one-room schoolhouse had a quilt rack in the front</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ltfLD-tPPYU6Xvyu-5Aeq0becPDd9Nuv7UduOwxnJye2SAd-VJnRrGDlN7nMuWjvTmpkkfny4_EgbBsl0aoK7e9MVyCVAix5I20XmkKnTg9xtD5wxJ_XuFZpHwzFhS8MYMJo/s1600/02+school+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ltfLD-tPPYU6Xvyu-5Aeq0becPDd9Nuv7UduOwxnJye2SAd-VJnRrGDlN7nMuWjvTmpkkfny4_EgbBsl0aoK7e9MVyCVAix5I20XmkKnTg9xtD5wxJ_XuFZpHwzFhS8MYMJo/s320/02+school+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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In the woodworking shop there
was a whittler and wood burner who had some of his work on display. He’d made a
rooster about twice the size of the head of a pin, complete with a feathery
tail.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I collect
key chains and have about 30 of them at home. I was delighted to have him make
me a specialized key chain, with whatever designs I asked for on both sides. The bird is
in honor of me, of course, but I had him make it a Cardinal because we saw one
hanging around the farm. So bright and pretty! We don’t have them where I live.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnm2QVBukOxQxiCu21mP_c3x7bdIe8IH0MPdJSL2F8wQu5KnsA7Yxl0t_q1IZx0crTRXva_ACbnaejyOtExfr0-V574gjhnEQAagz7HAojyR5wCH3qaO5w2D0DmaEfC9zjRD-/s1600/02+keychain+amish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnm2QVBukOxQxiCu21mP_c3x7bdIe8IH0MPdJSL2F8wQu5KnsA7Yxl0t_q1IZx0crTRXva_ACbnaejyOtExfr0-V574gjhnEQAagz7HAojyR5wCH3qaO5w2D0DmaEfC9zjRD-/s320/02+keychain+amish.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then we
stopped at Hershey factory. We went on a tour of a simulation of the factory
with silly, singing cows. It had little carts that went on a continuous loop,
each with their own speakers, so you could climb on at any time. I hadn’t
realized quite how much work and how many steps it takes to get from the cocoa
beans to the chocolate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOj0niXmlTczOvRbJiUTRKiVjzNn_LSBx14kxZhtasWI-SlqZ6-9y16GwNL6baLWkpIeMn7n17plvOJuiAVTcBH6kSeYuoTRsAX1Icbnu2Dc8v-z-3xCx6bS5HVY5ZouJhmtd/s1600/02+Chocolate+world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOj0niXmlTczOvRbJiUTRKiVjzNn_LSBx14kxZhtasWI-SlqZ6-9y16GwNL6baLWkpIeMn7n17plvOJuiAVTcBH6kSeYuoTRsAX1Icbnu2Dc8v-z-3xCx6bS5HVY5ZouJhmtd/s320/02+Chocolate+world.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ADhevU2GeXQ3egarXf4weFK8kv6X4AXvy3Y5blK93TJcx7a8ZDDfdWT1FH0B4MhmO0mBkYef3bCFUPve0Rcmj5dwiOKOuOAfaMD4NCBWWOFgbU4WqFi-FBhM0I5jS3CQaFWL/s1600/02+cows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ADhevU2GeXQ3egarXf4weFK8kv6X4AXvy3Y5blK93TJcx7a8ZDDfdWT1FH0B4MhmO0mBkYef3bCFUPve0Rcmj5dwiOKOuOAfaMD4NCBWWOFgbU4WqFi-FBhM0I5jS3CQaFWL/s200/02+cows.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g4slKM-efTMadcrOMgIWiIV7mRQERcB7YXIsfrBt5bkZvWiE7OLOha5xVRkvQrx_TLg1JcY9-qmEHqAoP3B35gIOvUJ8hwojhilDHUb42Hu5LH63h6TyWM7s6fltfe2bm1z5/s1600/02+cocoa+beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g4slKM-efTMadcrOMgIWiIV7mRQERcB7YXIsfrBt5bkZvWiE7OLOha5xVRkvQrx_TLg1JcY9-qmEHqAoP3B35gIOvUJ8hwojhilDHUb42Hu5LH63h6TyWM7s6fltfe2bm1z5/s1600/02+cocoa+beans.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cocoa beans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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/AVvXsEhgETiWSxZdyhn0JeiusLLk6wWNzJr3t4XzzdmprARwp7ezRW45sUrC0XeVjFg0veHHyQ-8w6BJAB1ZA8gptyzQdoFTHSTUL77Lfn_ac3Lu19BSVlXd955ti3HkJUcvVCrw5AIP/s1600/02+Hershey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgETiWSxZdyhn0JeiusLLk6wWNzJr3t4XzzdmprARwp7ezRW45sUrC0XeVjFg0veHHyQ-8w6BJAB1ZA8gptyzQdoFTHSTUL77Lfn_ac3Lu19BSVlXd955ti3HkJUcvVCrw5AIP/s200/02+Hershey.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cocoa butter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Check back next Friday for the next installment!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWZcfuqMB0V0INCR33zVouBX_zDMMdrWeSfHCNYfEsxYUVLKBbeWMO5f7tRQP9dpBf7XYqNsyS-F4x3L9dRu2qL-dZ0Us26SbW1qqd0Z6WJ6VDV9QeR5-kDWvWCI_vGVZBFgR/s1600/tour+button.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWZcfuqMB0V0INCR33zVouBX_zDMMdrWeSfHCNYfEsxYUVLKBbeWMO5f7tRQP9dpBf7XYqNsyS-F4x3L9dRu2qL-dZ0Us26SbW1qqd0Z6WJ6VDV9QeR5-kDWvWCI_vGVZBFgR/s1600/tour+button.bmp" /></a></div>
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-87416889071503885582012-07-05T07:00:00.000-07:002012-07-08T20:15:26.557-07:00Hello, Philadelphia!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBNvglIB_5l8MVJzobv6dYDqjm1ZKcmULVozbXVmjWMg0cUV7fLqLVP3-Gd8hJXjsXfVlBTCYsWG0ujkYQvj5Fh-EZCI8LR6NHvsdOk_QwOPsfsrAmLtKedK5vuEOi2_nLkyO/s1600/tour+button.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBNvglIB_5l8MVJzobv6dYDqjm1ZKcmULVozbXVmjWMg0cUV7fLqLVP3-Gd8hJXjsXfVlBTCYsWG0ujkYQvj5Fh-EZCI8LR6NHvsdOk_QwOPsfsrAmLtKedK5vuEOi2_nLkyO/s1600/tour+button.bmp" /></a></div>
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Dear
Easterners, pardon us for traipsing through your land wearing our typical
Pacific Northwest style of shorts and sandals… and socks. We’ve loved getting a
glimpse of New England and most of the original 13 colonies during our 18-day trip, experiencing everything from the
cut-throat drivers and shoving tourists in New York and New Jersey to the
polite and slow-paced folks in Lancaster and DC.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We flew
toward Maryland on June 18<sup>th</sup>, 2012. My body doesn’t like the air
pressure changes and confines of a small seat, and apparently my pain was
evident because my seat-mate settled down and gave me a once over. “You do <i>not</i> look comfortable!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Our layover
was in Pheonix. I glanced out the window and saw a huge pile of bull-dozed dirt
and blurted, “That’s a big pile of dirt!” Then I realized we were still up
pretty high and it was actually a hill. A big, brown hill of dirt. Didn’t look
like a thing grew on it and there were lots just like it. After a bit I saw a
rock formation that had much more character and I was slightly more impressed
with the state.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next day
we had planned to head straight through Pennsylvania and be in New York by the
evening. But somehow our hotel reservations got made for the 20<sup>th</sup>,
so we had an extra day. Love how God works that stuff out because our detour to
Philadelphia became one of the highlights of the trip for me. We had to drive
for a bit to get there, which was a good thing because I was horribly sick the
first half of the day. Thankfully by the time we got there I was feeling
better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZHPg8W3xwtQjml46zZWX4k4BHbfw-rLdgSRE6Vhx-8u5Hw7y2k_PS3quiDwhSOU5e7skCD46rP4wAR7wo86aKkE6TpizyNkzZYX6TEHgeEQct06J7ISVbNMVd3Slmi_YI6dB/s1600/01+Delaware+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZHPg8W3xwtQjml46zZWX4k4BHbfw-rLdgSRE6Vhx-8u5Hw7y2k_PS3quiDwhSOU5e7skCD46rP4wAR7wo86aKkE6TpizyNkzZYX6TEHgeEQct06J7ISVbNMVd3Slmi_YI6dB/s200/01+Delaware+family.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Here we are
pausing at a rest stop in Delaware to actually get our feet on the ground and
be able to count it truly as “visited,” before we went on to Liberty Square. To
get into the building you have to go through a security check and then there’s
a big crowd <span style="background-color: white;">of people trying to get their pictures taken by</span><span style="background-color: white;"> the bell,
with a security guard keeping an eye on things. I kept expecting him to grin as he observed other people inevitably stumbling in front of every camera that was raised, but he appeared bored. In each building we had to show
our purses and after a bit Mom started singing, “The Hokey Pokey” because they
all said, “Turn around” to make sure we weren’t hiding anything.</span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sVA3kLWziAyA0USEf6AR668tK4UsS_o5ULovTBboAzhvjtoEM7pqwvmdVJX7bxKhG4Sq3NNWKXyVfODYf4HdG89Rlk4mrZG8GL21Zircy1ZYK0C9p1lXgbbojjWvxasUwUma/s1600/01+bell+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sVA3kLWziAyA0USEf6AR668tK4UsS_o5ULovTBboAzhvjtoEM7pqwvmdVJX7bxKhG4Sq3NNWKXyVfODYf4HdG89Rlk4mrZG8GL21Zircy1ZYK0C9p1lXgbbojjWvxasUwUma/s320/01+bell+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Seeing
Liberty Bell in person was awesome. It was little smaller than I expected and
the crack looked very man-made with round divots all along it. Turns out it’s
because at the time they attempted to fix cracks by widening them, I assume so
that the edge of the crack would be rounded and not continue to slip further
into the bell as easily. The bell was fixed quite a number of times before it
was finally retired because it just kept cracking again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then we saw
the building where they signed the Declaration of Independence and the
Constitution. We got there just in time for the last tour.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-94JtqXDXhLk6tcR55IZcL_ejI8nwVfwrGwkOrlOsGWyASI9c10x8G6NLrOYjAP58i3RTQhWQuF7YRVtpq-sRcBuzVRd5FQfsBVnCymuKxqVh30_BZPsAXB8Fnq-Q4H2ZUTVP/s1600/01+Philadelphia+courthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-94JtqXDXhLk6tcR55IZcL_ejI8nwVfwrGwkOrlOsGWyASI9c10x8G6NLrOYjAP58i3RTQhWQuF7YRVtpq-sRcBuzVRd5FQfsBVnCymuKxqVh30_BZPsAXB8Fnq-Q4H2ZUTVP/s200/01+Philadelphia+courthouse.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFker5wn0QPwG2TFzHi01PX-KkH_6OUklRKUoyfWdgHjJoJAwFxUUYZAbulbTHJOhJzk1sJQ45x8MiwmrbFBH5R4NlqtHcsa7oGrjyr_Wo8C8qvWLXJJ8NH57ScZcyJaHB-pOg/s1600/02+supreme+court.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFker5wn0QPwG2TFzHi01PX-KkH_6OUklRKUoyfWdgHjJoJAwFxUUYZAbulbTHJOhJzk1sJQ45x8MiwmrbFBH5R4NlqtHcsa7oGrjyr_Wo8C8qvWLXJJ8NH57ScZcyJaHB-pOg/s320/02+supreme+court.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the judges' booth where the supreme court used to rule.<br />
