tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1512356417025920222024-03-14T04:33:50.251-07:00Nostalgic NanaShe travels. She cooks. She grows things. She parties. She loves on her grandchildren.Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.comBlogger749125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-65173308215456466472020-03-10T15:53:00.000-07:002020-03-10T15:53:41.120-07:00More St Augustine shennanigans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Tuesday began with a much-anticipated (on my part) tour of the Whetstone Chocolate Factory. We had been promised many samples and instruction. Best of all, when we arrived there was a free parking right next to the store and factory, which is a rare thing in downtown St A.</div>
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I wasn't too fond of the hairnets, but whatever price is to be paid, I will pay it for good chocolate.</div>
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Our guide was Joe and his persona (which I am sure he adopts for the tours because no one can be that funny all of the time) was the embodiment of Don Knotts. He spoke slowly and over-enunciated his words and dropped one-liners on his unsuspecting audience almost every time he opened his mouth. We were in constant giggles and it was a delightful way to spend the morning. </div>
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Plus, chocolate. </div>
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Whetstone has been operating as a chocolate factory for 50 years and in the past they have produced specialty chocolate for Hershey, Nestle's, and M&M Mars, as well as their own brand. Nowadays, they exclusively produce their own handmade chocolates of a superior quality. </div>
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Here's Joe, explaining the process for drenching pretzels in chocolate. I was impressed, it's so much more efficient than my own hand-dipping method. </div>
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On the left, the worker lays out the pretzels on the conveyor belt. They are drenched in chocolate, then blasted with air to get rid of excess chocolate and make sure that the coating is even, and then they go slowly through the cooling tunnel until the chocolate is set. </div>
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Delicious!</div>
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Then there is the small-batch fudge.<br />
The birthday cake flavour with sprinkles did not appeal to me.<br />
The key lime flavour did!<br />
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The big copper kettle that stirs the fudge.<br />
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Now Joe is going to show us how the famous chocolate shells are wrapped in foil.</div>
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He places the shells quickly and carefully on a rotating plate....<br />
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...and they come out the other end, magically wrapped in foil.<br />
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After sampling all of that very rich chocolate even I wasn't in the mood to buy any, so we decided to come back later and we set off for the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. There is some story about old Juan Ponce de Leon thinking that was what he found in St A and apparently the name stuck.</div>
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Here he is, lucky enough to be standing next to me.</div>
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There are many peacocks near the entrance to what is a very beautiful space. </div>
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There are even a few white ones, which are just genetic mutations of the regular old peacock.<br />
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You can buy peanuts to feed the peacocks for only a quarter, so you know we did!<br />
This sign is a bit of a killjoy and honestly, it's pretty impossible to NOT feed the pigeons and squirrels because they are very voracious.<br />
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The pigeons fly to the top of the food dispensers as soon as they see you approaching them and attack the little chute as the peanuts fall out.</div>
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The squirrels are milder in temperament, but who can resist a cute li'l squirrel?</div>
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There were ancient weapon demos going on towards the beach so we left the wildlife to their own devices, having gotten a ton of satisfaction out of a dollar's worth of peanuts.</div>
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It is a seriously attractive area. </div>
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And sometimes there are bigger things than squirrels in the trees.</div>
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Jeff really liked the demos.</div>
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I was just glad to be sitting down.</div>
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We found a nice shady bench and ate our lunch, which included some large grapes that our airbnb host had included in our gigantic breakfast that he made for us that morning. </div>
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We wondered aloud if the peacocks might appreciate a grape.</div>
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They did.</div>
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But our little squirrel friend was absolutely ecstatic. He grabbed the grape and then scampered up the tree, did a 180 and sat there nibbling away. </div>
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There was still lots of daylight left so we drove to Anastasia Park and went along the boardwalk to the beach.</div>
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Holy moly, what a beach! I was wishing I had bought my swimsuit.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrPgvrkpBQKdoxTRSeIf335nLUZIzLV_UdEhien0w1yr3Au-6lNZRylxU82qtjsxwgWOZ3gafCKGrWsvyS3rHtn47UR8WnMkf0tRlSyzyeYrfOGMoBQVxYsaIe4D4YLF3bCjQlIBS8y8/s1600/DSC05083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrPgvrkpBQKdoxTRSeIf335nLUZIzLV_UdEhien0w1yr3Au-6lNZRylxU82qtjsxwgWOZ3gafCKGrWsvyS3rHtn47UR8WnMkf0tRlSyzyeYrfOGMoBQVxYsaIe4D4YLF3bCjQlIBS8y8/s640/DSC05083.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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But I hadn't so we sat on the sand (much to Jeff's displeasure) and admired the view.<br />
It was seriously gorgeous.<br />
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The next few photos are from Jeff's camera. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoY0ed7CtEDTc-MOo13m5KryBvIYYH7Di6xuOilAen8gXkOeKA5FRRN0XHzbg-GIs0WwsDb-QcKA6SquDG_icTmc8lkF95aBA7vHlywOerRzfRs3sqnQDVTdtjZr1dRJ-DdYupSwzpWxs/s1600/P1012730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoY0ed7CtEDTc-MOo13m5KryBvIYYH7Di6xuOilAen8gXkOeKA5FRRN0XHzbg-GIs0WwsDb-QcKA6SquDG_icTmc8lkF95aBA7vHlywOerRzfRs3sqnQDVTdtjZr1dRJ-DdYupSwzpWxs/s640/P1012730.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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There was a turtle in his hole a few yards away from the boardwalk.</div>
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Can you see it in this photo?<br />
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The last thing of the day, other than collapsing, was a walk on the ancient dunes trail.</div>
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I learned that these palm-type leaves are saw palmetto and the trees that host the Spanish moss are live oaks, which made me feel very knowledgeable.</div>
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We saw an osprey sitting on a branch and then noticed he was holding a fish. Or, part of a fish. We stood and watch him for a while and he seemed oblivious of us enough to start nibbling on the fish. </div>
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It was an easy and not too strenuous walk. I've been fighting plantar fasciitis for a couple of years and it's flared up again so I'm not quite as adventurous as usual. </div>
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On the way back to our rental we stopped at the chocolate store. Jeff got two scoops of gelato and I got the frozen hot chocolate, which was just what I needed. </div>
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Jeff had some and got brain freeze. </div>
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I told him to take smaller gulps.</div>
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This was our last full day in St Augustine. The next day we drove to Orlando.</div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-10907007264029368842020-03-10T14:59:00.001-07:002020-03-10T14:59:12.587-07:00Walking, walking, walking.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
On Monday morning I had booked a walking history tour in St Augustine through airbnb. St Augustine is the oldest city in the USA and is full of Spanish, French, and American history. Its history is full of intrepid people such as Juan Ponce de Leon and Henry Flagler. You should come here and visit and take a walking history tour as well so that I don't have to tell you all about it.</div>
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The architecture is classic.</div>
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We met our guide downtown at the Plaza de Constitucion. In the middle of the park is a memorial to men of the area who fought in wars. We really like the fact that it honours not only those who fought for the Confederacy but also black soldiers who fought for the Union and liberated many fellow slaves.</div>
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This downtown area played a critical part in the Civil Rights movement. Martin Luther King Jr was arrested right here on these steps when he tried to enter a swanky hotel. The hotel has since been demolished and replaced but the historical step remains. A few days after this the Civil Rights Act was signed into law.</div>
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The largest mass arrest of rabbis in US history! </div>
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Thank goodness for that. </div>
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I am easily distracted by trees. This tree is special. It is The Love Tree.</div>
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Do you see the cabbage palm rising up from the trunk of the live oak?</div>
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And these two silly kids smooching under the tree?</div>
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The palm is growing right out of the oak tree, by some freak of nature. </div>
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Weird huh? </div>
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Historical tour guides get a big kick out of it. </div>
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Strange things happen in southern towns.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAz6HRcA-UDXqwJuT7gRs8fLlmS4Cu-LzHb_7qHQhJEreptOtqrjfJA38-NtUVIhYIANiRQ19Ao2Uxp_vxe_VRJAGhj4-X026QzyWTG0aI9SanZhfNt4w-mwgXzwodMLT4waKFeqWWV8/s1600/DSC05039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAz6HRcA-UDXqwJuT7gRs8fLlmS4Cu-LzHb_7qHQhJEreptOtqrjfJA38-NtUVIhYIANiRQ19Ao2Uxp_vxe_VRJAGhj4-X026QzyWTG0aI9SanZhfNt4w-mwgXzwodMLT4waKFeqWWV8/s640/DSC05039.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is the original Catholic cemetery.</div>
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We should have done the tour of Flagler College. It is in what used to be one of the Flagler hotels, which is understatedly massive. Old Henry was a man of immense vision. You would have to see the size of the hotels to believe them. Henry made his fortune in oil (think, Standard Oil) and is known as the father of Miami and Palm Beach. Jeff and I are often impressed with the influence one person can have on history. Henry wanted a hotel to stay at in St Augustine, which he discovered when his first wife was ill, so he built not one but several over the years. He needed an easy way to get to his hotel so he built a railway. Our guide told us that he needed the land that a church was on so he built a new church for that congregation that was much nicer than the one they had.<br />
This photo is a teeny tiny corner of the Flagler Hotel.<br />
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We were ready for lunch after the tour and I had a plan in place. A couple of friends had recommended The Columbian, so we gave it a try and we loved it. The setting was elegant and relaxing all at the same time. The food was delicious. I had fried yuca, even though it wasn't on the menu. Our waiter was delightful and asked the cooks to fry it for me rather than boil it. And flan for dessert. </div>
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In the afternoon we drove slightly north to <a href="https://www.sawildreserve.org/">St Augustine Wild Reserve</a>. You can click on the link to read all about it. I had gotten tickets on Groupon and by the time we finished the tour and saw what great work they are doing with the animals I felt so guilty that I gave them a donation as well.<br />