The door on the right is a fake door because at the time they were<br />
very into balance in their architecture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEjR71w-QR_nmTOgNd01XW_h-6xj0xmDyicFOQI_CAj7ZDDbpfZOlipuYqpn13QDA7WydMSDjxQkjU6qhc-8NNl3KpPkaRNlSznRC4YQgtHglumQM3eUStlJTdFcN6CS0meH_2Iz/s1600/01+general+assembly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR71w-QR_nmTOgNd01XW_h-6xj0xmDyicFOQI_CAj7ZDDbpfZOlipuYqpn13QDA7WydMSDjxQkjU6qhc-8NNl3KpPkaRNlSznRC4YQgtHglumQM3eUStlJTdFcN6CS0meH_2Iz/s320/01+general+assembly.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">General Assembly room where the documents were created and signed.<br />
Back then, the room was so hot and full of biting horseflies that the<br />
men came to agreements much faster than they might have!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I'll be posting a journal entry with pictures every Tuesday and Friday for the next several weeks, so be sure to check back or better yet, sign up in the side bar to get a notification each time I post. See you then!</div>
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<br /></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-1933524662820622992012-05-22T00:18:00.000-07:002012-05-22T00:18:34.042-07:00A2Z Take 2: Time to Talk with Fay Lamb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pz772QAOcVs/T7s87g2rSVI/AAAAAAAAAfk/gpp8VivyqtU/s1600/Fay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pz772QAOcVs/T7s87g2rSVI/AAAAAAAAAfk/gpp8VivyqtU/s1600/Fay.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="color: #1f497d;"><span style="font-size: large;">T</span></b>oday we are spending a little
<b style="color: #1f497d;"><span style="font-size: large;">t</span></b>ime
<b style="color: #1f497d;"><span style="font-size: large;">t</span></b>alking with an author, Fay Lamb. Last week's post was a review of her suspense book, <i>Because of Me</i>, so be sure to check it out if you haven't already.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">AM: Thank you for sending me your book
and answering some questions, Fay! How long have you been writing and is
<i>Because of Me</i> your first novel?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #1f497d;"><b>FL: I
have actually been writing since I learned to put letters together to form
sentences. I believe storytelling was something I was born to do.
<i>Because of Me</i> is my first published novel, but I have written many others
before this one.</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">AM: Is there a story behind the book
and how you came to write that particular story?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">FL: As
I said, I have always been a storyteller, so I’ve always had characters dancing
around on an audition stage in my imagination. Michael Hayes is one of those
characters. He seemingly came from nowhere. At least I didn’t recognize the
significance of his timely audition. I remember very vividly that I was sitting
on my back porch brainstorming, and Michael stepped up onto the stage with a
very serious, sad face, and he told me that there’s a little boy named Cole and
that this little boy wasn’t his son, but Cole was definitely born because of
Michael.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #1f497d;"><b>After the story was written, I
saw a little bit of my husband in Michael and a lot of both of my sons in Cole.
I believe that my heart actually had this story planted inside as a way to tell
my husband how much he is loved by his wife and by the two boys that he
fathered, even when they were not his natural children. And I shake my head
because it wasn’t until I’d written the story that I realized that Michael and
Cole are the middle names of both of my sons, and my granddaughter’s middle name
is the same as the heroine, Isabel.</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What’s your favorite part of being
a writer?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I
love to work with other writers. I think we’re a unique sort of people. I
participate in critique groups and help to mentor authors. On the other side of
that, I love it when authors work with me, and I’ve had quite a few wonderful
mentors myself.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love working with other writers, too. What’s the hardest
part of writing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The
hardest part of writing for me is something I don’t believe many writers like to
admit. For me, I find it hard to find the time to write. I’d love to say that I
sit down at my desk every day and write so many words before I do anything else.
I can’t do that. I will never admit to being A.D.D., but in order to stay
focused, I must have numerous projects going. What I’ve found helpful is to
divide each of my projects into segments of an hour. Depending on the number of
projects, I divide that by sixty, and I work so many minutes per hour on each
project. At the end of the day, I’ve stayed focused because of the time
constraints, and I’ve accomplished quite a few things, and writing is one of
those.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's a good method. Lately I've been more successful at actually closing FaceBook and focusing on my writing more while I'm at the computer. It's always a struggle for me, especially if I don't feel well. I know many writers have a similar challenge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">How long did the process of
writing and then publishing take you, and do you have any advice for other
writers who are trying to get published?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Although
I’ve been writing since I was a kid, I didn’t take my writing seriously until my
later twenties when I realized that God had given me a talent to use for Him. I
had a few bumps in the road, and I placed a few roadblocks there myself. It took
a good thirty years to find publication. So my advice to writers who are still
waiting to get published—don’t stop trying. Keep learning and keep applying what
you’re learning, and never stop searching for that editor or agent who believes
in your work. Look at each rejection as getting one step closer to the last
rejection you’ll receive for that particular
manuscript.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YnBKL2lbC_Y/T7s9MyshTGI/AAAAAAAAAfs/9gYyRN_rl9c/s1600/Because+of+Me+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YnBKL2lbC_Y/T7s9MyshTGI/AAAAAAAAAfs/9gYyRN_rl9c/s200/Because+of+Me+cover.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So glad you finally found the right home for one of your books. Now that the book has been out for
a little bit, how is the marketing process going?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have been so blessed with
author friends who have hosted me in blogs, interviewed me, etc., and I have
worked pretty hard to get the information out about <i>Because of Me</i>, but,
in the end, marketing is about word of mouth advertising. Recently, I had to
stop and catch my breath. I’d been working very hard at pushing the story—one I
believe in with all my heart. When I took a moment to think about it, I realized
that I was carrying a burden I shouldn’t be shouldering. It wasn’t that
marketing was hard, but keeping up with the marketing along with all of my other
jobs was wearing me thin. At that point, I knew I could work myself silly, or I
could stop, bow the knees of my heart, and I could ask God to direct the success
of <i>Because of Me. </i>Since that day, I have had to take several deep breaths
and remember to turn it over to God, and He has been very faithful to open the
doors for me.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blessings on the marketing and I look forward to seeing what God brings for you next. Thanks for joining us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, check out more "T" blogs at www.pattywysong.com.</span></div>
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-75318900554633959482012-05-16T01:32:00.001-07:002012-05-21T04:01:46.358-07:00A2Z Take 2: Suspenseful Synopsis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Before the
whole shoulder injury thing, someone
contacted me about doing an author interview or book review on my blog. Now
that things are finally a little calmed down to the more normal craziness, I’m
finally getting that posted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fay Lamb
writes my favorite genre—suspense. Her book <i>Because
of Me</i> was recently released from Treble Heart Books and is available to buy
in paper or e-book version. You can purchase it here: <a href="http://faylamb.com/book-store/">http://faylamb.com/book-store/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3m7sOfApl1Y/T7NjlsdeKrI/AAAAAAAAAew/_Ij90OKgKng/s1600/Because+of+Me+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3m7sOfApl1Y/T7NjlsdeKrI/AAAAAAAAAew/_Ij90OKgKng/s1600/Because+of+Me+cover.jpg" /></a></div>
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Though Issie
Putnam is scarred from past trauma, she’s focused on being a strong single mother for
her young son, Cole. She’s finally come to a place of healing and moved on when
suddenly the past is thrown in her face. Her son is convinced he’s spotted his “father,” but that declaration sends Issie reeling. Who does he think his father is, and why would that man be in town
after all this time?<o:p></o:p></div>
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When
Michael, the man Cole saw, shows up at their farm in the middle of a storm that has damaged the only road out, Issie is stuck with her former
fiancé and the memories of all the turmoil and trouble that led to them being
separated almost eight years ago. Most of all, she’s stuck with the lingering questions; is love still
possible after all the time and all the trouble that has passed between them?