We weren't allowed to take photos in the reserve, sadly. There was a liger with gigantism, which was a sight to see. Lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars, other wild cats, a big black bear, wolves, coyotes, and all are rescued in various ways. Our guide told us so many stories about the individual animals, their funny likes and dislikes about food or caregivers, it was right up our alley and a perfect way to spend the afternoon. As we neared the end of the tour and we were across the pond from the wolves enclosure our guide told us that we could call to them and they would answer. So she howled, and we howled, and the wolves and coyotes howled, and it was a wonderful cacophony of sound. I felt a bit like Jane to Jeff's Tarzan.<br />
No animal photos, but here's Jeff with the lovely red Charger that we were renting, which is almost as good!<br />
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Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-91926672904411665312020-03-01T21:37:00.000-08:002020-03-01T21:37:25.881-08:00A perfect day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Last year, on the way back from Haiti, Kenzie and I stayed for a few days in the Miami/Ft Lauderdale area. We had a blast and it was so beautiful that I texted Jeff that we should go down there together some time. </div>
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A few months later, he was in the Tampa area and texted me that it was a beautiful place and we should plan a trip together. "You think?" I said.</div>
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So I did. </div>
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We planned a week, mostly in St Augustine and then a couple of days in Orlando to do the free Disney World activities. Then last week we were bored and sat down to see if there was anything worth watching on the old Roku and we found a PBS Nature show about Florida. </div>
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"Let's watch that," I suggested.</div>
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So we did.</div>
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And we discovered a cool place called Silver Springs where you could see manatees in the wild and the water is 99% pure so you can see all the way to the bottom of the river. I immediately Googled it and found glass bottomed boat tours and straight away booked the extended tour for Sunday.</div>
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We arrived separately in Jacksonville on Friday night and didn't reach our airbnb until one a.m. We had trouble getting to sleep because time zones and then the resident rooster started crowing right outside our very loosely attached bedroom window at 5 a.m. which did not make me happy because I had barely fallen asleep. I may have gotten an hour at the most and started the day slightly grumpy. The plan was to attend a couple of different markets and have a fairly easy day on Saturday, but the best laid plans do oft go astray. The first market apparently didn't actually exist, despite online evidence to the contrary and our most earnest attempts to find it. Then the second turned out to be a carnival, which did not appeal to either of our sleep-deprived selves, so we decided to look for lunch instead. We found some food carts, which looked promising, but the barbecue quickly went cold in the brisk wind that was blowing and we decided to go back to the house and take a nap.</div>
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Which we did.</div>
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We slept well last night, being barely conscious of the enthusiastic rooster this morning.</div>
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Honestly, who has an airbnb rental and then invites a rooster to stay?</div>
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Aside: The host couple also has a crazy old lady who lives in a room on the other side of the house and who accuses them of stealing from her. They let her stay for free after some hurricane and now they can't get rid of her and she stands on the road in front of the house most of the day, protecting her stuff.</div>
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True story.</div>
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I have to tell you, last year had its good times but for the most part was rough. I lost my zest for life for quite a long time and am only now recovering it. Great days have been few and far between. </div>
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Today was one.</div>
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The weather was sunny, light breezes, not too hot and not too cold. Just like baby bear's porridge.</div>
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The drive was relaxing and the scenery was unparalleled. Long needle pine forests and small towns and everything was green and the sky was blue.</div>
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We arrived at Silver Springs and I was, as always, taken with the gorgeous Spanish moss that hangs from certain trees in the South. It's an epiphyte, dontcha know? </div>
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Please excuse my obsession. I can't help it.</div>
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Jeff is positively dwarfed by the trees at the entrance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DQYSI3tZxcIRaCpv0BVqJCrlKUSJNqkHEt5Tt6ZOudfzegfRMPhRVXULybSkybJO8cfoYwJmUczhMXLgJW9IlLTFPq3Hi-lG7fK4m9iGr0bwFdXrOZ5HC36qdPOhmnvrVAC2OFk7CD8/s1600/DSC04940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DQYSI3tZxcIRaCpv0BVqJCrlKUSJNqkHEt5Tt6ZOudfzegfRMPhRVXULybSkybJO8cfoYwJmUczhMXLgJW9IlLTFPq3Hi-lG7fK4m9iGr0bwFdXrOZ5HC36qdPOhmnvrVAC2OFk7CD8/s640/DSC04940.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Here I am, sitting in the boat as we pull out into the river, hoping for a manatee sighting.</div>
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Silver Springs is one of the largest artesian spring systems in the world. There are 30 springs in the system and the water surfaces through vents on the bottom of the river. Water pours into the river through these vents at the rate of 550 million gallons a day. This is a great description of the area if you're interested in reading more about it. <a href="http://myoldflorida.com/silver-springs.html">Silver Springs</a></div>
This is one of the first vents we saw. You can see the water churning out of the vent because it disturbs the surrounding sand and often shoots out crushed shells that come from the bottom of the vents. Some vents lead to caves that are so deep that their depth has never been measured.<br />
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I don't think I have ever been to a habitat that has so much diversity of wildlife. Wildlife that is, on the whole, seemingly unconcerned with we humans. Turtles, fish, alligators, all kinds of bird life abound.</div>
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The river has a bit of a bayou feel to it. Lots of cypresses and undergrowth. There were numerous kayaks and other boats on the river but it was still quite peaceful. </div>
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This fellow was a fifteen-footer and I'm darned if I would have sat in a kayak this close to him. They are not fond of human flesh, apparently, but I don't think I would wait to find out.<br />
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You're probably wondering if we saw any manatees.</div>
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Oh boy, did we! Some swam under the boat and that was a short-lived thrill. We saw many others in the water close to the boat. </div>
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And. </div>
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I discovered that about an hour past Silver Springs is a place where you can swim with them, so I foresee another trip to this area in our future.</div>
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Because, who would not want to swim with a manatee?</div>
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The birds were as unconcerned with human watchers as were the rest of the critters.<br />
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At the end of the boat ride we saw the Mammoth Spring, which has two vents and is 30 feet deep and 135 feet long. It is estimated that 45% of the water in the system comes from this spring. </div>
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Many movies and TV shows were made on or in this river and in the upper left corner you can see statues that were left there after one movie. The vents are under the shelves that are apparent in the two photos.</div>
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Being a boat captain is Jeff's idea of bliss, so he had to get a photo with Captain Bob.<br />
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This is another of the abandoned statues that is in the education center. </div>
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I was trying to look aloof but alas, it seems that I cannot.</div>
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After the boat ride we were still floating, it had been such a great two hours of discovery. We trod the raised boardwalk before we left.</div>
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Some movie producer released a bunch of macaque monkeys onto an island in the river, not knowing that they could swim, which they promptly did and now there is a large population of them in the area. We spotted some in the trees at the beginning of the walk.</div>
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More beauty than the mind can comprehend in this day.</div>
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Towards the end of the loop I turned a corner and there was this little family of macaques sitting on a log. They were busy picking little parasites off each other, I presume. As soon as they saw me with my camera two of them took off and the bigger one turned quite aggressive. He bared his teeth at me and I was suitably intimidated.<br />
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We crossed this river and it was so beautiful and so I snapped a picture and if I had done it half a second later I would have gotten that large bird up close. I didn't even know it was flying up until after I pressed the button.<br />
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This little bat was hanging from a small tree right by the boardwalk. </div>
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I love this watermelon picnic table.<br />
Somebody make me one.<br />
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We drove back to St Augustine but stopped in Palatka on the way back because there is a Ravine Gardens State Park that we wanted to check out. The ravine was created over thousands of years by water flowing from the nearby St, John's River. The Park was created in 1933 by the WPA and over 95,000 azaleas were planted there. They are almost at the end of their blooom, but we had a very pleasant walk around the 1.8 mile loop. I only complained a little bit about my right foot pain. </div>
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Spanish moss. </div>
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I love it.</div>
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Unreasonably.</div>
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I wasn't sure how I felt about this sign. I wasn't expecting to find random alligators on my path.<br />
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As we made out way back to our car, which, by the way, is a bright red Dodge Charger, we heard the song of a red cardinal. Even the cardinal, a usually shy bird that takes flight as soon as it sees people, was unconcerned with us. </div>
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On the way home we stopped to eat at Cracker barrel, which is my new favourite restaurant. I think I will eat there every day until we go home.</div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-13646688301092944752019-05-09T17:07:00.001-07:002019-05-09T17:14:49.183-07:00A Tale from Cruising Down UnderA longish story from our cruise to New Zealand and Australia. Too long for Facebook. <br />
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One day, as I got off the lift, I saw a little old English lady walking through the lift lobby and muttering to herself. I stood there for a while, I forget what I was doing but I think I was looking at some art work or something. Pretty soon, here comes little old dear again, and this time I could hear what she was saying.<br />
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"I just can't find my room," was her refrain.<br />
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I stopped her and said, let me see if I can help you. She knew her room number but couldn't find it because a part of the corridor looked like it dead-ended at one point, but if you walked closer to it, it turned a corner. Large cruise ships can be very confusing, and this one was a giant. It's not uncommon to see very senior citizens walking the corridors in a slightly confused state when on a cruise ship!</div>
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It turns out her room was just down the corridor from ours, so I walked with her until we found her room. I suspected that she might be in early dementia, as the inability to interpret spaces is a symptom. We talked as we walked and it turned out that she was born in Birmingham, just like me, and was evacuated during the war to Cardiff in Wales, where my family visited on our summer holiday. My parents were also evacuated to the country during the war. Her husband had died a few months earlier and her daughter persuaded her to take this cruise. She had a couple of friends that were also on the cruise but she was alone in her room. Not, I thought to myself, an ideal situation for someone so confused.</div>