Has Michael really returned to a faith in their God, and can they find forgiveness for all of them?<o:p></o:p></div>
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But things
intensify when an evil man, enemy to them both, is released from jail on
probation. Michael realizes too late that he’s led the men right to their
target. But as the group of bad men are intent on capturing Issie to finish her
off once and for all, they spot her son and suddenly just having his mother isn’t
enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now Issie
has to decide who to trust. Even her sister and brother-in-law’s loyalties are
unclear. Can she allow Michael to rescue her when it’s his fault she’s in this
mess in the first place, and when he struggles to even look at her own son? Or
will he just drag her deeper into trouble, and deeper into heartache?<o:p></o:p></div>
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As if the
adults’ confusion isn’t enough, young Cole is faced with two men. One of them
is desperate to get Cole’s allegiance and the other wants nothing to do with
him. He believes he knows which one is his real dad, but is he right? And when
it comes to love and trust, what does “real dad” mean, anyway?<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’ll have
to read the book to find out. :-)<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll admit
that sometimes the details about previous happenings mingled with and influencing
the action of today were a little confusing. At times I wished <i>Because of Me</i> was two books—one about
the past and one about the present. But everything was sorted out eventually
and became clear. I also felt some of the suspenseful moments weren't as scary
and tense as they could have been, but I found the characters very endearing
and the behaviors realistic and the storyline was unique and interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Next week for "T" we'll have an interview with the author herself, Fay Lamb, for a taste of life as an author. In the mean time, visit her website, <a href="http://www.faylamb.com/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">www.faylamb.com</a>, or check out her FaceBook page: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/fay.lamb" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">www.facebook.com/fay.lamb</a></div>
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Thanks for joining me for "S" and please check out more posts in the From A 2 Z Take Two meme at www.pattywysong.com. Feel free to jump in and join us if you're a blogger!<br />
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-74716848493952861232012-05-08T00:25:00.001-07:002012-05-09T20:52:17.985-07:00A2Z Take Two: Returning with Ragman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m back! In February my shoulder collapsed and had me
almost bed-bound with pain. Due to my disease and a number of factors that aggravated
it, some of the muscles in the back apparently gave up, so any time I was other
than flat on my back, it felt like my shoulder was being ripped off with a
burning chainsaw.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Eventually God brought me to the right kind of therapy and
it’s finally a little better now. However, I’m still having quite a bit more pain than before, mostly in the shoulder but everywhere else, too (since I needed one more chronic thing), especially when driving. I’ve
had to lower my interpreting hours at work to only four a week until they invent hovers that can be
programed to deliver me automatically to work while I sleep in the back, or
until my shoulder decides to behave differently—whichever comes first.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At any rate, I’m trying to catch back up with life again,
including my blog. One of the first things I did when I was a little better was
recorded myself performing “The Ragman” in ASL and then putting on English captions.
It’s such a wonderful story that I just had to try it myself. So here’s a video
of that for you. (and you can probably see how much lower my right shoulder is.) To turn on the captions click on the red CC button.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1JjDSoywmME?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I also finally got my novel, <i>Reaching Sky</i>, back from my last beta reader and have sent it off
for a final edit and proof read. Whew! A year and a half for a first book isn’t
too bad. I can’t wait to see what the publisher says, but guess I’ll have to
wait, since I haven’t even sent it in yet….<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I graduated and started doing more interpreting a few
years ago, then I stopped doing much freelance editing. Well, now that I’ve had
to lower my interpreting hours, it seems like God is bringing me back into
editing. I have a few small jobs coming up and may be getting hired to do a big rewrite of a project to help give it more of a story feel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh and guess what? many of you know the situation about how the FDIC (by proxy of a big builder) is suing my parents for all their land, retirement savings, vehicles, and forced us to move to a smaller place, through no fault of our own. Hundreds of other builders all over the U.S. are in the same situation and finally we made enough noise that the senate is setting up a hearing to review the issue on May 16th. Please pray they are able to see clearly and bring justice.</div>
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<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>Check out more "R" posts in the A2Z meme at www.pattywysong.com and feel free to jump right in and blog with us next week for S.</center>
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-75104857515562890492012-02-27T14:48:00.001-08:002012-02-27T15:05:34.828-08:00A2Z Take 2: Give Me Your Love for Humanity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Last week I tried to record myself interpreting Brandon Heath's song "Give Me Your Eyes" into ASL for my G post but had trouble with the technology. But I figured out the problem and decided to go ahead and do it for both G and H, because after all, there is a line that says "<span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-size: large;">G</span>ive me Your love for <span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">h</span>umanity." Works for me. ;-)<br />
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Enjoy:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/u-kijuKciP0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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As always, check out more "H" posts at www.pattywysong.com and if you're a blogger feel free to join the fun.</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-10762668094679266072012-02-13T20:00:00.000-08:002012-02-13T20:00:05.024-08:00A2Z Take 2: Fun with Any Better<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div>Several years ago, the <span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">F</span>aithWriters weekly challenge topic was "spring." Some of you who have been FWers for a long time may remember this story, but it's <span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">f</span>unny enough to bear repeating. As I was working on my story, I posted on the message boards that I couldn't decide on a name for my main character.</div><div><br />
</div><div>My <span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">f</span>riend and the challenge coordinator, Deb Porter, teased me by putting a list of long and archaic female names to be "helpful." When I pointed out that my character could actually be male, she put an equally funny list of unhelpful male names and asked, "any better?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>The story would have ended there if she hadn't added, "(uh, that last one wasn't a name.)"</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, after that I just <i>had</i> to write a story about a guy named Any Better. I also used every single name on Deb's list and the spring topic in two different ways. Since I did so many plays on words, I decided to make a radio drama out of it. I recorded myself doing each of the voices and even added sound effects, then put it all together. (One of my bucket list dreams is being a voice in an animated movie.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div>Here it is. Enjoy! </div><embed height="27" src="http://www.google.com/reader/ui/3523697345-audio-player.swf?audioUrl=http://www.box.com/s/lmhrk2jhgmuhz8eo1gub" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="320" wmode="transparent"></embed><br />
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(If the embedded file doesn't work, then try this link: <a href="http://www.box.com/s/lmhrk2jhgmuhz8eo1gub" target="_blank">Any Better recording</a>.)<br />
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Oh, and on a related <span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">f-</span>post, I will have been a member of FaithWriters for seven years in a couple of months. They've been incredibly instrumental in my writing career. You can read more about that in <a href="http://sparrowsflight10.blogspot.com/2011/06/2-z-faithwriter-friends.html" target="_blank">my F post from the first A 2 Z meme</a>.<br />
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As always, check out more "F" posts at www.pattywysong.com, or feel to join the meme yourself.</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-25130863520518082632012-02-06T20:00:00.000-08:002012-02-09T17:07:58.151-08:00A2Z Take 2: Employment--Whose Captives They Were<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Last week I was reading in Isaiah when a verse jumped out at me with a complete story scene embedded: "the house of Israel shall possess them in the land of the LORD for servants and handmaids: and they shall take them captives, whose captives they were; and they shall rule over their oppressors." ~ Isaiah 14:2 KJV<br />
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Then it occurred to me that it fit quite well with the "employment" theme of that week's FaithWriters' challenge topic, so I pounded it out on Wednesday after midnight to get it submitted in time for the Thursday morning deadline.<br />
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We'll see on Thursday if I can add an <i>E</i> with an Editor's Choice win. [Thurs edit: yeah, I got 3rd place!] In the mean time, enjoy the story. (I received permission to post it early since the judging is finished.)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Whose Captives They Were</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">By Amy Michelle Wiley</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rskdt696LBk/Ty91gd4UvII/AAAAAAAAAZg/g8lBv0pW1Xw/s1600/797924_troubled_linda+b&w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rskdt696LBk/Ty91gd4UvII/AAAAAAAAAZg/g8lBv0pW1Xw/s1600/797924_troubled_linda+b&w.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Tauthe huddled in the corner, her emotions churning like the sea she was named for. She watched the door, her own door, and stiffened as another woman entered.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">For a moment the silence stretched between them, thickening, hardening. Then Aliya spoke. “Where is my supper?”</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Touthe snapped upright. How dare she speak like that? Who was she to… Touthe swallowed. “I’ll fetch it.” She’d rather die than add the “my lady” that was expected at the end of every utterance.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">It trailed between them, unspoken, as she left the room. In the kitchen she stared at the fire pit. How could she be expected to bend over the hot flames, know when the meat was cooked to the right temperature, choose the right spices, any of it? She lifted a piece of wood. The rough sides bit into her hand.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wL8s-rGQxjCwyr40v31XUTbUrtVSgYq25FS94gy-5ez_TqXvA0dk6a1l5SLWnTmnFP4kuTeZ7mlLGgYmuE9h2Y6aR1JHhCcaGFwspMQEiEjBz0Vnh37OGgY9vKZJR0sNyztg/s1600/169984_fire_place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wL8s-rGQxjCwyr40v31XUTbUrtVSgYq25FS94gy-5ez_TqXvA0dk6a1l5SLWnTmnFP4kuTeZ7mlLGgYmuE9h2Y6aR1JHhCcaGFwspMQEiEjBz0Vnh37OGgY9vKZJR0sNyztg/s200/169984_fire_place.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Anger welled in her toward the men of her village. How could they be so weak? So stupid as to let the Israelites conquer them? To force a lady such as herself to perform work such as this?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She flung the kindling to the floor. It crashed against the wall, sending a basket of food flying.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Aliya appeared in the doorway. “What is the meaning of this?”</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“I will not do it. I will not cook or clean or serve my own slave.” She spat the words. Spat, like she wished she could spit right into this woman’s face.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Former slave.” The Hebrew woman’s face twitched, almost as though she dared smirk. “And you will. I am the mistress now.” She turned to leave, then hesitated. “There are worse possible fates, you know.” Her voice seemed almost gentle. Almost sympathetic.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She left the room.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Touthe sunk to the floor. Her body trembled, with rage and with fear. To her great consternation, tears insisted on overflowing, dripping down her cheeks to make muddy puddles on the floor. The floor wouldn’t be muddy if she were still in charge.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">How would she do this? How </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">could</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> she do this?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Something brushed her arm. She jerked.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LYAMMWx7Pb_c0Mclr8GlSL8Hr-NzR1OwanlKwqrh4-RqPOo6ZwOepw9XUntROwtRIppclktc_9qkbu1UStOTxD2L2WOvkgv_L0ggO3z6GiIr066f9JmKOK0TTrS0-_tyGR0f/s1600/1022007_wicker_basket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LYAMMWx7Pb_c0Mclr8GlSL8Hr-NzR1OwanlKwqrh4-RqPOo6ZwOepw9XUntROwtRIppclktc_9qkbu1UStOTxD2L2WOvkgv_L0ggO3z6GiIr066f9JmKOK0TTrS0-_tyGR0f/s200/1022007_wicker_basket.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Aliya bent nearby, picking up the spilled basket. She turned to Touthe. “Come, I will show you how to cook. You will learn so you may do it yourself.”</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">What? Touthe dashed away her tears. “Why would you do that?” She expected the answer to be something about wanting unburned food, not accepting badly-done work.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“My God is one to be feared and obeyed. He will not tolerate those who do not follow Him. Yet He is also a God of mercy and love, eager to embrace those who turn to Him." </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Aliya held out a hand, offering to help Touthe to her feet.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> "He is a God of forgiveness, willing to put past transgressions behind Him, giving a second chance. I wish to be like Him.”</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Touthe stared at that hand, rough and work-stained. One she herself had slapped innumerable times.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Will you learn from me?” Aliya pressed.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Touthe took a breath and grasped her hand. As she stood to her feet, she looked into the Hebrew’s eyes and nodded.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Yes, my lady.”</span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, 'trebuchet MS', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">___________________________</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Check out more "E" posts at www.pattywysong.com.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">All pictures are from www.sxc.hu. The woman photo is by Hector Landaeta, the fireplace by Rene Cerney, and basket by Mari Carmen Guinovart.</span></span></div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-66591243001357268842012-01-30T19:20:00.000-08:002012-01-31T00:20:16.917-08:00A2Z Take 2: Choose to Dance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<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/AVvXsEijpuXcQZZiGb0ejbW4_ALHuDSEc5zp2HOnjqFWxJgNQSuXwjmD8tNHdboQzR4WJ2rAd87fwEa_3B0UDLfONXyE5klr3blSmA6O4TQpXaEk50NrQif336xwnAIy-aRVLh4cueaf/s1600/wedding_cake+pink.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/AVvXsEijpuXcQZZiGb0ejbW4_ALHuDSEc5zp2HOnjqFWxJgNQSuXwjmD8tNHdboQzR4WJ2rAd87fwEa_3B0UDLfONXyE5klr3blSmA6O4TQpXaEk50NrQif336xwnAIy-aRVLh4cueaf/s1600/wedding_cake+pink.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From stock.xchng by Tracy Toh</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">A few years ago I happened upon the blog of a woman who had just been diagnosed with cancer—only a few days before her wedding. She wrote something that has stuck with me all these years. She said, “Tomorrow I will have cancer. Today I will have cake.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the time I was writing a novelette about a girl in Ravensbruck concentration camp during World War II. As a child I was fascinated with that time period and with concentration camps in particular. Yet something baffled me. What gave Christians, people who knew without a doubt they would spend eternity in heaven, the strength to keep fighting? To live through such horrible suffering? I don’t mean suicide; I mean why didn’t they just give up and let their bodies stop trying, stop fighting for each breath?</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Little did I know that years later I would be in my own kind of prison, trapped within my body, suffering pain and exhaustion every day of my life. Years later, the answer to that childhood question would be vital to my own well-being.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a teen I sought God in my questions, and He gave me an answer. Two answers, actually, as to why His people kept fighting for this life which can be so despicable at times.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First of all, we live for others. There are so many people on this earth who do not yet have that assurance of an eternity of joy. Many of them rub shoulders with us every day. We live, we endure suffering for one more minute because in that minute we just might have the chance to point someone to salvation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8XwN_VdP64C2ySdq8kIxjH4UKBW9UQE13vi1L0mlRybjSoUrP2VVVDtbf75hoxSlRDjnfpGMDJxTAj6v8kmbZF9WtcH4fqG0U4tdodpN9JBnJao_PxM7GddGGa5sC-DhMLx1S/s1600/corrie_ten_boom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8XwN_VdP64C2ySdq8kIxjH4UKBW9UQE13vi1L0mlRybjSoUrP2VVVDtbf75hoxSlRDjnfpGMDJxTAj6v8kmbZF9WtcH4fqG0U4tdodpN9JBnJao_PxM7GddGGa5sC-DhMLx1S/s1600/corrie_ten_boom.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corrie ten Boom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Look at Corrie and Betsie ten Boom. When those sisters were in concentration camps, they spent every moment of their time seeking ways to understand God more clearly, to love Him more deeply, and to pass on that understanding to the prisoners around them. Many people accepted the saving grace of God because the Ten Booms were there suffering beside them, because those women chose to live another day for as long as their bodies could muster up the strength.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The second reason God showed me those people were able to keep living brings me back to my opening paragraph. They chose to eat cake. They chose to find joy in God and in life, no matter what horrible things they were going through physically and emotionally.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I named my novelette “I Will Dance” because my character found that joy. She knew that God was still good, that there were still things in life worth praising. Even as she stood with painful toothpick-thin legs on that filthy prison floor, she would choose to dance.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She also knew that the day ultimately would come when she would dance before Jesus on those golden streets of heaven. This suffering is only temporary. “I will dance today. And I will dance forever.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0fNrRknytUKCswpyzPkiH2kuzxmLFT-qF4B26ELsclkunSiEJlOI7A-I5UIjmnno_wPiHP5VuZ1MjT4KfEB1liTg3Yj3kkueLGxXdH7hABNofcyLB_2R6R17KO9lmbRhXwtV/s1600/old+dancer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0fNrRknytUKCswpyzPkiH2kuzxmLFT-qF4B26ELsclkunSiEJlOI7A-I5UIjmnno_wPiHP5VuZ1MjT4KfEB1liTg3Yj3kkueLGxXdH7hABNofcyLB_2R6R17KO9lmbRhXwtV/s320/old+dancer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In this world my own dancing has to be done internally, emotionally. The joy is expressed in my heart, but my body does not allow for much dancing with my legs. (I can, however, still eat cake!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I die I hope no one says I will “rest in peace.” No, I did all the resting I need here on this earth. I hope you all will say, “Dance in peace, girl, dance!”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGW9ePDHl3YRQou-MkPOF9pgxqzZuREfltwEFlwDIL1hLO7zg1Nw5fXoddixLp90TQketDWPtr8S5aaNLVWl_jEV9rqjQ1Cg6UXej3v0jNOpfoyhuoyyI875aSLpGYmp8xyjyH/s1600/twirling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGW9ePDHl3YRQou-MkPOF9pgxqzZuREfltwEFlwDIL1hLO7zg1Nw5fXoddixLp90TQketDWPtr8S5aaNLVWl_jEV9rqjQ1Cg6UXej3v0jNOpfoyhuoyyI875aSLpGYmp8xyjyH/s1600/twirling.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">sxc by galofgray</span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Check out more "D" posts at www.pattywysong.com and if you're a blogger, feel free to join the meme!</div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-57555590287611962612012-01-24T01:18:00.000-08:002012-01-24T01:18:46.767-08:00A2Z Take 2: Craft Pretties<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I had a more elaborate idea for my "C" post but didn't end up having time since I'm still focusing on my novel revisions, so I decided to just post some pictures of some of the crafts I've done. I used to do a lot more crafting, but now I'm spending more of my time writing and my increased pain makes some things hard. But I did a lot of embroidery this fall.<br />