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Anyway, she told me that she liked to go by Eva, although her name was really Enid, which she despised. Her husband's name was Ray, and I nearly flipped because Enid and Ray were our well-loved neighbours in Alvechurch when I was a child. What are the odds? So from then on I called her Enid!</div>
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After I left Enid I went to our room and worriedly told Jeff about her. I decided to go and check on her after our outing the next day, which I did. She remembered me when I knocked on her door and was happy to see me and invited me in for a chat. She was so funny and could talk up a storm, but the delightful thing was that she knew she was a chatterbox and made jokes about it. She was a bit shaken up because she had fallen when going down the steep ramp to the quay that morning. She had forged ahead with her tour but by lunchtime she was feeling pain and headed back to the ship for a rest. The cruise people took her to the on-board doctor, who checked her out for broken bones and and gave her about four Naproxen for the pain.</div>
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<i>Four pain pills!</i> I said. How ridiculous was that? I had my own supply of Naproxen with me because of plantar fasciitis pain so I offered to give her some of mine. I also told her to double the dose the doctor told her to take, because I know about these things! I told her if she was in pain and needed them, call me and I will bring her some. She told me all about her life, we laughed a lot, and then we parted ways.</div>
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A few days later, Enid called me and wanted more pills, so I gave them to her and then made a point of knocking on her door periodically to see how she was doing. We had many delightful talks. She is a great, brave, optimistic soul and I loved her. I introduced her to Anne, and here we are. It was mystical how many different ways our lives had intersected. We felt like soul sisters!<br />
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Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-46069965623548290822018-04-15T21:03:00.000-07:002018-04-15T21:03:22.719-07:00Better late than dead on time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Almost a year ago I embarked on what was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime with my sister. We had planned a spectacular road trip, starting with family in Birmingham and continuing with a road trip to Scotland with our cousin Lynne and my childhood friend Janet. We had spent hours online together planning the details of the journey and were so excited for it. Unfortunately, Anne had a health crisis right before she was supposed to leave on the plane from New Zealand so she stayed home. It was shattering for both of us, but more so, obviously, for Anne. She hasn't been back to England since we left when she was eight, so it was deeply disappointing for her. </div>
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I forged on, discouraged that I would now be making the trip (which had mostly been planned for Anne's benefit) without her. I was, of course, happy to be seeing family and Jan, but the absence of Anne's joy was a bitter pill to swallow.</div>
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I arrived at Birmingham Airport via Iceland. We usually fly to England with Iceland Air as they have the best prices and convenient airports. This time I bid on last-minute upgrades so Jeff and I both flew the longest legs First Class. Did I sprawl across the seat and take full advantage of all of the perks? You betcha I did! I even moved my carcass to where there were two empty seats next to each other so that I could sprawl across both of them! </div>
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Lynne picked me up at the airport and spent the next few days spoiling me to death. We went walking several times along the lovely bucolic paths that wind through the area in which they live. We drove out to see the aunties because I couldn't wait until our planned lunch date on Monday to see them. Poor Aunty Marg had injured her hand very badly when her kitchen cupboard fell off the wall and it wasn't healing well. But she was still as ornery and lovely as ever. Uncle Fred had died since my last visit and he was sorely missed. Aunty Con was as chipper as ever and filled my head with stories of her life with Uncle Dick. I love these ladies so much. </div>
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On Sunday Lynne and I went to church. I wrote about the service on facebook and I am going to just quote that, because I wrote it on the same day and I was so delighted by the whole thing that I can't improve on the sentiments:</div>
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<i>Only my Mormon friends who know me well will appreciate how happy church attendance made me today. My cousin and I walked to church and it was a long enough walk that I knew I wouldn't be able to wear dress shoes, so I donned my trusty walking shoes and a pair of pants (because even I can't wear walking shoes with a dress) and off we went. I sat and enjoyed watching people file into this small chapel, listening to the Brummie accents and feeling quite at home. Then right before the meeting, one of the men on the stand asked if anyone played the organ or piano. I hesitantly raised my hand because, you know, wearing pants, but no one else seemed to care so up I went. So today I played the organ in church on Easter Sunday while wearing a pair of not very dressy pants. And several people came up to me afterwards and thanked me sincerely for playing, And no one mentioned the pants or even looked at them.</i></div>
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<i>Then the first musical number was In the Garden, sung a cappella by a German mother and daughter. They sang the first verse in German and the mother cried. The second number was a duet sung by a young husband and wife, The Old Rugged Cross, accompanied by guitar. And no one raised an eyebrow. It was glorious. I sing these two hymns frequently with my Alzheimer's groups and it always elicits emotional connections for them, but I have never heard them in our church before. </i></div>
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<i>And last, but not least, my dear cousin sitting next to me.</i></div>
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<i>Best Easter Sunday ever.</i></div>
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And that remains one of my best memories of my journey.</div>
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We met up with the aunties and cousin Mandy for lunch in a very noisy restaurant. It was deliciously uproarious. Here is Con, listening intently.</div>
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Margy and Pat.</div>
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Lynne had been unsure of whether or not she would be able to join Jan and me on the trip as well, as Richard had been very sick after their trip to Dubai, but he was recovering nicely so I was hopeful that she would change her mind. Then several other family members got sick and she decided she needed to stay and take care of them. I was disappointed again and feeling guilty for being completely selfish in worrying more about my own disappointment than everyone else. Guilt is not a pleasant companion. </div>
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Jan was very brave and agreed to drive her car, as the original plan was for Lynne to drive Richard's car. She had little experience driving such long distances as those we had planned. Steve had done most of the driving, as husbands are wont to do. Steve had also passed since our last visit and was sadly missed. We left on Tuesday morning, April 18th, by way of the M6 north toll road. Jan decided toll roads are a good thing because there was much less traffic than the regular motorways. Less traffic is good. Our destination was the Lake Country and then on to Carlisle for the night. </div>
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We stopped off at Ullswater Lake at Glenridding and did a smallish hike. Jan does a lot of tramping and is prone to leave me in the dust, hence the many photos of her back as she walks ahead of me. </div>
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<a href="http://www.ullswater.com/about-ullswater/">Ullswater Lake</a> is the second largest lake in the Lake District. It's not very populated but is a popular destination for those with sailing boats and, of course, trekkers. We started at Glenridding, which suffered severe storm damage in 2015. The effects were still apparent in some places.</div>
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We begin our walk.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8-jshvuH0gT5YFbWdZ9mxf5ayr6iKbCEImP0cyW1h_Z3xEi0mwqL7zyDKql1P7YgMcXdYOLEMCnFX99SNzk94HxA-EiitPyWMnuDEFE13hbIba_nik9VU3dLl_QzjaqkpoiJUEpdo0U/s1600/DSC00021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8-jshvuH0gT5YFbWdZ9mxf5ayr6iKbCEImP0cyW1h_Z3xEi0mwqL7zyDKql1P7YgMcXdYOLEMCnFX99SNzk94HxA-EiitPyWMnuDEFE13hbIba_nik9VU3dLl_QzjaqkpoiJUEpdo0U/s640/DSC00021.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I rather loved these sheep.</div>
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I felt rather lucky to be here in the Lake District again. Life slows down here and everything is green and mossy.</div>
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There she goes.</div>
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And I am huffing and puffing in the rear.</div>
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And the view from the top was lovely.</div>
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And there were lambies.<br />
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After our wee walk we drove to Monkcastle for the night, where we had booked an airbnb flat. It was a grand country house on a farm of sorts and we think our flat was a converted stable. We had meant to stop and buy some meat for our dinner but hadn't passed any likely places, so were a bit puzzled about what we would eat for dinner. Luckily, the nice host offered us some fresh broccoli rabe from her garden, so we cooked it with some of my gluten-free pasta that I had brought along and enlivened it with butter from the fridge. It wasn't exactly gourmet fare but it tasted good to our hungry tongues.<br />
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The flat was adorable and we happily retired to our separate bedrooms after a walk around the property. I read for a while and noticed an intermittent beep from the hallway. Jan had removed her cochlear implant so was undisturbed. As I tried to fall asleep the beeping grew more insistent and it was clear that I was to get no sleep until I fixed the noise. I finally narrowed the beep down to a smoke alarm in the hallway, which was right over the stairwell. I tried calling the host, then knocking on their door (it was after midnight by then) and nothing was giving me joy. I attempted to stand on a chair and reach the alarm to take out the battery, but decided it wasn't worth risking my life. Jan was still sleeping and oblivious and I kind of hated her for it.<br />
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The next morning, after no sleep, we told the host of the problem and she was mortified. I was almost delirious from lack of sleep but the good thing is she refunded our money. It's just as well Jan was the driver, so we set off for Glasgow and the beginning of our Scotland adventure via Carlisle and Gretna Green.Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-53994470098094839152017-11-28T22:02:00.000-08:002017-12-02T07:38:02.966-08:00Don't be diggin' my grave just yet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I've long decried our culture's emphasis on physical appearance, and in many ways I've refused to follow the accepted norms of aging women. </div>
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I don't dye my hair.</div>
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I rarely wear makeup, except for a bit of lip gloss most mornings. Chapstick is my weapon of choice.</div>
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Skinniness has never been my goal, although I did spend the first forty years of my life being mostly on the slim side. Besides, the mere mention of a diet causes me to suddenly have a self-defeating ravenous appetite. </div>
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And let me say right here, a certain percentage of my unwillingness to put a large amount of effort into my appearance is pure laziness. And a bit of angst that men are held to a different standard than we women. But I truly believe that our worth is determined by our good acts and by what is in our hearts and souls, and <b>that </b>is what should shine from our faces. But if your makeup and well-coiffed hair make you happy, you go ahead and keep on with it. We all draw our own lines in the sand, and that's how it should be. I suppose my wish for all of us is that we could feel free to be our unadorned ourselves, without the artifices that modern society has imposed upon us and without somehow feeling inferior.</div>
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I admire women who climb mountains at the age of 90 but I've never really aspired to be one of them. I am impressed with myself when I do an eight-mile hike or ride my bike anything over ten miles. Or climb a volcano, even if I did break my leg on the way down. I tell myself, at least it was on the way down!</div>
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But here's the thing. Lately, I have packed on the weight. If I gain any more, I will have to find wider leggings, and that would be just sad! When I look in the mirror with my glasses on, all I see are wrinkles. Droopy eyes. Graying hair. Saggy tummy and everything else. So I feel old and unattractive. And sometimes I just have to give myself a kick in the rear and remember that I can still go out and conquer mountains and muddy trails and pretty much anything else that comes my way. I may not look as cute as I used to but I can still live life to the fullest. I've been told that my smile is my best asset, so I'm going to use it. Lots! And I'm going to blog about the adventures so that I don't forget about them. Because you know, the memory ain't what it used to be either.</div>
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Last week, Jeff and I were on our own for Thanksgiving for the first time in almost 38 years of marriage. At first, I thought it would be okay to cook a small dinner just for the two of us. We had thought about going out to the Ranch, as some people were cooking a community dinner, but I had to work on Friday. Then I was able to do the group earlier in the week and so we drove out to central Oregon on Thursday morning. We met the Bradys down at the Senior Center and had a nice lunch, smoked turkey with all of the trimmings. Afterwards, we went over to see their partly finished house and then went home to relax at Vista House for the rest of the day. </div>
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On Friday morning, Bryce and Brenda came over for a late breakfast and then we drove to the Metolius River with the intention of hiking about five miles round trip from the campground to the fish hatchery. And we did! It took us about an hour and a half to get to the hatchery, and less than an hour to get back to the car park. Two factors influenced the discrepancy. On the way there, some of us had to keep stopping to take creative photographs. And talk to fishing guides. On the way back, we were ravenous and highly motivated by the thought of buying dinner in Sisters on the way home.</div>
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There were lots of downed trees. This one was unusual because of the large rocks entwined in its roots.</div>
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The sign warned us of a detour around an unstable tree, but it took us a while to get to it.</div>
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There was a sign at the beginning of the trail that said it was the way to Wizard Springs, but I didn't think anything of it. And then we came upon it. It was actually quite impressive, as the water springs right out of the rocks and feeds the volume of the river.</div>
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There were many large trees in the river, almost always causing more white water in the already tumultuous torrent. I do love walking beside a raging river.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNos_-bmRbVQ9ufcgnlSKhu1fKHRnfqT0lqewlgmDWTKSZb1Ej8QAx6U3_ESqYl4X3VJZ1pXkoBkOefblmLLfUTnGHAWkyW-XRIcyN2bKJB6FIYzsUHsyUTZpHMHw-kewOW73YQB3tyk/s1600/DSC02475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNos_-bmRbVQ9ufcgnlSKhu1fKHRnfqT0lqewlgmDWTKSZb1Ej8QAx6U3_ESqYl4X3VJZ1pXkoBkOefblmLLfUTnGHAWkyW-XRIcyN2bKJB6FIYzsUHsyUTZpHMHw-kewOW73YQB3tyk/s640/DSC02475.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This tree was a mystery. It looked like a recent fall and the wood was shredded. We wondered if it was lightning, but there was no blackened wood. Bears and Sasquatch have also been suggested.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkyDCs5ysTnJgMKO7rsL-RVpIlzoHaKtoh51am3F_Vgjv8rZg_JgofRvfEeB-rEwcMv3gdSmxpDqaGgN8zRmddzRZDLN-kEh91LEuEfpeM1WPuODNy80rKjMG1MLYJyBkEXO85uHtsVE/s1600/DSC02489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkyDCs5ysTnJgMKO7rsL-RVpIlzoHaKtoh51am3F_Vgjv8rZg_JgofRvfEeB-rEwcMv3gdSmxpDqaGgN8zRmddzRZDLN-kEh91LEuEfpeM1WPuODNy80rKjMG1MLYJyBkEXO85uHtsVE/s640/DSC02489.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We arrived at the hatchery and the best part was when Brenda got up close and personal with the incense cedar in order to smell it.<br />
It just smelled like wood to me but maybe I didn't get cozy enough with it.<br />
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We strode back with gusto and it felt great to be walking through the woods again. </div>
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And so I will stop comparing myself to the extreme fitness types and be grateful for the many things I can still do. And then I will do them. Preferably with like-minded and fun friends!</div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-39929173728793802062017-11-28T20:53:00.002-08:002017-11-28T20:53:19.873-08:00My 61-year lucky streak<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I am 61. </div>
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I have never been in a car accident.</div>
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These two statements are fact.</div>
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But on September 12th I broke that lucky streak and slammed into a Ford truck as it pulled out of a side road right in front of me. I was driving at highway speed and the only thing, I believe, that saved Jeff and me from serious injury was the Eyesight technology in my lovely new Subaru. It sensed the truck before I did and slammed on the brakes so that we only caught the corner of the rear bumper of the truck, rather than the side of it. </div>
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I also managed to swerve a little bit and then pulled over onto the shoulder. The truck crossed the highway and pulled onto another side road. I sat, shaken, and called 911. Strangely, the air bags didn't deploy, which was a blessing because I think they would have caused us more pain than we had. Within five minutes a state trooper was parking in front of us. We didn't realise that we were mere yards from the State Police station and were highly impressed with the speed with which she showed up. By then, the couple in the truck had walked over to us. They were elderly (as in "older than us") and the woman, who was supposedly the driver, looked like a meth addict. </div>
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The trooper was very kind and helpful, especially after I told her I had never been in an accident before, and walked us through the process. </div>
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We didn't think the car looked too bad, but later we learned that the battery had exploded upon impact and the car ended up being totaled.</div>
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Oh joy, car shopping again!</div>
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My poor baby.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIZIdtLUs7Fjqpd1WDDKiMieLM3nT83VyjD0mFklLheT_M_pcPma8GsDYZmKZ2jWMsoJ4hOWCAVxhF2bKzZ52qsxOE0xfCw8O5h8wn_3lJaQAurQNzqe_-rQqNPAEH-ZMeWKXc68LnOI/s1600/IMG_20170921_131228359_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIZIdtLUs7Fjqpd1WDDKiMieLM3nT83VyjD0mFklLheT_M_pcPma8GsDYZmKZ2jWMsoJ4hOWCAVxhF2bKzZ52qsxOE0xfCw8O5h8wn_3lJaQAurQNzqe_-rQqNPAEH-ZMeWKXc68LnOI/s640/IMG_20170921_131228359_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKVfsKtn2tn33D65jZa4HP4_Ystlv5YdluPzGi0wkuLsAdmPL2dw8FhDv9sBgjCGYgcGH6UDzesRs_ZIVVcD8Wis_F4NObj45cTmqM3Vzidu17GjL_rB0z0sKFr665Eg5-rfRfNNCTHU/s1600/IMG_20170921_131810073_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKVfsKtn2tn33D65jZa4HP4_Ystlv5YdluPzGi0wkuLsAdmPL2dw8FhDv9sBgjCGYgcGH6UDzesRs_ZIVVcD8Wis_F4NObj45cTmqM3Vzidu17GjL_rB0z0sKFr665Eg5-rfRfNNCTHU/s640/IMG_20170921_131810073_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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You can see the splashes of battery acid that have started to corrode the engine.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sG-CAraSJBHcRSnFG2XvyeBQuLun_EV6tFMFeC3BcdYmm4J6g1TLy1J07b8suXbOESgLnaFx2gvr9g2913dBSSjVcdYwCCIkvn_RHd1vv16c445lCCWZSbDEcCpVoQUuecg8t5ggAzs/s1600/IMG_20170928_140821699_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sG-CAraSJBHcRSnFG2XvyeBQuLun_EV6tFMFeC3BcdYmm4J6g1TLy1J07b8suXbOESgLnaFx2gvr9g2913dBSSjVcdYwCCIkvn_RHd1vv16c445lCCWZSbDEcCpVoQUuecg8t5ggAzs/s640/IMG_20170928_140821699_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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But I'm getting ahead of myself. </div>
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Pretty soon another state trooper pulled up behind us and we wondered slightly why all the fuss? Then the first trooper called out, "Susan, could you come over here?"</div>
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I obediently started to walk over to her and she quickly said, "Oh, I forgot your name is Susan too. I meant Susan _____," the driver of the truck. So Susan walked over and was immediately handcuffed. There was an outstanding warrant for her arrest. And the man had a suspended licence for DUII. As I said to Jeff, their day was a whole lot worse than ours!</div>
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Considering it was a pretty spectacular accident, we were very lucky. I ended up with a sprained ankle from, I assume, stomping on the brake pedal upon impact. And Jeff has developed some hip problems that should hopefully be resolved soon. But it could have been so much worse.</div>
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It has been very time-consuming dealing with the insurance companies and medical issues, but the other miracle is that the man who owned the truck had great insurance, so it hasn't cost us a penny. </div>
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But we did have to go car shopping again and this is the result.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaXYxc-qdg4zk2u6E8374Uu-3yuSBYFAfAIcLE99x8GRixvdUL8jzVaYGrRQaFDp_EMjX83h1F6tIPsbS9QFgbasD-ym-yK4QxXasy1BEgkpJqiCv8nAqMLRXGBqIxLcj1ln1VA3VHXg/s1600/IMG_20171001_171735457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaXYxc-qdg4zk2u6E8374Uu-3yuSBYFAfAIcLE99x8GRixvdUL8jzVaYGrRQaFDp_EMjX83h1F6tIPsbS9QFgbasD-ym-yK4QxXasy1BEgkpJqiCv8nAqMLRXGBqIxLcj1ln1VA3VHXg/s640/IMG_20171001_171735457.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It looks just like the last one, right?</div>
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It is actually a 2018 Subaru Crosstrek, which has been the unfortunate victim of some design tweaking that does not make me happy, but my car-shopping tolerance was at an all-time low and I didn't have the fortitude to look for something else. I really wanted exactly the same car, but all of the 2017 models with Eyesight were sold out. </div>
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We do love our Subarus, even if we're a little late to the game. </div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-28816782388590954322017-11-27T19:26:00.001-08:002017-12-01T23:39:41.576-08:00The aliens have landed on my back lawn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #990000;">Or, be careful what you do with that very useful silicone spray.</span><br />
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A couple of weeks ago I looked out onto our rain-sodden back lawn, which I have carefully tended since its third (or fourth) incarnation of several years ago. And I saw this very strange pattern developing on the grass. It was much less defined at the time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72fyhp01OMj13QSs7KvEgJaC8b7LDAtDqcOOJKPg0rePi5XgCBmD1YoGnpnHyJNEHt5uQWPQZB4ILlk44OoZwWepGXBrz663LiMO0cBIyoe25zRh9VaHMC1WT05whQYyNRdXUSmF72kQ/s1600/IMG_20171122_080407931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72fyhp01OMj13QSs7KvEgJaC8b7LDAtDqcOOJKPg0rePi5XgCBmD1YoGnpnHyJNEHt5uQWPQZB4ILlk44OoZwWepGXBrz663LiMO0cBIyoe25zRh9VaHMC1WT05whQYyNRdXUSmF72kQ/s640/IMG_20171122_080407931.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The days passed, puddles came and went, and as the pattern became clearer I realised what it must be.<br />
I like a weed-free lawn, you see.<br />
I have spent hours pulling all of the little bits of seedy annual grass that somehow managed to survive the doses of RoundUp that obliterated the last lawn. I frequently scrutinize the area for baby clover plants or wee dandelions that might have the nerve to rear their heads among the blades of grass.<br />
I prefer to hand pull the few weeds that find a spot to thrive in my garden, which has become an easier principle to hold since we decided to cover the flower and veggie beds with tree shreds. But once in a while, like at the beginning of fall when weeding has lost its novelty, I do a judicious spray with some weedkiller. We have just discovered the joys of silicone spray, since the WD40 lost its little straw and Jeff said <i>wereallyneedsomenewWD40, pleaseohpleasecanwegetsome? </i>Because you know that my frugal self just wanted to find a way to make the old stuff work. But I relented and we trotted off to Ace Hardware and when we saw the canister of silicone spray sitting on the shelf next to the other humbler oil-based lubricants, I had to have it. And it proved to be a miracle worker and we use it on everything we can think of.<br />