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Here are a couple greeting cards I designed and made:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9M6F0q1kfZOztvh9ItCrOBRd0at5_tw6KuIv6rfBILo6LHrNRSUEFhGlF-owyWGxD5zzRPNsDsxwgZ_YuFXrFQ0GoG6IDQTrP5sFnOmVuzdD1sMIoFEVzY2Q7GYwR4I7m9u1/s1600/cardbutterfly70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9M6F0q1kfZOztvh9ItCrOBRd0at5_tw6KuIv6rfBILo6LHrNRSUEFhGlF-owyWGxD5zzRPNsDsxwgZ_YuFXrFQ0GoG6IDQTrP5sFnOmVuzdD1sMIoFEVzY2Q7GYwR4I7m9u1/s320/cardbutterfly70.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsHf5lTmx9psNwiF6tAwXJ_ZC8Hk-l_1eDF5aA-sHoFP1Ornx2fUU8L3c94GcWjQdZHFCY0lmPdAl8AlyZiPWZkrhO_Mh61wx25tc3YuUMAEwaN0GIPD12e8f3m2-_XQ2DMPv/s1600/cardhorse70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsHf5lTmx9psNwiF6tAwXJ_ZC8Hk-l_1eDF5aA-sHoFP1Ornx2fUU8L3c94GcWjQdZHFCY0lmPdAl8AlyZiPWZkrhO_Mh61wx25tc3YuUMAEwaN0GIPD12e8f3m2-_XQ2DMPv/s320/cardhorse70.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I used to be constantly crocheting, mostly baby blankets.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1aCx2SqXeLx1BmVVL34mshGcc12yxh5CI6sjRmjprOylPj17vdTcSWQQT5zRHAqxNKYReP_SRaJeUO2Gh7NpXG-M9DCW7PzBEp4Ubsmf11ihANkVg4vngj0FcIQRFOJdKwJjo/s1600/Fushia+blanket.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/AVvXsEh1aCx2SqXeLx1BmVVL34mshGcc12yxh5CI6sjRmjprOylPj17vdTcSWQQT5zRHAqxNKYReP_SRaJeUO2Gh7NpXG-M9DCW7PzBEp4Ubsmf11ihANkVg4vngj0FcIQRFOJdKwJjo/s1600/Fushia+blanket.jpg" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRW3Te3XRAvqObNimieEmeS0pccYmor8tB-RoPgBccqsTKMSOvGrCzwIjwO0y6ecluQJ_yJiWLHD4lWz8R5coPblwDscxuZm1csxNTw8SrfkIpqNJSw0_bsKDGl9M0UfR_h_l/s1600/Mint+blanket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRW3Te3XRAvqObNimieEmeS0pccYmor8tB-RoPgBccqsTKMSOvGrCzwIjwO0y6ecluQJ_yJiWLHD4lWz8R5coPblwDscxuZm1csxNTw8SrfkIpqNJSw0_bsKDGl9M0UfR_h_l/s1600/Mint+blanket.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one was really fuzzy and extra-soft!</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2vm_HesOXeZu8sWbP3gPKpJ6Z2E132CPqkbR1Mi0pQPswU-8vY7A0BsJQTAK53Y-b5yRb-UQ-TsCSQlmDnxTb4hbBJllUjDNefEqYTsVGYnLTILH9ooKuCBNt7ORANdDZnOD/s1600/white+blanket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2vm_HesOXeZu8sWbP3gPKpJ6Z2E132CPqkbR1Mi0pQPswU-8vY7A0BsJQTAK53Y-b5yRb-UQ-TsCSQlmDnxTb4hbBJllUjDNefEqYTsVGYnLTILH9ooKuCBNt7ORANdDZnOD/s1600/white+blanket.jpg" /></a></div><table 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/AVvXsEiG6MPjd9_EVfx_bWmwqCVvekAQb0E5MhPi4GRo6Gm0ugsQZoa1HKL28XdBT92PbphiT64aEmww4RGysMbYr4iXtBfLn6kAe0I-6GvioLZJGVttLUi1Xl2Ng5cGNjPx_SxT47_A/s1600/White+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6MPjd9_EVfx_bWmwqCVvekAQb0E5MhPi4GRo6Gm0ugsQZoa1HKL28XdBT92PbphiT64aEmww4RGysMbYr4iXtBfLn6kAe0I-6GvioLZJGVttLUi1Xl2Ng5cGNjPx_SxT47_A/s1600/White+close+up.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">close-up of the white squares</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>And here are some drink coasters I made for holiday gifts this last year. I did the embroidery and then sewed felt on the backs.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZM_dg90hPKz3FFRBTLJrF6r3W9ud7cOJgw2TWgZBh5VDpxUvuLZgh28mnMTN7H_l8N-4vI9DNjaEWxrz6VQQSeovtXATct_XJ-ed_JaXeqdhcf-gL1eYIWd0dv-tRDubsnL6/s1600/fish+coasters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZM_dg90hPKz3FFRBTLJrF6r3W9ud7cOJgw2TWgZBh5VDpxUvuLZgh28mnMTN7H_l8N-4vI9DNjaEWxrz6VQQSeovtXATct_XJ-ed_JaXeqdhcf-gL1eYIWd0dv-tRDubsnL6/s320/fish+coasters.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKDyx46H8iLEdFHQJ2FXyhfwhRJ0mCUgiPsjTGsMEch5LDhxuMVEoiHqCyYc2x845oKt5J59wL6lyzz4ykeL852UnR0AqtoaJVYjy0gqBfTnWHKI9O9V0HD7FhQCJI2BBASl/s1600/Lighthouse+coasters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKDyx46H8iLEdFHQJ2FXyhfwhRJ0mCUgiPsjTGsMEch5LDhxuMVEoiHqCyYc2x845oKt5J59wL6lyzz4ykeL852UnR0AqtoaJVYjy0gqBfTnWHKI9O9V0HD7FhQCJI2BBASl/s320/Lighthouse+coasters.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVvcgRnBGK6DLwTLbCwEPAaflmz6mgPfYYW8SX1Ov-APV1a3NoDlWs_yoWkS1_ZyICMpD5-mVIVtJZDxRih7cPZ3AOwzR_eh1F_EGUxVC2kr0hpYXeorF5zEoQjkMLADQLTQ-/s1600/horse+coaster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVvcgRnBGK6DLwTLbCwEPAaflmz6mgPfYYW8SX1Ov-APV1a3NoDlWs_yoWkS1_ZyICMpD5-mVIVtJZDxRih7cPZ3AOwzR_eh1F_EGUxVC2kr0hpYXeorF5zEoQjkMLADQLTQ-/s1600/horse+coaster.jpg" /></a></div><div><br />
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Check out more "C" posts at <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/cccrashed.html" target="_blank">Patternings</a> and click the Take 2 picture below to find out how to join us to write your own blog post for the next letter!</div><div><br />
<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></center><br />
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</div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-23930464048527442952012-01-16T20:00:00.000-08:002012-01-17T22:33:40.781-08:00A2Z Take 2: A Chat with Brandilyn Collins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6g4CjXxmS_A/Tw6hs6lXZ_I/AAAAAAAAAWc/0FpSVUj1DpI/s1600/Brandilyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6g4CjXxmS_A/Tw6hs6lXZ_I/AAAAAAAAAWc/0FpSVUj1DpI/s320/Brandilyn.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a special treat to celebrate <i>B</i> in our A2Z meme, I'm excited to have <a href="http://www.brandilyncollins.com/" target="_blank">Brandilyn Collins</a> with us today. She is the Christian author of the popular Seatbelt Suspense<span style="font-size: 12pt;">®</span> books and is one of my favorite writers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Brandilyn, thanks so much for joining us.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">BC: Amy, nice to be with you and your readers. I’ll do my best to behave (but make no promises).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Haha, thanks! As I mentioned, I love your books and have gained a lot of inspiration from them, especially now as I'm writing a suspense book myself. Your first books, The Bradleyville Series, are contemporary Christian fiction with smaller elements of adventure. What prompted the switch to focus on the suspense genre?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">BC: I didn’t really switch genres so much as focus. At the beginning of my career I was writing in both the contemporary and suspense genres. For marketing and branding purposes I needed to choose one genre. Suspense seemed the best choice at the time, due to its sales. I really did mourn losing contemporary for awhile. But choosing a genre was the right thing to do. To this day, I find that having written contemporaries really helps me in my characterization in suspense. (And when I wrote contemporaries, you can see my pull toward suspense in each of them.)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>By the way, for those of you out there who don’t like suspense, try reading my <i><a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/books/ctsfm.html">Color the Sidewalk for Me</a>. </i>This is the second book in my Bradleyville series, and I think it’s the best in the series. In fact I think it’s one of the best books I’ve written. </b> <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">The title of that particular book is what first drew me to read your work, actually. It's such a lovely word picture and I enjoyed the story, as well.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">I know several other of my blog readers also write suspense. Do you have any advice for those of us writing in that genre?</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">BC: Well, it’s very hard. I find it way harder than writing contemporary fiction. Suspense has some strong conventions: tighter and tighter trouble for the protagonist, chapter hooks, twists, etc. A good surprising twist is difficult to pull off. I always write on two levels—the surface level of what I want the reader to believe, and the underlying, real level where the truth resides. Often individual sentences must be able to sound correct for both levels. I lead the readers to assume A or B or C (regarding who the bad guy is and the outcome), when the truth is really D or E. Or A and E. Or F and Z. You get the picture. The reader will read a sentence with the assumption in mind. But when the truth is revealed, that reader should be able to go back and relook at the sentence and say—“Ah. That’s how she fooled me.” Calls for some very careful, precise writing.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If you’re going to write suspense, find some good suspense writers you enjoy and read them. Notice how they handle story structure, characterization, twists, chapter hooks, etc. I found when I was learning how to write fiction that my growth came 50% from reading and 50% from writing. Also—don’t forget that no matter how brilliant your premise is, readers will stop reading if they don’t care about your characters. It’s absolutely essential to make your readers empathize with your main character immediately. But without loading up the beginning with a bunch of backstory, which only slows the plot. And is boring. So there’s a balance. And that’s hard to find.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Sigh. Methinks in my next life I’ll be a rocket scientist. It’s easier.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">I've got my work cut out for me! Glad I know some good suspense writers to study from. ;-)</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When did you know you were called to be a writer?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>BC: I can’t give you a specific date. I come from a family of writers, and I’ve always had the love of drama. In fact, drama was my first major in college, before journalism. I went from creating characters on the stage to creating them on the page. Once I began writing fiction I used what I’d learned through acting to create my characters. I wrote a book that takes seven techniques from the art of method acting and tweaks them for the novelist. It’s called <a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/books/gic.html">Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors</a>. It’s helped a lot of people, which makes me very happy.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">I'm one of those people who have been aided by that book<span style="font-size: 12pt;">—</span>thank you!</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You've had bouts with Chronic Lyme Disease yourself. I suffer from Fibromyalgia and ME/CFS and/or Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Several of my blog followers also have debilitating chronic illnesses. I find it very difficult to find enough creative energy to write when my fatigue is acting up, which is often. Do you have any advice for writing in the midst of the fatigue, pain, and brain fog that comes with these types of conditions?</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CFD7o-tOPxs/Tw6ieodnJ2I/AAAAAAAAAWk/n8JJ7KG7oeM/s1600/OvertheEdge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CFD7o-tOPxs/Tw6ieodnJ2I/AAAAAAAAAWk/n8JJ7KG7oeM/s320/OvertheEdge.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandilyn's novel about Lyme</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>BC: You can only do what you can do. I’d say push through it as much as possible, but writing is not as important as your health. During my difficult time with Lyme in 2002-2003, I fought to write when I had such terrible brain fog. Amazingly I managed to write about 2/3 of a book. But then I became so sick that I simply had to stop. Had to call my editor and say, “I can’t do this. I have no idea when this book will be done, but I must stop.” And it was the right decision. I simply couldn’t push myself any more. I felt such relief to stop trying.</b></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Do you have any general advice for those of us working on manuscripts or pitching completed ones to agents and publishers?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>BC:</b> </span><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Keep at it. That’s all I can tell you. Writing is a very, very hard business. Being rejected is very hard. (I know—I worked for 10 years to be published in fiction.) Along the way, if you want to quit—quit. Kick a cabinet or two and walk away. If you’re meant to be a writer, you’ll come back. If not, you’ll find what you are meant to do. I quit, oh, two to three times during that decade I was trying to land my first contract. Did me a world of good. Cleared my head, and by the time I came back I was ready to fight again. Besides—and hear me good now. (Perfect grammar or not.) Once you start being contracted, you <i>can’t </i>walk away. You can’t quit. You <i>have </i>to create, no matter if you’ve got a fever, or your kid is giving you fits, or your creativity is completely gone, or your parent dies, etc. If you’re not yet published, enjoy the ability to write only when you want to. I understand the push to be published. But I do wish I’d better enjoyed the time when I wasn’t. I could have been a lot easier on myself. The process is hard enough, and we writers tend to beat up on ourselves. We’re all a flaky lot, generally. Especially novelists. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can especially appreciate that advice now as I'm starting to feel the extra stress of having a publisher waiting to read my <i>Reaching Sky</i> manuscript. Speaking of current projects, can you tell us a little about the books you are working on right now?</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">BC: Right now I’m just starting my 25<sup>th</sup> book, called <i>Sidetracked. </i>Another suspense. Last May my novel based on Lyme disease was released—<i><a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/books/ote.html">Over the Edge<span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></a></i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bKMg1Dno9jY/Tw6isQhixJI/AAAAAAAAAWs/EYwQ6kpuE74/s1600/GonetoGround.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bKMg1Dno9jY/Tw6isQhixJI/AAAAAAAAAWs/EYwQ6kpuE74/s320/GonetoGround.jpg" width="209" /></a><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On March 1 of this year my next novel is released—<i><a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/next.html">Gone to Ground</a></i>. This is a great story, if I do say so myself. Three women in small-town Mississippi all realize to their horror that they’ve learned the identity of the serial killer who’s murdered six women in their town. And that person is someone very close to them. Each woman must make the difficult choice to bring the man down. But each woman suspects a different man. The book is told in first person from each of the three women—Cherrie Mae, black, 62; Dina, white, 36, and Tully, white, 19. Two races and three generations. Makes for an interesting mix. You can <a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/next.html">view the character-rich trailer here</a>. I went to Mississippi to audition people for the voices so they’d sound right. And the Cherrie Mae on the video is the real-life Cherrie Mae I interviewed before writing the book (to get the African American dialect right). I ended up using her name for my character with her permission—then her actual voice on the book trailer. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In mid-October my next book will release. <i>Double Blind </i>is about a brain chip implant—gone terribly wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Ah, nothing like making characters suffer.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Those sound exciting! And the trailer must have been fun to make. I'm looking forward to reading them.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now just for fun, tell us something about you that isn't writing related.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">BC: 1. I’m horrible at mechanical things. So bad it’s not funny.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">2. I can’t kneel or squat, thanks to the damage Lyme left in my knees. Even after <a href="http://brandilyncollins.com/healing.html" target="_blank">my miraculous healing from Lyme</a> (if you haven’t read that story, please do!), this has continued. Amazingly I can still run my daily miles. So it doesn’t affect me too much.</span></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks, Brandilyn, for being here today!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #632423; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>BC: Thanks for inviting me. By the way, all you readers out there, if we’re not connected on FaceBook, just why not? You’re missing out on Today’s Word. Think how much smarter you could be. You can find me <a href="https://www.facebook.com/brandilyncollinsseatbeltsuspense">here.</a></b><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></center><br />
Hop over to FaceBook to join Brandilyn's page and then check out my friends' <i>B</i> blog posts through the Mr. Linky on the bottom of <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/" target="_blank">Patty Wysong's blog</a>. See you all next Tuesday.</div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-38836589199356820672012-01-09T20:00:00.000-08:002012-01-10T07:09:20.070-08:00A2Z Take 2: Antidote for a Neglected Blog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></center>I took a break from blogging during November and if I'm not careful I could fall back into the very long apart, random blog posting that does not happen more often than it does. But what is the sure antidote for a neglected blog? A meme, of course! My friend Patty Wysong talked us into doing the A 2 Z 4 U & Me meme last year and I managed to post for all 26 letters. It worked so well we decided to do it again this year.<br />
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I've got some exciting posts planned, starting next week with an interview with one of my favorite authors, Brandilyn Collins. She kindly answered some questions about writing which I think we'll all benefit from. I think I'll play around with vlogging a little this year, too, and even do some fun story performances and the like.<br />
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<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/AVvXsEh526hh9ACm8fxRLRI7Jx9TF56H3daJs3FQIc1gOrCuJkVbzjAkkvpP8zLG5FwAxitxvNu0c0Y9fSdp_opKDxVxBgFhAhR0-FPMzf0GLrAssdDjYh9XEJU4o0niTL5pFj2KmY-O/s1600/ReneeInk+smaller.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/AVvXsEh526hh9ACm8fxRLRI7Jx9TF56H3daJs3FQIc1gOrCuJkVbzjAkkvpP8zLG5FwAxitxvNu0c0Y9fSdp_opKDxVxBgFhAhR0-FPMzf0GLrAssdDjYh9XEJU4o0niTL5pFj2KmY-O/s1600/ReneeInk+smaller.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drawn by Amanda Morris</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For this first post, I'll just give a quick update of the exciting things that have happened since I posted last. I was able to accomplish NaNoWriMo with just barely over 50,000 words. I fought a lot of fatigue that month, so I wasn't completely happy with my shambles of a disorderly manuscript, but I'm hopeful I have some good scenes to work with. A local lady in my area, Amanda Morris, is an artist and participates in NaNo by drawing character sketches for writers. This is one she did of my neglected child character, Renee. Isn't it great?<br />
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But for now <i>Voices of the Dark</i> is set aside to finish polishing up last year's novel. Which brings me to the exciting news that a publisher has requested the full manuscript of <i>Reaching Sky</i>! I'm excited to have that confirmation that someone else thinks my story and at least the chapters they saw have potential. I still have some work to do before I'm ready for them to see the whole thing, and the publisher generously gave me some feedback on something specific I can improve before I send it back. Now just to pray for energy to get it done, especially since I started back to work on Monday (even if it is only a couple hours a day).<br />
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Another exciting thing that recently happened is that one of my good friends, Jess Capps, finally got an answer to prayer and received a heart transplant. However, things got a little scary as the heart apparently went into shock and took ten days to recover. It was really hard being on the other side of the U.S. and not knowing much about what was going on. I'm praising God now that the heart did start working last week! I'm looking forward to chatting with Jess soon. I've missed her. [Added update as of the morning of Tues the 10th.] Looks like Jess's body is still having a lot of physical hurdles and is struggling. Please keep praying for her!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiugX0Z0b_5kkwVorl94INbK4LoDpTUguquiFPXjIb-NH4gXdkUVCEo990izwlCMWshjidH2ip5BWk3E_72ldxRFBu32mq4nCWVK98Zs48We8jJeynEJEw7oAZLYsQ6EZ79WYVh/s1600/Amy+signing+imagine+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiugX0Z0b_5kkwVorl94INbK4LoDpTUguquiFPXjIb-NH4gXdkUVCEo990izwlCMWshjidH2ip5BWk3E_72ldxRFBu32mq4nCWVK98Zs48We8jJeynEJEw7oAZLYsQ6EZ79WYVh/s200/Amy+signing+imagine+3.jpg" width="200" /></a>On New Year's weekend I got to teach my church congregation a song in sign language for our Worship topic. It was so awesome to see the whole church worshiping in ASL together. Many people told me they were amazingly blessed to be able to praise God with their whole body that way.<br />
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It's been a great start to 2012. Here's to many more blessings!<br />
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Check out more A posts at <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/">http://www.pattywysong.com/</a></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-12345694212375711872012-01-03T23:21:00.000-08:002012-01-03T23:25:27.946-08:00Trying out a vlog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My friend Patty somehow talked a bunch of us into trying a video blog, or vlog. Glutton for punishment that I am, I decided not only to do a vlog but to do two--one in each of my languages. I thought I was going to be all clever and hold up some of the books I've been published in, but when I tried that in a test run, the titles were all backwards. :-\ So yeah, didn't do that. The content in the two videos isn't identical, but they are similar. The lighting isn't great, but hey, you can see me. ;-)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">IN ENGLISH:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/78c2u3YYiaE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">IN AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/KzFLb0__1uE/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KzFLb0__1uE?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KzFLb0__1uE?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">Check out my friends' vlogs in the Linky at the bottom of Patty's post: <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/me-in-terrifying-technicolor.html" style="text-align: center;">http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/me-in-terrifying-technicolor.html</a></div></div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-77455760682721054562011-11-18T01:54:00.000-08:002011-11-18T02:00:41.995-08:00M&Ms and Apple Cores<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For years a story has lingered in my mind. I didn't know much of it, but had a picture of a toddler huddled in the corner of a bare room. She was neglected, left to molder there and slowly draw farther and farther into herself. But one young man who passed occasionally through the house would do a small part to reach out to her. He shared his own favorite foods with her--a handful of M&Ms and the core of his partially-eaten apple.<br />
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In my mind and planning, that book eventually changed from <i>M&Ms and Apple Cores</i> to <i>Above the Clouds</i>, the sequel to my first novel, <i>Reaching Sky</i>. Then it made another metamorphose to become the sub-plot to my current work in progress, <i>Voices of the Dark.</i> This scene is part of what resulted from that original vision.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-size: large;">Excerpt from <i>Voices of the Dark</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Jasper, I’m the one taking care of the little girl.” Jesse and I sat down and I pulled out the picture of Renee and held it out to the man. “You know her?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He peered at it, his face so young and innocent, in glaring opposition to the prison jumper he wore. His eyes were dark brown and full of…. It almost looked like empathy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Yeah, that’s the boss’s kid.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“She’s Garth Keane’s daughter? Who is the mother?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I ain’t never heard no mom mentioned. I jest assumed she was either dead or didn’t want nothin’ to do with some crack-head baby.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“How long have you known the toddler?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“I been…” he looked away, “hanging around there 'bout a year, I guess. She was always there. She just stayed in the back room, away from everything.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Who took care of her?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He frowned, his eyes boyish and uncertain. “Well, no one, really. She just stayed back there. If she come out in the middle of something the boss would yell at her to git back in.” He leaned forward. “He didn’t want her hurt, you know. Didn’t want the gang guys to mess with her.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“So Garth loved her? Protected her?” I couldn't make that fit with what I'd seen.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He shifted his weight. “Loved? Well, I dunno. I never really saw him do much else with her.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“What’s her name?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He shrugged again. “I never heard her called nothing 'cept girl.