Fast forward to The Day I Decided to Kill Weeds. For some reason, our garden spray canisters don't seem to last anywhere near as long as they should, so I was down to one little inefficient canister. I added the poison and started to push the handle up and down to create some air pressure, but the action was very sticky. Then I had a light bulb moment.<br />
Silicone!<br />
So I sprayed the shaft with silicone and commenced pumping on the slabs of stone next to the greenhouse. That baby was slick and I was in the middle of congratulating myself on the forethought to buy that lovely silicone spray when all of a sudden, WHOOSH! The canister exploded, sending poisonous water all over the rocks and yours truly.<br />
If I ever get cancer I will blame it on this event.<br />
It may have gotten up my nose.<br />
But at least, I thought to myself, it didn't get on any plants or the lawn.<br />
Or did it?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9H2dNxmCwUWU-DiiVTkQ_aYvnBp7gA9iBfU3G-yiZl4XfxmvVX5M7V_m2_LaRqTQexLQFYFzc0HqN4TcYBmI0QTQzNuU6cI7bcBDB5_J2alrf6_7flu8Ovx2i8zsFu9khbM7UEWxV-U/s1600/IMG_20171122_080425805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9H2dNxmCwUWU-DiiVTkQ_aYvnBp7gA9iBfU3G-yiZl4XfxmvVX5M7V_m2_LaRqTQexLQFYFzc0HqN4TcYBmI0QTQzNuU6cI7bcBDB5_J2alrf6_7flu8Ovx2i8zsFu9khbM7UEWxV-U/s640/IMG_20171122_080425805.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And on that rainy day, I realised that the exploding spray had indeed reached the lawn. And apparently there had been enough of it to attach itself to the soles of my shoes and now there are alien footprints all over my lawn.</div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-5226288261025972052017-08-10T16:49:00.000-07:002017-08-11T09:29:50.070-07:00Summertime at Vista House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oh, it's been hotter than Hades here in Oregon for the last couple of weeks. Officially 106 degrees for a couple of days, the hottest temps in my memory, but I'm pretty sure it was hotter than that in my little corner of our town. The window a/c has been running more than it usually runs in two or three summers, and it has been a little champ in making life bearable.</div>
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Now I am thinking back on early summer to when Annie and her kids were staying with us for a few weeks while Edwin was deployed. We love those babes, but having four kids under the age of seven (one of them a toddler who loved to scream) in the house could be nerve-wracking some days. Papa and I decided to escape to Vista House for a weekend and we took Gabe along with us. The lad is surrounded by girls and sometimes a guy just needs a break, ya know? He misses his dad something fierce when he is away, so we thought it would be good for all of us.</div>
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Gabe was hilarious as we drove out to Central Oregon. He was rather crowded by some iris bulbs and greenery that we had picked up from a friend on the way out of town, and he was not impressed by the spiders and other critters that started to emerge from the foliage as we traveled on. We stopped at Costco to pick up some yummies and Jeff repacked the car, shaking out the greenery and generally giving Gabe some breathing space. </div>
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Well, I picked up a cooked chicken from Costco, because every trip needs a Costco rotisserie chicken, and Gabe was VERY excited. <b>I love chicken</b>, he reiterated several times. He also talked me into a Cars arty-erasable-felt-pen-thingie book, which I told him he would get bored with but he assured me he would not. Whom do you think was proven to be correct? Oh, and a life jacket for the pool.</div>
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So we wended our way along the highway, the car smelling like rotisserie chicken, and Gabe exclaiming frequently, <b>I love chicken! </b>And <b>I love Nana and Papa!</b> And various other things that he loved. That boy loves many things.</div>
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We wanted to stop and eat chicken and call it a picnic before the chicken got toxic, so somewhere around Detroit Lake we pulled into a state campground. We thought we might be able to sneak into a quiet spot, devour the chicken, and then sneak out again without having to pay the $5 for parking. We drove around the maze of campsites and couldn't find the promised picnic area, but finally stumbled on a covered barbecue area after we tried to get out of the campground and got lost again. </div>
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Gabe was very hungry and gobbled up a surprising amount of fowl. We ate quickly and disposed of the bones, washed our hands in the conveniently placed water spigot, and made tracks to leave again. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMPfu5bB1H83G8ey1w8qWC_4UEhp6WIH8xQehhGipgMaesJiQpJ5gl3CvCILCI-rvet1ySgac5MXjN9qQ26nso9mSouv0VmmzI18Og1MiO6e7JWgKVV4IUO1dOSiwPUqfdKpBNWi0XaU/s1600/IMG_20170602_143602139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMPfu5bB1H83G8ey1w8qWC_4UEhp6WIH8xQehhGipgMaesJiQpJ5gl3CvCILCI-rvet1ySgac5MXjN9qQ26nso9mSouv0VmmzI18Og1MiO6e7JWgKVV4IUO1dOSiwPUqfdKpBNWi0XaU/s640/IMG_20170602_143602139.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Jeff was just rearranging the car again... </div>
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WAIT!!!!!!!!! Do you see this? My new car! I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!! After driving my Grandam for almost fourteen years, Jeff declared it was time for something new. I was kind of used to babying it along, but we needed something that would get us out to Central Oregon in the wintertime without having to get snow tyres put on his car every year. We settled on this Subaru Crosstrek and we adore it. If you are thinking about a Subaru, talk to me and I will tell you all of the reasons why I love it so!</div>
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<i>Back to regular programming.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMymjoFTnMPTiNSXW-9rnhL7-RhWrMu5McyBhWpHQ2oXdSU5ht8HMCa77HD0t7k3jagTVV87G9bz3CZF5qDi0fEa6OI9sG9BNbKoRxzfnn6EsSbpH8VgqgsnCI2JCfZlRk7NwIs-6vqhU/s1600/IMG_20170602_143617041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMymjoFTnMPTiNSXW-9rnhL7-RhWrMu5McyBhWpHQ2oXdSU5ht8HMCa77HD0t7k3jagTVV87G9bz3CZF5qDi0fEa6OI9sG9BNbKoRxzfnn6EsSbpH8VgqgsnCI2JCfZlRk7NwIs-6vqhU/s640/IMG_20170602_143617041.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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...and up drives a park ranger in his little electric cart. </div>
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Oops.</div>
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Um, we got lost officer, and we were just repacking the car and getting ready to find our way out. </div>
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Which was true. Mostly.</div>
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We will surely go to hell for our prevarications. </div>
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Just as well the chicken bones were already disposed of.</div>
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And the chicken grease washed from our fingers.</div>
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He kindly directed us out of the park and on we went.</div>
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Detroit Lake was looking more full than we have seen it for years. Sadly, I found out the next day that it was also full of toxic green algae. That can kill you.</div>
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<b>I love that lake! </b>pipes up Gabe from the back seat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUHlHjuEEhFQ1tcpHK9psEW3kCyQbsCeYXUQus1Dw7817qvhH2ug60s4AkjNTbguEzBXzsxw-LFAsSaJXO2FTkFMIlmGIXwjTIT28DvoJo_cw3L7HxvTEx3exP63wKAumqUyKpsXOh-Fg/s1600/IMG_20170602_150616746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUHlHjuEEhFQ1tcpHK9psEW3kCyQbsCeYXUQus1Dw7817qvhH2ug60s4AkjNTbguEzBXzsxw-LFAsSaJXO2FTkFMIlmGIXwjTIT28DvoJo_cw3L7HxvTEx3exP63wKAumqUyKpsXOh-Fg/s640/IMG_20170602_150616746.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We stopped in Sisters and checked out my favourite cotton clothes shop, but nothing caught my eye. Gabe scored a windmill and we got a couple for his sisters. He was happy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnj1t6UXNehY8-UffmM6luQCrDbMVgUjy7aYh6fuw8yiIvFS1h8fbxp4-wcDVv_Y1s02A4a-BTQI02yK2LaLfaiqiTaAq5k8NXssB0WKEHtI7lvCKdffY49xYl0JPcL9iwLRmarrEhx0/s1600/DSC02097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnj1t6UXNehY8-UffmM6luQCrDbMVgUjy7aYh6fuw8yiIvFS1h8fbxp4-wcDVv_Y1s02A4a-BTQI02yK2LaLfaiqiTaAq5k8NXssB0WKEHtI7lvCKdffY49xYl0JPcL9iwLRmarrEhx0/s640/DSC02097.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The next day we went down to the pool. Gabe's anticipation was intense, but the reality hit him as soon as he dipped his toes in the water and then he wanted nothing more to do with it. </div>
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Well, Nana wasn't going to stand for that, so I did some stern talking and cajoling and bribing and threatening, and he finally allowed me to hold him close and walk around the shallow end. I sneakily encouraged him to be braver and braver and by the end of the hour he was having a blast, holding onto a borrowed pool noodle and walking along the shallow edge, working his way further and further out into the water as the minutes ticked by. And, of course, he didn't want to leave, but Papa had had enough.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklwoYGfz2OFILr4OeXvHd52dBW0meftaQ2ZP8y5q9U_mmDW9eSwvo3AVFwP_yxM6olYRwqqolI6_81uvErE1wsY7QQY4BfDASLrCnrzFPs_cnI8A91kLZZoC2FSoIxKJ2X8lOcerrTe4/s1600/IMG_20170603_154739831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklwoYGfz2OFILr4OeXvHd52dBW0meftaQ2ZP8y5q9U_mmDW9eSwvo3AVFwP_yxM6olYRwqqolI6_81uvErE1wsY7QQY4BfDASLrCnrzFPs_cnI8A91kLZZoC2FSoIxKJ2X8lOcerrTe4/s640/IMG_20170603_154739831.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We did puzzles.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrTsbCGHp4ilX2Ecipw3EfXovYn3cGXOY49vTcxkRdUuIUGZR-is-tuRSceijStIWLEO8WQDxJvHzJbWRRmVC8oHIl9xhNfAnOpimJ_n66BLlPFBgP6sffGQ2NuCgaiYVZKakF6dOcsM/s1600/DSC02090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrTsbCGHp4ilX2Ecipw3EfXovYn3cGXOY49vTcxkRdUuIUGZR-is-tuRSceijStIWLEO8WQDxJvHzJbWRRmVC8oHIl9xhNfAnOpimJ_n66BLlPFBgP6sffGQ2NuCgaiYVZKakF6dOcsM/s400/DSC02090.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Gabe and I went to some garage sales and scored an epic train set for ten dollars. Gabe proved to be an avid shopper and tried to talk me into many things. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifabi43ERDQa99QgnMoxQpx5sy8GzI_aDhZ4hvZgYBJXGu7Nj9_Y82tEdsk7VsRr9KgPdbzHnbXnNQjfOl0I11dGEF3n8ntduu7g6yUaGtHrsJmv1jnoLyaUY-01WIlxVobVpny9n7q9E/s1600/DSC02095+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifabi43ERDQa99QgnMoxQpx5sy8GzI_aDhZ4hvZgYBJXGu7Nj9_Y82tEdsk7VsRr9KgPdbzHnbXnNQjfOl0I11dGEF3n8ntduu7g6yUaGtHrsJmv1jnoLyaUY-01WIlxVobVpny9n7q9E/s400/DSC02095+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We were back at the Ranch for the week of July 4th. I mosied around the acre taking photos of some of my favourite things. </div>
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I bought a pet carrier for ten dollars at a thrift store in McMinnville and the girls were quite happy to travel in it. Then they used it for a nesting box. One of my best buys ever.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2d4Y9TQiWZ3MSLyHXNOIxfKBk10JiUwWhtN3z1oW7PNw4wsswkLedC0kVSyCzl2AWMYgwfCi8m3QZG8uSDfP7olsokMUuLiSwlXnaP3ioTDD6OdgYm8yQGs8rzSce8CvnGumsZSyC4s8/s1600/IMG_20170701_202130965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1076" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2d4Y9TQiWZ3MSLyHXNOIxfKBk10JiUwWhtN3z1oW7PNw4wsswkLedC0kVSyCzl2AWMYgwfCi8m3QZG8uSDfP7olsokMUuLiSwlXnaP3ioTDD6OdgYm8yQGs8rzSce8CvnGumsZSyC4s8/s640/IMG_20170701_202130965.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
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The lavender bush was blooming profusely and every day I picked some stems and put them in the sun on a baking tray. By evening they were fully dry and I've been using the dried flowers in flax pillows.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaB9wmx3WZu31YFCwfuXBW43J54ShCCFdBPmZuV2_QMSzBYzveg9n34Lm_K-SSS1qI0EIWhOAiECsdEGFQlBn6j3VoFhKzzFeKDwRJBf4I9kmCV-EtwzJCQlxEvQ4F5xT6FBqB3AK36j8/s1600/IMG_20170701_202540400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaB9wmx3WZu31YFCwfuXBW43J54ShCCFdBPmZuV2_QMSzBYzveg9n34Lm_K-SSS1qI0EIWhOAiECsdEGFQlBn6j3VoFhKzzFeKDwRJBf4I9kmCV-EtwzJCQlxEvQ4F5xT6FBqB3AK36j8/s640/IMG_20170701_202540400.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dandelions are not quite the same species out here. Somehow, I don't mind them as much.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKj1BVO4GO6SFohzAO1YFnry0sdaOiU6nfkihifvlRBODQ9nhNxFtIi5iZ4TEUeaVyL3_hui4keGyhexe9GJ30UoWdw4CVwpouC6HHvUHJUua5DbPlILZauKA_uPKFHeWjRydnfiwUAqs/s1600/IMG_20170701_202818142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKj1BVO4GO6SFohzAO1YFnry0sdaOiU6nfkihifvlRBODQ9nhNxFtIi5iZ4TEUeaVyL3_hui4keGyhexe9GJ30UoWdw4CVwpouC6HHvUHJUua5DbPlILZauKA_uPKFHeWjRydnfiwUAqs/s640/IMG_20170701_202818142.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Every time we go out to the Ranch we plant bulbs and weed and try to tidy things up a bit. I emptied these river rocks out of a vase in the living room and used them to pretty up some garden ornaments. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TceDdxDj7NBDbPKy2anJR-G6eHVD5Kd14HwCwezKtd_hFFUhrD42g1zcA2UGBpUXLBPSHusqsYB3W2ZvTzSg3jH8Oy5Ebndlf2TaLi3pOOZEttT2cbid3aid0JsTTutk5Sd9aAkZRAA/s1600/IMG_20170701_202845636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TceDdxDj7NBDbPKy2anJR-G6eHVD5Kd14HwCwezKtd_hFFUhrD42g1zcA2UGBpUXLBPSHusqsYB3W2ZvTzSg3jH8Oy5Ebndlf2TaLi3pOOZEttT2cbid3aid0JsTTutk5Sd9aAkZRAA/s640/IMG_20170701_202845636.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNK1Fi4tVM0qeE6Ul5qbhfaCZ8XY4PFnDkVGJlpTQL9GrtbbbeJYcql-AZQtkF0UcnI-eVjydrbBd6NTZj-RGWO-0X2JDczPx98EHe5UApvJ5ATFl9dMfUhc0PqZK6md3inktVN3Fxzs/s1600/IMG_20170701_202938736%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNK1Fi4tVM0qeE6Ul5qbhfaCZ8XY4PFnDkVGJlpTQL9GrtbbbeJYcql-AZQtkF0UcnI-eVjydrbBd6NTZj-RGWO-0X2JDczPx98EHe5UApvJ5ATFl9dMfUhc0PqZK6md3inktVN3Fxzs/s640/IMG_20170701_202938736%257E2.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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We bought this bird house at the farmer's market and it had sparrows nesting in it. They were very perturbed at us for infringing on their privacy.</div>
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The yucca plants were pretty until the deer nibbled the blossoms.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidIwB3sPn71OKucrCKJhKmgSUnn40hArT1uqz5wOgAyuzugqwQHPAAX7EwIUr-CdYg59iDUn4y_lEmI4LNb2uyQGL3uDIxCTSxxORgXFdMV-LUebT6eYyKx7jbUdcEuTq_mBMZDJvXLg/s1600/IMG_20170701_203024968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidIwB3sPn71OKucrCKJhKmgSUnn40hArT1uqz5wOgAyuzugqwQHPAAX7EwIUr-CdYg59iDUn4y_lEmI4LNb2uyQGL3uDIxCTSxxORgXFdMV-LUebT6eYyKx7jbUdcEuTq_mBMZDJvXLg/s640/IMG_20170701_203024968.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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We've been painting the gazebo, hoping to extend the life of the wood by a few years. Still not finished.</div>
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Jeff dug this flowerbed out a few years ago and we have been gradually filling it with irises and catmint. I think we are at the tipping point where there is more space covered in desirable plants than weeds.</div>
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My sister sent me a deer.</div>
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She did.</div>
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It found its home, gazing at the real thing in the gardens below.</div>
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We bought new blinds for the uncovered windows and Jeff installed them with a minimum of fuss and bother. </div>
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Score.</div>
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This has been the best year for mariposa lilies. We love them and every day we wandered around the acre searching for new blossoms.<br />
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It's our little bit of Paradise, albeit a dry and windy one. Come up and see us some time!</div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-13706497533231210712017-02-19T16:12:00.000-08:002017-02-19T16:12:33.177-08:00Wild turkeys, Red Rocks, and Buffalo Bill in Denver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Continued from <a href="http://nostalgic-nana.blogspot.com/2017_01_01_archive.html">this post.</a></div>
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Jeff had a couple of clients in the Denver area, so I went with him. If he had his choice, I would go with him every week. </div>
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It was a big change of temperature from Atlanta to Denver. </div>
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Jeff's first client was in Parker, so we drove south to our hotel. The plan was for me to drive him to the place of business in the morning and then I would be free to explore until it was time to pick him up in the evening and drive up to Evergreen to the next client. So the next morning I threw on some clothes and off we went. The route did not go as expected. We wound up some windy roads into the hills. It was a residential area and we wondered how we were going to find a manufacturing plant up in those hills. This is what we found when we reached the address.</div>
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Wild turkeys.</div>
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And deer.</div>
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And some very nice houses. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7eKcEwh6_NjuPSiIdNALoOM1DPffHkaD-UcDUo0VJr4pm93h1Fq83313rciBfOvGhlOVNXcEyEUnJ_fX__5uadvBvSaKbcKqToSuNla1IS97yBM9TxHjKKWmWQkWrwf25qmyHPcYC0U/s1600/IMG_20161121_082631280%257E3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7eKcEwh6_NjuPSiIdNALoOM1DPffHkaD-UcDUo0VJr4pm93h1Fq83313rciBfOvGhlOVNXcEyEUnJ_fX__5uadvBvSaKbcKqToSuNla1IS97yBM9TxHjKKWmWQkWrwf25qmyHPcYC0U/s640/IMG_20161121_082631280%257E3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O-OIUU-c7XSgKwMJriq0JPk85IGDDSpdffw_ApOvDtY2x5nKiXaOES3wHJySjidLgG3AU3JyXhN_goZz-jyrthF1REN2Gxw8vp-0CGqynWlsxjSLU1aIEed1baRgz8oiPSevfjkITos/s1600/IMG_20161121_082354228%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O-OIUU-c7XSgKwMJriq0JPk85IGDDSpdffw_ApOvDtY2x5nKiXaOES3wHJySjidLgG3AU3JyXhN_goZz-jyrthF1REN2Gxw8vp-0CGqynWlsxjSLU1aIEed1baRgz8oiPSevfjkITos/s400/IMG_20161121_082354228%257E2.jpg" width="376" /></a></div>
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Jeff called the client and apparently she had written her home address on the client form instead of her place of business. So we hot-footed it back to the hotel, I took a quick shower and packed my bag and off we went. To Evergreen. Same address as the second client.</div>
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Life seldom goes as expected. </div>
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Jeff had been in the area and done some exploring on previous trips, so he suggested I visit Red Rocks and Buffalo Bill's grave. I decided on Red Rocks first and set off up the freeway. It was only a few minutes' drive and it was easy to tell when I got there. </div>
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Red Rocks. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHONEWw6mbYRAZVYL_PEoGMI1hLK46OWsrB3cb7VXQNB5qOFQLj_UJlXsbKQe0Nxz6S3f6pbMuuHtF0lKd3Rct4xkVcJFfbecGncWhqyh0bXubdZYS8RTiAQ487iVINsl5-xeKNDzTZo/s1600/IMG_20161121_111305791%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHONEWw6mbYRAZVYL_PEoGMI1hLK46OWsrB3cb7VXQNB5qOFQLj_UJlXsbKQe0Nxz6S3f6pbMuuHtF0lKd3Rct4xkVcJFfbecGncWhqyh0bXubdZYS8RTiAQ487iVINsl5-xeKNDzTZo/s640/IMG_20161121_111305791%257E2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I parked in the lot above the amphitheatre. I kept stopping to take selfies in front of the magnificent rocks but nothing did them justice. And then I saw the amphitheatre itself. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRRXYEzW0hyZLmrdVBwjZSZuRjQBo-4iAtmJrFmkA5HSd1f2Ki27tgvCZ7-sYTMum5ar11p4Lo_1xIzAZmCj490jIWtacImGhbXpZp9GGajvKwjFtVpSRmdkf1R1nkRUqWboSDygqGZk/s1600/IMG_20161121_102849578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRRXYEzW0hyZLmrdVBwjZSZuRjQBo-4iAtmJrFmkA5HSd1f2Ki27tgvCZ7-sYTMum5ar11p4Lo_1xIzAZmCj490jIWtacImGhbXpZp9GGajvKwjFtVpSRmdkf1R1nkRUqWboSDygqGZk/s640/IMG_20161121_102849578.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL4gQjC53f_2rHNm5-OY64mB3GgG-6HijeeLF8TJYRCaRSK8jFuDuW-NEOCzTUFZUkq8hsgybbhx_byJGD_EqWWu8yG2PlDEGNyDmfyRo85pr_fCF5rQIv3IHDVlp38VA-U82xnRZ9yg/s1600/IMG_20161121_102829006%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL4gQjC53f_2rHNm5-OY64mB3GgG-6HijeeLF8TJYRCaRSK8jFuDuW-NEOCzTUFZUkq8hsgybbhx_byJGD_EqWWu8yG2PlDEGNyDmfyRo85pr_fCF5rQIv3IHDVlp38VA-U82xnRZ9yg/s640/IMG_20161121_102829006%257E2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It is a marvel of engineering, set right into the rocks. Concerts have been held at this venue for over 100 years. The amphitheatre was built between 1936 and 1941 using labour and materials provided by the CCC and WPA. So many famous bands and artists have performed here that it boggles my mind: The Beatles, Jethro Tull, Jimi Hendrix, John Denver (of course,) Carole King, The Carpenters, The Grateful Dead, U2, Coldplay, just to name a few. Jeff's favourite concert DVD of Piano Guys takes place at Red Rocks and many other bands have produced concert albums here. </div>
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This photo isn't mine, but it gives you an idea of the majesty of the place.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxI_wOQ8TRopSipWjn22F5X4BcWRx0oHGBTM9VWNCg1CyhVHVIquo3sAZHJ_hizR5CDgUxmJmvjQYYrTfJjDEa677GOZXyuKIRnwz8qmbyoKKUfbuj9zoqndMenZXHKRNR1OQupB_4tw/s1600/Red_RocksAir1879SM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxI_wOQ8TRopSipWjn22F5X4BcWRx0oHGBTM9VWNCg1CyhVHVIquo3sAZHJ_hizR5CDgUxmJmvjQYYrTfJjDEa677GOZXyuKIRnwz8qmbyoKKUfbuj9zoqndMenZXHKRNR1OQupB_4tw/s640/Red_RocksAir1879SM.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think it's kind of amazing that this whole place is open to the public. It is frequently used by people for exercise. The venue seats almost 10,000 people and a flight of 380 stairs on each side of the seating provides a natural site for athletic types to show off their cred. The woman in the blue tank top was squat jumping up the seat levels. Crazy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Xu_9RfZ_zgL2I6C6bRjYW3QAFpCt-0ot7iHp4Ivd2zmJKTTIF8rm1rKnXLHGtzAx-AaaXIpj7XcBPf-werHRb5qh0__IBQDkRr57T8V6Pw0hz2JPv6tgTOXKdIfMmZ4fOH4IJq3Tv4/s1600/IMG_20161121_105148308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Xu_9RfZ_zgL2I6C6bRjYW3QAFpCt-0ot7iHp4Ivd2zmJKTTIF8rm1rKnXLHGtzAx-AaaXIpj7XcBPf-werHRb5qh0__IBQDkRr57T8V6Pw0hz2JPv6tgTOXKdIfMmZ4fOH4IJq3Tv4/s640/IMG_20161121_105148308.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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There she goes!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZbz4WpyLjCmyJ1hKtPIqRKLSk1B0PV88jD7FQlTqOe9aN0Vc39eEWRjW1hGJqtXUb4D79nI9YYozXdpz70eEXYYnflTMoXbUF1hnVpbrE7Fx3eXvqeZrx_R3KzYb0tzN2WBfkEjCuPc/s1600/IMG_20161121_105157363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZbz4WpyLjCmyJ1hKtPIqRKLSk1B0PV88jD7FQlTqOe9aN0Vc39eEWRjW1hGJqtXUb4D79nI9YYozXdpz70eEXYYnflTMoXbUF1hnVpbrE7Fx3eXvqeZrx_R3KzYb0tzN2WBfkEjCuPc/s640/IMG_20161121_105157363.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The view from the stage.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhfWyAh38CyMeRXQyezkhScf5i8Zeq9LSzOVmS_afN9WeQtkfWxSpvAbiXcKgljbUXgQTQjEHhMSnEuYwk8_r17x7nJFtIwVaKYcnpB_jXCdziSsgEypLpIG_89lp6s-MT7_2tV77XAI/s1600/IMG_20161121_105243243_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhfWyAh38CyMeRXQyezkhScf5i8Zeq9LSzOVmS_afN9WeQtkfWxSpvAbiXcKgljbUXgQTQjEHhMSnEuYwk8_r17x7nJFtIwVaKYcnpB_jXCdziSsgEypLpIG_89lp6s-MT7_2tV77XAI/s640/IMG_20161121_105243243_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Carrying on down the steps and past the stage, you approach the hiking trails, which are 6,280 feet above sea level. </div>
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The Trading Post Trail is only 1.4 miles, so I thought I would give it a go, in spite of the elevation. I surprised myself by thoroughly enjoying the solitary walk. There were a few fellow travelers, but for the most part I was the only human in sight and I was okay with that. It was a gorgeous day, warm and with the occasional cloud flurry, and I walked with my mouth open at the magnificence of the scenery. </div>
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The trail starts to lead back to the beginning. I was a bit hot and thirsty but reluctant to leave.</div>
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I went back up to the amphitheatre a slightly different way and was glad that I hadn't seen this before I started my walk or I may never have continued.</div>
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This time I walked up this man-made path. </div>
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Up the stairs this time. These are not included in the total of the 380 stairs by the seating.</div>
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And there they are.</div>
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Up we go!</div>
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I was a smidge tired after all of that stair-climbing and rock-clambering, but the day was yet young so I drove to Buffalo Bill's grave on Lookout Mountain. This overlooks the Rocky Mountain foothills and the Western plains, where Bill Cody spent many happy times.</div>
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Cody died in Denver in 1917 while visiting his sister. He had told his wife that he wanted to be buried up on Lookout Mountain, so he was buried here June 3rd, 1917. His wife, Louisa, was buried next to him four years later. There is <a href="http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-buffalo-bill-grave-20150716-story.html">some controversy on the subject</a>, as the good people of Cody, Wyoming also claim that he is buried on Cedar Mountain, just outside his home town. It's an interesting story if you care to follow the link. Their foster son, Johnny Baker, was so worried about the feud between the two towns that he reburied the Codys under a ton of concrete to discourage any possible theft. </div>
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The weather took a turn for the worse by the time I got back to the car so I went back to the hotel until it was time to pick Jeff up again.<br />
That night we drove all the way up to Fort Collins to visit with some dear friends.<br />
The next day I took late checkout and was completely slothful. It snowed overnight so after I checked out I sat in the lobby by the fire until it was time to leave.<br />
I rather enjoyed my little break from the norm.<br />