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">He didn’t say it like she was a thing. Even in the middle of all the drugs and neglect, for some reason this kid had cared about her, just a little. I could sense that. I could see the title, not “girl” but an almost-name; Gurl.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“But who fed her and all that?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“I brought her food sometimes. I would give her the core of my apple and once in a while, when the boss was passed out, I’d give her M&Ms. She loved those!” He grinned. “I’d set ‘em down and she’d grab a handful and stuff ‘em in her mouth and then play with the others, grouping them by color, you know? Then eating the rest one by one, a color at a time.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">That was good news. If she could sort things by color then she at least had a basic understanding of categories.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">There was one other thing I had to ask. “With all the drugs and everything… Meth tends to…” How did I say it politely?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Up your sexual drive,” Jesse came to my rescue, if bluntly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Yeah.” I tried not to flush. “But the doctor said no one bothered her that way.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Jasper squirmed. “Well, I think maybe that’s why the boss kept her in the back room. You know, to make sure no one was bothering her. I was pretty much the only one he’d let in there.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">That explained that. So Garth at least had some kind of protective feelings for her. I wished I could talk to him, find out where she’d come from, why he had her in that situation.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“So you never saw the other guys interacting with her?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Well,” he squirmed again. “This one guy was sort of eyeing her. She was getting older, you know? That’s why I—” He broke off, his face paling. “I mean, I’m glad she’s safe now, that’s all.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I made a mental note to mull over that response later.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“But there were plenty of other girls around. I guess that kept her safe too, you know?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Other girls?” Jesse broke in again. “Like prostitutes you mean?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“Yeah, I guess.” He studied his hands like they were suddenly the most important thing in the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Something about how he’d said "girls" didn’t set right with me. “Other girls. Like what age?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">“I dunno.” He shifted again, his gaze darting from me to his hands to the floor.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">A weight, a premonition, settled on my chest. “Jasper,” I braced a hand on my chair, “this is really important. Were these older girls, like your age? Or were they younger? Lots younger?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">His reply was barely a whisper. “Younger.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">It was just one word, but it hung there, draining every bit of air from the room. And with it, my secure world behind to fall apart.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">© 2011 Amy Michelle Wiley</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlAHC12yvM6-00_wOvZ90AjAD95s0RZ4vpnK5WxhPsl-HMGySOfQUhFTGpTLWgt_-QKydfL-w8kt4iSKs3YQcjbENFbJhOA-t_Rh6BVY6THAicED1kUttqjWaF_nhf-Z6WyGt6Q/s1600/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlAHC12yvM6-00_wOvZ90AjAD95s0RZ4vpnK5WxhPsl-HMGySOfQUhFTGpTLWgt_-QKydfL-w8kt4iSKs3YQcjbENFbJhOA-t_Rh6BVY6THAicED1kUttqjWaF_nhf-Z6WyGt6Q/s1600/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Joanne is hosting more Friday Fiction stories at <a href="http://www.joannesher.com/2011/11/friday-fiction-handmaiden-to-princess.html">An Open Book</a>. Check it out for more great reads!</span></div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-48804341071015272832011-11-15T04:00:00.000-08:002011-11-15T04:00:19.119-08:00A 2 Z: Zany Madi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga9pvo_6070VeWLv7fBlf3PVaTXfURCLgZMUDxR_g28bynr-rzz_ah1KZ0ZYrhmyYoEJMPPemRWPUA9pk1Qmr_zUbBWVZYKU5Lllwa5tPc54EsGojCR-_TVy01AG0wyVBgf98r/s1600/Lynda_headshot_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga9pvo_6070VeWLv7fBlf3PVaTXfURCLgZMUDxR_g28bynr-rzz_ah1KZ0ZYrhmyYoEJMPPemRWPUA9pk1Qmr_zUbBWVZYKU5Lllwa5tPc54EsGojCR-_TVy01AG0wyVBgf98r/s200/Lynda_headshot_2.jpg" width="133px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I joined FaithWriters in 2005, Lynda Lee Schab was one of the first people to welcome and encourage me. (Back then I called her Ikab, due to a misreading of her all-lowercase username of LSchab.)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lynda has stayed a few steps ahead of me, paving the way in this writing journey that started with freelance writing of smaller works that led to novels, agents, and publishers. In fact, her first novel, <em>Mind Over Madi</em>, was accepted by a publisher and is coming out in print TODAY!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I was thrilled to get an advance reader copy a few weeks ago, though I will admit that chick lit and romance fiction are near the bottom of my list of preferred genres. But as I expected, Lynda’s writing is stellar and I never once groaned over something too sappy and never got the least bit bored. In fact, I enjoyed the book a lot.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvHkGnQl6VFYn-V15PAurUv1czIuC1jGTlUVK9YkVo957FAKVpCYfPpAQPmU2ae5AlHuCZnIHPKesLCFYl2cQbh2rkPz05b-5powlNO_GQrk7PkWh6sXCMuaRTXBiy2PVYYBlqg/s1600/Mind+over+Madi+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="CSS_LIGHTBOX_SCALED_IMAGE_IMG" closure_uid_248az5="41" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvHkGnQl6VFYn-V15PAurUv1czIuC1jGTlUVK9YkVo957FAKVpCYfPpAQPmU2ae5AlHuCZnIHPKesLCFYl2cQbh2rkPz05b-5powlNO_GQrk7PkWh6sXCMuaRTXBiy2PVYYBlqg/s320/Mind+over+Madi+cover.jpg" width="212px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lynda’s character, zany Madi McCall, grew up in a somewhat dysfunctional home. Now with a family of her own, she is haunted by the fears her mother instilled in her to never, ever trust a man, because all men <em>will</em> cheat eventually. Yet so far her own husband Rich is a patient, Godly guy, and she has gotten to the point where she finally feels like she can trust him.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then her worst fears are realized. She finds another lady’s lipstick on his collar. Her mother was right! And she recognizes the shade of lipstick, too. Only that sleazy Fawn Witchburn wears dark, almost-brown like that.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Madi orders Rich to leave the house immediately. After all, no explanation can possibly be a good one, right? He packs his bag, leaving Madi to answer the questions of their three kids. She tumbles into despair, the way paved liberally with Edy’s Dibs, her favorite chocolate ice cream dessert. Well, if she’s honest, maybe they are more of a coping mechanism than just a dessert. That and hours of playing Solitary on the computer.</div><br />
With sometimes-hilarious twists and turns, Madi begins the zany life of a now-single mom to a tween and not just two teens, but twin teens, both in the midst of their own relationship dramas. Then Madi’s best friend calls and somehow manages to convince her that going to their high school reunion is a good idea.<br />
<br />
Madi keeps on the go with her kids, her friend, and even a few meetings with a new therapist, resulting in her effectively avoiding God during the busyness. Her therapist reminds her that she is a true princess—a daughter of the King—but Madi sure doesn’t feel very royal. And the extra pounds those Dibs added don’t help.<br />
<br />
Plus, it seems like Fawn is showing up everywhere she goes, and things come to a head when a Michigan snowstorm traps them all—the high school reunion goers, Fawn, and even one of the kids’ friends—in the same restaurant for a few hairy hours.<br />
<br />
Madi comes face-to-face with “the other woman” and she begins to realize that maybe, just maybe, not everything is how it seemed. Will she find the truth once and for all about her husband? Is her marriage salvageable? Or is her mother right that men can never be trusted?<br />
<br />
You’ll have to read the book to find out! Lynda uses lots of humor and wacky characters, mixed with real-to-life situations, as she brings Madi on a journey to accept that she truly is a princess of the Lord. Order a copy today (just in time for Christmas gifts) by clicking <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1602903034?ie=UTF8&ref_=sr_1_1&qid=1320355552&sr=8-1&assoc_ss_swlb=1">here</a>. Find out more about Lynda and her other published works at her website, <a href="http://www.lyndaschab.com/">http://www.lyndaschab.com/</a>. <br />
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________________<br />
As always, check out other "Z" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/">http://www.pattywysong.com/</a>. I can't believe we're already to the end of the alphabet! But keep checking back for weekly updates about my novel-in-process and other fun posts.<br />
<br />
<div></div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-80496609782905270812011-11-07T15:21:00.000-08:002011-11-07T15:27:53.596-08:00A 2 Z: Young Treasures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJw9-d38BxKpwk1iHhesjIf1RwNutTgTYRTqblFyiaXiOcE_sHFdsOqxFjlDbN-1WlOHzUBLqY6CunQxFPMn09F5EnRGttRIx4ZXzRiCS1P9vBnSUVwK4DkIc0f1OD4i9aqJU/s1600/Alicia+and+Amy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJw9-d38BxKpwk1iHhesjIf1RwNutTgTYRTqblFyiaXiOcE_sHFdsOqxFjlDbN-1WlOHzUBLqY6CunQxFPMn09F5EnRGttRIx4ZXzRiCS1P9vBnSUVwK4DkIc0f1OD4i9aqJU/s200/Alicia+and+Amy.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Y</span>esterday I had the privilege of seeing my oldest niece in her acting debut as an Oompa Loompa in the musical <i>Charlie in the Chocolate Factory</i>. She did a great job! She has a wonderful singing voice, so it was cool that she got to use it and try out acting. I love the Willy Wonka story, so it was extra fun to see the Christian <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Y</span>outh Theater perform it. They were wonderful and the set was impressive.<br />
<br />
I'm also focusing on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Y</span>outh in my NaNo novel, <i>Voices of the Dark</i>, though as the title implies, the book looks at a darker aspect. My main character, Adria Kingston, is doing what she can to fight against child abuse.<br />
<br />
Most of us would never dream of hurting a child, and indeed cannot begin to understand what could happen inside a person that they would allow themselves to so seriously abuse a little kid. Yet all around us there are children aching, physically, mentally, and emotionally.<br />
<br />
But we do have the power to help. We can be aware of what is happening around us, aware of the children of our neighbors, friends, coworkers, and strangers. Be willing to step forward and do something if we see inappropriate behavior and teach our own children or students how to treat those around us.<br />
<br />