Now I want to see a concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.<br />
Another jaunt for The List.Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-35719775646094093952017-02-13T08:29:00.001-08:002017-02-13T08:29:30.739-08:00Nana Files Day Four: a mishap or two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Seven o'clock arrived just as promptly as ever and we made a quick start on the morning by playing outside. It was sunny and windy and cool. The girls discovered the joy of <a href="http://nostalgic-nana.blogspot.com/search?q=wall+sitting">wall sitting. </a> And we kicked balls around. </div>
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We took a morning break from the TV, much to London's disgruntlement, and listened to children's songs on Alexa. There was much singing and dancing.</div>
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It was a nice overcast day, so after nap (Scarlet slept for three hours, I think I am wearing the little darlings out) we set off for the first park again in the wagon. I felt pretty energetic, much less achy than I've been for a while, so I figured the exercise was doing me good. We were almost to the water tower when I realised that one of the girls' water bottles was missing. Miss Scarlet must have biffed it over the side. Casualty number one of the day. I decided to wait until the walk home to look for it, as we were more than halfway to the park.</div>
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Miss London was full of smiles on the swing again.</div>
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And Scarlet rampaged all over the play structure, waving at everyone she saw. The girl has never met a stranger.</div>
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We had gotten a late start on the adventure, thanks to Scarlet's long nap, so it was after five when I finally talked London into leaving. I had promised her that we would stop by the lake to feed some bread crusts to the ducks, so we went home a different way. We were walking on the path by the lake and I was thinking to myself how nice it felt to be walking and not be in any kind of pain when BAM! I hit the ground, making a very inelegant and primal noise as I fell. I lay there for a moment, feeling all of the pain that had been absent a moment before, and a nice lady came up and asked if I was okay. I checked myself over, noting bruised knees and palms and wounded pride, but nothing apparently serious. She helped me to my feet and I hobbled off. </div>
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We stopped a few yards on to feed the ducks and a couple of geese who were, of course, voracious in their feeding and so London hot-footed it back to the wagon and Scarlet chased the birds. Scarlet threw an 8.5 on the Richter scale fit when I made her get back in the wagon and then I noticed that my favourite Vista balloon cap was gone. I had put it on Scarlet's head because the wind was nearly at gale force and I thought it would help protect her little face. I was reluctant to allow another casualty of the outing so I retraced my steps and luckily it was lying in the middle of the path, just around the corner of the lake. </div>
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On we went. Pretty soon, Scarlet had had enough of being in the wagon and so had London, so London pulled the wagon while I held Scarlet's hand. The going was veeeerrrrryy slow.</div>
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We made a detour back to the highway where the water bottle had escaped. I figured there was a slim chance we might find it on this part of the route. We arrived at the intersection and I scanned back down the road where we wouldn't be walking in case it was visible. Nope. Then London said, <i>Look Nana, the top of the water bottle! </i>I couldn't see it at first and doubted her, but then I saw it, sitting on the grass on the corner. It was only the top and it had obviously been run over by a car, but what are the odds of it being right there where we joined up with the highway? Bizarre. Sorry Sam.</div>
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The highway was a wind tunnel, it was ferocious. We were walking into the wind, poor Scarlet was facing it and there was not a thing I could do. She pulled her coat up to her face and sucked madly on her thumb. The poor dear was terribly tired but was such a trouper. </div>
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Neither child took much convincing at bedtime. </div>
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Me, I took three ibuprofen and watched the latest episode of Mercy Street then went to bed. I feel better than I thought I would this morning, just some stiffness in the parts that hit the ground, so the damage must not have been too bad. Either that, or I have mad recovery skills. </div>
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If you know me, you will be surprised at this next photo. I think it's the first picture I have ever posted of a cat anywhere. Mad Max and I have a tenuous relationship. He claimed my stomach a couple of nights ago and I was okay with it until he started attacking my nice new watch that my honey gave me for Valentine's Day. Then he was ousted. </div>
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I'm not sure who will be happier to see Mommy and Daddy, Max or the girls!</div>
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<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-41471770255899860902017-02-11T19:40:00.003-08:002017-02-11T21:54:07.124-08:00Nana Files the Thzzzzzzzzz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We were all worn out last night and the girls went to bed slightly early. I, however, have been riveted to The Storyteller, by Jodi Picoult. I have a love/hate relationship with the woman; she is such a good writer but I sometimes hate her topics and her endings often leave me traumatized. This book has me hanging on every word, even though I don't anticipate a satisfactory ending. Holocaust stories rarely have one. So after blogging and watching the latest NCIS episode, I read till midnight when I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. </div>
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Bad Nana! Pretty sure I dreamed about concentration camps all night for my sins. </div>
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Seven o'clock rolls around at the same time every morning and so it did again this morning, and with it two little angels who came to bounce about on my bed and torment me until I cried "Uncle!" and dragged myself out of it.</div>
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We had a slow morning, due to me burying my head in the book every time it looked like things were clear for a few minutes. Sadly, the telly ruled. I redeemed myself by playing a "cooperative" game with London while Scarlet was napping. We lost to the board. Don't ask.</div>
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After Scarlet's nap and Nana's shower, we headed off in the car to a new playground. It is less than two miles away but there is absolutely no way to walk there while pulling a big wagon full of two little girls and their paraphernalia. Too many busy highways with no sidewalk. So we drove. </div>
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The girls looked so cute this morning that I tried to snag a good shot of them when we got to the park, before they got disheveled. Like that ever works. This is as good as it got.</div>
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London likes to carry all of the snacks etc in her purse. </div>
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She climbed up right away on this ....whatever it is....and had a great bouncy time. </div>
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I put Scarlet in too, but she hasn't figured out yet how to stabilize herself against the rocking, so after a couple of good head bumps I let her run free.</div>
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London has no fear on slides and was trying her skills at climbing up them today. This one was too steep and she kept sliding backwards. </div>
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I spent most of the time trying to remain a foot behind Scarlet as she climbed and ran and generally took my breath away as she trips lightly past all of the gaps in the play structure. It was a hot day and very windy, like yesterday. You can see how her dress was billowing out and her hair is all astray.</div>
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Yesterday, London was reluctant to go very high on the swing. Today, she wanted to go "way high." I told her she was so brave.</div>
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Scarlet just sits and enjoys the moment. No demands, no complaints, just happy to be there.</div>
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We took snacks. You know we did. Blueberries, bread, cheese crackers, and two of these.</div>
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I never shop at the airport on principle because of their ridiculous prices, but I stopped to look at the clearance table at the Made in Oregon store and found these caramels for 99 cents. Which I thought was an okay deal until I noticed the regular price. Seriously? $11.95 for eight caramels? Shirley they jest? So I bought two packets and every now and then the girls and I share one. Little tiny bites. London thinks they are manna from heaven. Scarlet offers no opinion but gets a slightly rapturous look on her face every time I pop a morsel in her mouth.</div>
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Pardon me for an unreasonable number of these poses, but how can I not? The child is edible.</div>
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Against London's protests, we stopped at Sprouts on the way home. Why don't we have these in Oregon? I seriously love this store. </div>
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I bought clementines, mineral salt deodorant, organic chocolate bars, bulk dark chocolate-covered blueberries and cherries, and raw cashew nuts. Scarlet kept pulling things off the shelves in spite of being strapped into the cart (my baby entropy radar is underdeveloped) and London was never pushing or pulling the cart in the same direction as I was, but we managed to get out of the store without getting in trouble. London repeatedly told me she needed a sucker. At the checkout counter I noticed a little container of the beasts. I said, <i>Look London, lollipops! Do you want one of these?</i></div>
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<i>Those aren't lollipops Nana, they're SUCKERS!</i></div>
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Oh, okay. Pardon my childhood.</div>
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They were blissfully happy all the way home. For the whole five minutes. Note the glazed look in Scarlet's eyes.</div>
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London's friends were playing outside when we got home and she nagged me until I let her go out too. Scarlet was looking decidedly sleepy so she ate clementines and watched her tunes. London got slightly injured and came in for comfort, wanting her mommy. When I reminded her that mommy and daddy are coming home in two days she said happily,<i> And you're going home Nana! </i></div>
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I decided to lay that one at the feet of the gods who overlook the insults of small children. </div>
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A single chocolate-covered blueberry cured what ailed her and she soon ran outside again.</div>
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A snack of yogurt and clementines was just the thing before bed. </div>
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Scarlet screamed like a banshee when I put her to bed. For about twenty seconds. I held off till 7:30 in the hopes that she sleeps an extra half hour in the morning. London fell asleep watching Octonauts and was highly insulted when I woke her up to put on pyjamas and get in bed, but was likewise out in seconds once she quit complaining. </div>
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And now it's just me again, ignoring the dishes until tomorrow and anticipating collapsing in bed with the book. </div>
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I may or may not have been talked into another trip to the park tomorrow. This time in the wagon. </div>
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We shall see. </div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-24291084641662271522017-02-10T19:46:00.001-08:002017-02-10T20:00:29.738-08:00Nana Files the Second<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I learned a few things yesterday.<br />
Number one, don't feed the little darlings their yummiest things for breakfast, it's a waste of a good appetite. Save the yummy things for dinner. So we had eggs and french toast. Scarlet gobbled it down but London was playing hard to get.<br />
Fine, I said, you can eat it later. Less chocolate milk for you tomorrow.<br />
So she pulled her craft bins out of the pantry and concentrated on her art for a while.<br />
The blue face in the top right corner is me. Be jealous.<br />
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And this is her whole family, including Wrangler and Max, the cat.</div>
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And after an hour or so of painting, Miss London cleaned her plate and declared it was time for ice cream. Er, okay, why not?<br />