Now for a short excerpt from the rough draft of the book. I'm way behind on my word count goal and have been busy and not feeling well at all, so thank you for your continued prayer and encouragement.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">From VOICES OF THE DARK</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-size: x-small;">By Amy Michelle Wiley</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">We passed through the clinic's waiting room and I noticed a man standing near the reception counter. His muscled arm wrapped around a fluffy brown teddy bear. He stepped forward. “Adria Kingston?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes?” I frowned and put a protective hand on the child’s head.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I’m Chaplain Jesse Carmichael.” He held out a hand. “I was told Garth Keane’s living relative had been brought here?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Garth Keane?” I shook his hand automatically, my mind racing to connect the name with something.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“The man who was shot today.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/g/gi/giniminigi/1024428_small_teddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="small teddy" border="0" height="200" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/g/gi/giniminigi/1024428_small_teddy.jpg" width="150" /></a>“Oh.” I looked down at the child, who once again had her arms hugged around her body, her chin tucked tight against her chest. Garth Keane’s living relative. I tried to wrap my mind around that, connect the tiny child with the bloody body.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The chaplian knelt before her, his tall body folding in on itself. A smile brought out a single dimple in his left cheek and suddenly he looked charming, almost boyish. “Hi. I’m Jesse.” He held out the teddy bear. “Look what I brought you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her gaze remained on the gray carpet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“His fur is really soft. He gives great hugs, too.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her head still didn’t move, but I saw her eyes shift, fastening on the bear.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Isn’t he silky?” Chaplain Carmichael drew the stuffed animal’s fur across her arm, back and forth. “Here you go. You can have him.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A tiny hand reached out. Slowly, hesitantly. A pale finger, stained with grime, touched the tan fur.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her hand snapped back to her chest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Wasn’t that soft?” The chaplain didn’t seem phased. “You wanna touch him again?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This time both hands reached out. She caressed him, her hand trembling. Then she took the bear and pulled him to her chest. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t help grinning at the man, a stranger though he may be. He looked up at me, his eyes glowing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Thank you,” I mouthed. I handed him my business card, but my gaze strayed to the child. She was in my custody now, officially my foster daughter, but I knew so little about her. I knew only that someone hadn’t taken care of her, hadn’t had enough love even to share with a tiny, precious girl.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In their neglect they’d forgotten to feed her, clean her, or even touch her. Was it possible they’d even forgotten to name her?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">© 2011 Amy Michelle Wiley</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">__________________________</div><div class="MsoNormal">As always, check out more "Y" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme at www.pattywysong.com.</div><br />
</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-2645708143213102932011-10-31T20:00:00.000-07:002011-10-31T20:00:02.425-07:00A 2 Z: Xacwihlas (The Twining)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I wrote this story months ago as the third installment of fantasy stories of Kira's Saga. You can read "Kira's Challenge" <a href="http://sparrowsflight10.blogspot.com/2011/08/2-z-kiras-challenge-part-1.html">here</a> and "Lakira's Life" <a href="http://sparrowsflight10.blogspot.com/2011/08/2-z-lakiras-life-kiras-challenge-part-2.html">here</a>, but this story is stand-alone enough that you don't need to read the others in order to understand it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Xacwihlas ("The Twining")</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zeah1ofFXTc/Tq3F0BJDLpI/AAAAAAAAAUE/cyuMMNa_KFI/s1600/631631_silky_material.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zeah1ofFXTc/Tq3F0BJDLpI/AAAAAAAAAUE/cyuMMNa_KFI/s1600/631631_silky_material.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Kira ran a hand down the softness of her gown, her heart soaring as high as the sky that mingled with the blue of her dress. Her little sister and mother fussed around her, but she did not hear their chatter, did not bother with their last-minute fluttering. For she was ready. Ready in her heart, where it mattered most.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally they let her free of the encumberments that held her away from him. Away from her love.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She stepped out of the hut. His eyes drew hers like magnets and she latched on. Her heart would burst any moment, exploding to send her careening in wild fragments to the sky, to the heaven that had created this match.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her feet moved toward him. Faster, faster, she wanted to fly, but her sister traipsing before her forced Kira to slow. The child’s hands move delicately, dancing to music Kira did not hear; her heart sang a song of its own that filled her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yet the song was not a solo, for many other melodies flowed into it from around her. Her friend Sylan beamed, and ducked her head shyly toward her own young man. Pazayita’s baby gurgled and reached a chubby hand to brush the silky threads of rainbow colors that drifted about Kira’s head.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mikot was waiting. Waiting, draped in a soft brown that matched his eyes. They would be the touching of sky and earth, and where they met the sun itself would explode in fiery glory of love. Together they would rise to march across time in a brief arch of history.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She stood before him and now had to open her ears. It was not hard, for her heart already beat in time to the melody of his voice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Te etqesia avon Tytagvan Xacwihlas, u tiiy ah.” His promise was beautiful, perfect. “The Creator has granted us union, so I pledge before Him that I will walk beside you through our life, though it bring plenty or famine, safety or danger, strength or weakness.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7J6H6IjRfiI/Tq3I3zHz_MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/zOcfgI-U4lY/s1600/207150_holding_hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7J6H6IjRfiI/Tq3I3zHz_MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/zOcfgI-U4lY/s1600/207150_holding_hands.jpg" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Kira’s voice echoed his words, not lessening in the repetition, but strengthening with the union.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The family surrounded them, each holding a ribbon of color. They danced, weaving in and out to create a tent around the couple, formed of individual strands interconnected to form a whole.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mikot reached out a hand and Kira met it, their fingers intertwining as they spoke in unison. “And so as blessed by the Creator, I will walk with you and only you, as long as breath shall fill my lungs, we shall be one.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">_________________________________</div><div class="MsoNormal">As always, check out more "X" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" meme starting on Tuesday at www.pattywysong.com. I'm curious to see what my creative friends come up with for this difficult letter!</div></div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16038374.post-88358209217014993302011-10-26T22:54:00.000-07:002011-10-26T23:14:20.775-07:00A 2 Z: Wiley Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIqQp9SDXMzeRPEL8wZav4G2fIrVIFhBUzKK7406_uzR-SkO5k6l-L42r-a60sc9KU8v9LQ_5F552lmj9aNSkEtiI1UM8lNMNZM3sgb2psnyUjhDOcWX6lVrKG9V9NXK9r7YA/s1600/Prom+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIqQp9SDXMzeRPEL8wZav4G2fIrVIFhBUzKK7406_uzR-SkO5k6l-L42r-a60sc9KU8v9LQ_5F552lmj9aNSkEtiI1UM8lNMNZM3sgb2psnyUjhDOcWX6lVrKG9V9NXK9r7YA/s320/Prom+house.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>My family moved this week, from a huge house in the country to a small house with a wonky floor plan in the city--not something we wanted, but here we are. We're still in the process of sorting through all the clutter in the old house. It seems rather endless, but we're making slow progress. The cold we're passing around the family isn't helping much.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1pidbqqU3b7C8P_Jm2uzKaAwjIVvzVnR4t2j8RlW8YqM2dca7ZUWZRhephy9B_9TanZEabfwj8ywTtWk41PcYBn7XnIoyxzANYyVVrEWrCJvECvWxJmRNbflTN1CIJQcfsOT/s1600/raccoon+footprint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1pidbqqU3b7C8P_Jm2uzKaAwjIVvzVnR4t2j8RlW8YqM2dca7ZUWZRhephy9B_9TanZEabfwj8ywTtWk41PcYBn7XnIoyxzANYyVVrEWrCJvECvWxJmRNbflTN1CIJQcfsOT/s200/raccoon+footprint.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the raccoon<br />
print in the foreground?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The good news is that my oldest sister and her family are buying the country house, and the acreage will be perfect for her kids and the rabbits they raise. And while I miss the mountain and foothill view, I'm pleased that at least our new backyard looks into mostly trees with lots of songbirds. We even have raccoons, according to the muddy footprints on the patio door.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8tbex6e21nE/Tqjqsml3k7I/AAAAAAAAAT0/XGgGdWTSE84/s1600/Fall+beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8tbex6e21nE/Tqjqsml3k7I/AAAAAAAAAT0/XGgGdWTSE84/s200/Fall+beauty.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>I'm enjoying the scenic drive to work, getting to cross the gorgeous Columbia River Gorge everyday, and the added beauty of the fall colors. The eight hours a week interpreting at a community college is just about the right amount for my body.<br />
<br />
Other news is that I finally got referred to a real sleep study. It should get set up soon. The specialist wanted to know what my plan is if the study doesn't show anything. Ummm.... not sleep? And isn't that kind of crossing a bridge before we have to? I'm glad he has such confidence that the test will be helpful, ha. But hey, at least he ordered it. I'm praying they'll find something that will help us find a way for me to stay asleep long enough to actually get healing deep sleep.<br />
<br />
I didn't meet my goal of having the next draft of <i>Reaching Sky</i> done before November so the next beta readers can look at it while I'm doing NaNoWriMo, but I am entering it in FaithWriters' Page Turner contest and continuing to look for a publisher or agent. I'm really excited about my next book, <i>Voices of the Dark</i>, too, and hoping my health will let me participate fully in NaNoWriMo. Check out <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Amy-Michelle-Wiley-Author/171303509576514">my FaceBook author page</a> to hear updates on the book during November.<br />
<br />
Next week I'll be taking the written part of the National Interpreter Certification test. It's suppose to be fairly easy (unlike the performance part, which I plan to take in December) and will have questions about Deaf culture, disability laws, and interpreting techniques and ethics.<br />
<br />
So, I guess that's the update for this youngest Wiley. :-) As always, find more "W" posts in the "From A 2 Z 4 U & Me" at Patty's blog, <a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2011/10/weenie-roasting-season.html">Ordinary Lives</a>.<br />
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Oh, if you have a blog roll, feel free to add my button that <a href="http://www.marilavell.com/">Mari</a> made for me. Just copy the html in the box and you'll get a button like this. Thanks!<br />
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</div>Sparrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14784722783493797646noreply@blogger.com5