So they ate little bowls of ice cream.<br />
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Scarlet got pretty mad when her bowl was empty. This was after she forgave me.</div>
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While Scarlet took her nap today we made <a href="http://nostalgic-nana.blogspot.com/search?q=banana+bread">banana bread.</a> As soon as she woke up we left, me pulling the wagon full of two girls, a picnic, and jackets. (Lesson number two, always take jackets.) This lake is halfway to the park and we quacked at the ducks and admired the scenery. </div>
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We picnicked on cookies and banana bread (tasty! said London) and apples and ran around the play structure and mostly I chased Scarlet while trying to simultaneously keep an eye on the wagon and on London, who is remarkably daring in new situations for a timid child. One poor little girl threw her coat into our wagon and took a drink out of one of our cups, thinking it was her family's wagon. She was so embarrassed when her dad told her what she had done that she started crying and they had to go home. </div>
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I was trying to get a good picture of Scarlet's gleeful expression so I stopped the swing. She stuck her little nose up in the air and turned her head away and wouldn't look at me until I pushed the swing again. Not even eighteen months old and a force of nature already.</div>
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The sun was low in the sky when I finally convinced London it was time to go home. I decided to take a different route to avoid a nasty road crossing that hadn't been apparent on Google maps. We passed right by the water tower. I love water towers, for no significant reason.</div>
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On the way home we picked a few pansies from flowerbeds at the intersections. London said her favourite colour was pink and the pansies weren't pink so she didn't want any. Fine, I said. After Scarlet had ripped apart several differing shades of pansies, London did a little pout because she didn't have a flower. Well, sez I, you only wanted a pink flower and pansies aren't pink. Do you want a different colour next time we see some? She nodded. And collected a purple pansy at the next corner. </div>
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Score for Nana!</div>
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It was a long walk home because of our wee distractions, especially when Scarlet decided that she was going to be a hellion unless I let her walk with me. It was only a little over three miles round trip, but pulling the wagon made it seem more like double that distance. Plus, I am not in the best shape of my life, sadly. Five minutes before we reached the house I looked back at the girls and London was sitting upright with her eyes closed. She had fallen asleep. I put her head on my purse so that she wouldn't fall out of the wagon.</div>
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And so went the second day. One of the blessings of being a nana is being able to look after grandchildren when their parents take some much-needed time to be together. It makes me a bit sad that the girls probably won't remember this weekend, but perhaps some day, when they get older, they will read this and get an inkling of how much their nana adores them. </div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-57087171640345808172017-02-10T18:52:00.000-08:002017-02-10T18:52:56.987-08:00The Nana Files:Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Whenever I arrive at Charlie and Sam's house, I usually get the most enthusiastic reception from the weimaraner. Not that the rest of the family snubs me, they just don't follow me everywhere I go, leaning up against me and trying to knock me over. </div>
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I am in Texas to spend a few days with the little girls while Mommy and Daddy have a long weekend on their own. Luckily, Wrangler went to spend the weekend in a kennel, or I might have spent the whole time on the floor.</div>
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Scarlet looked a bit confused when she woke up on the first morning to find Nana was the only adult in the house. After a few minutes she seemed to accept her fate and snuggled in while she drank her green juice and watched nursery rhymes on the telly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhj7WYMB_l33usTUl8Aj3dhYJ2Vx0_bsjXLZVrbt69cndwkyb0V1u2X4SmthVji8peYYhz227sQZmZxDrwowMgTX6KKchAao1xhZ8TtH2I6O162ivE9lL2PY6cIRIjfp43Sam-LT7YAjg/s1600/IMG_20170209_101150489%257E3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhj7WYMB_l33usTUl8Aj3dhYJ2Vx0_bsjXLZVrbt69cndwkyb0V1u2X4SmthVji8peYYhz227sQZmZxDrwowMgTX6KKchAao1xhZ8TtH2I6O162ivE9lL2PY6cIRIjfp43Sam-LT7YAjg/s400/IMG_20170209_101150489%257E3.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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London had a whole list of things that she was "so excited" for us to do together, so I didn't get to sit on my laurels for too long. I thought she might like this hairstyle because it kept her hair out of her face. </div>
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After a morning of doing bubbles outside and playing, Scarlet went down for her nap and London promptly went into event planner mode. First on the agenda was cookie-making. Chocolate chip with pink sprinkles. I tried to talk her out of the sprinkles but no deal. London is quite the little baker for being not even four yet. I turned away for a moment and a rather large amount of sprinkles went into the dough. My plan had been for her to shake the sprinkles on top of the cookies so that not all of them would be sprinkled, but I was foiled before I even started. </div>
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Then on to the Valentine craft that Mommy had bought at Hobby Lobby. Or so London informed me. And look what happened to her hair. She went to the bathroom and took an inordinately long time so I went to check on her and she had very carefully taken out the band that held the two braids together, unwoven the braids, and left her hair in the two pony tails.<i> I don't like it tight, </i>she said when I tried to tidy up the pony tails. </div>
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Okay then. Scruffy ponies it will be.</div>
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She really stuck to the job and pretty soon there were three hearts stuck to every ladybug wing. That's 24 of them, in case you were wondering. Nana had to do the rest of the gluing but she helped by sorting the pieces out and handing them to me as I needed them.</div>
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Then it was time for a cookie break. </div>
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<i>Delicious</i>, she said.</div>
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We went for a walk, me pulling the big wagon, in the afternoon to look for a neighbourhood playground, but I didn't do my research before we left and the girls were getting cold so we turned around and came home after about half a mile, determining we would try again the next day. Dinner, another cookie or two, and a movie, and pretty soon we were all in bed. </div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-53245239953086378242017-01-09T22:57:00.001-08:002017-01-12T08:20:37.594-08:00Segways, fishies, and battlefields in Georgia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Jeff and I had some family business in Georgia in October. After it was all done, we spent a couple of days in the Atlanta area and then I went with him to Denver on his business trip. It was my first time in both places, other than layovers at the airports.</div>
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Ever since I saw a group of people on a twilight Segway tour of the capital in Washington DC that one time we were <a href="http://nostalgic-nana.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-sin-by-silence-when-they-should.html">protesters</a>, I have wanted to ride one. I noticed an ad online for a tour in Atlanta so we decided to go for it. We took a Midtown Atlanta Segway tour at 2 o'clock on a very cold and windy afternoon. </div>
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But first, seeing as how we arrived in central Atlanta early and had an hour to kill, we took a ride on Skyview Atlanta, which was just around the corner from the Segway office. </div>
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It was slightly interesting and we got to see some of the Atlanta buildings, but on the whole we thought it was a waste of $30. I did like these solar panels on the roofs of the parking lot structures though. Seems to me it's a win-win.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sadly, the Segway company doesn't give you much time to take photos, so this is the only one Jeff got of me. But let me tell you, I rocked the beast. It was such fun, in spite of the ferocious wind! We were chilled to the bone by the time we were done. The tour went for about six miles. We even got to do a Leonardo di Caprio-on-the-bow-of-the-Titanic move. From now on, every city tour I take will be on a Segway. And Jeff wants to buy one. Or two. Sadly, the price is prohibitive.</span></div>
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Jeff is getting his Segway legs. It's actually a bit hard on the leg muscles. The movements to control the machine are very subtle but taxing over the course of a couple of hours. It was hard to walk when we finally got off the machines, and we kept wanting to tilt around the corners and bend our knees when we walked over bumps.</div>
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But I did manage a selfie in the square by the Coca Cola museum.</div>
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People made of people.</div>
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We never miss a good aquarium, so the next stop was the Georgia Aquarium. The displays were amazingly beautiful.</div>
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We managed to catch a dolphin show, but the lighting was not conducive to photos. </div>
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The next day, before we went to catch our flight, we drove up to the Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Park. We took the tour of the Visitors' Center, which covered the history of the Civil War from a fairly unbiased point of view, and then drove to Cheatham Hill for a small walk around the battlefield. </div>
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If you know anything about Jeff and me, you know that we visit battlefields. This was a whistle-stop but we were so glad we made it. One of Jeff's ancestors fought here. It was interesting to visit a battlefield in the South, as all of the others we've seen were in the North. We wished we had had time to walk some of the many trails in the park, as the woods were so beautiful on this autumn day. These photos were all taken on Cheatham Hill.</div>
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This is the Dead Angle. It is a field that was totally covered in union soldiers' bodies and the two sides called a truce so that they could bury all of their dead.</div>
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If you are interested in learning more about Kennesaw Mountain, <a href="http://www.civilwar.org/battlefields/kennesaw-mountain.html">this </a>is a good reference.</div>
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Next up, adventures in Denver.</div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-1737346421826098452016-10-01T14:44:00.000-07:002016-10-06T17:15:21.395-07:00My sister, my friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I count myself blessed to have a sister, even though we have spent the majority of our lives separated by very large oceans. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqn-if31clAjx8GNUAzkFCRzulhGaSB57EeS6I8cCJW-KMsexBMUYDj3GTrgF2VfaismxnDC0sQDA_3xgBz9NK3p_c3fOzS776LnsmMaey_hzWedR-s-BcfdI_MKLFCiTHaD4VoibzQw/s1600/10352974_705224996234160_2493743432966741452_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqn-if31clAjx8GNUAzkFCRzulhGaSB57EeS6I8cCJW-KMsexBMUYDj3GTrgF2VfaismxnDC0sQDA_3xgBz9NK3p_c3fOzS776LnsmMaey_hzWedR-s-BcfdI_MKLFCiTHaD4VoibzQw/s320/10352974_705224996234160_2493743432966741452_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
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Like many siblings, we didn't always get along when we were children and teenagers. I have memories of being squished together in the front seat of the family car and complaining to my parents that Anne was breathing on me. Or touching me. We were, however, a constant presence in each others' lives and it is an interesting exercise to compare our shared and separate memories of our younger selves.</div>
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Our teens were a time of emotional distance. I was basically too selfish and absorbed in my own life and friends to pay much attention to my younger sister. We are separated by three years in age, which, as teenagers, was almost as vast a gulf as the physical distance that has separated us since we became adults. As the older sister, it would have been up to me to initiate closeness, and it's one of my biggest regrets in life that it never occurred to me to do it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZP1PnHikVpatn0Mgmr8CmqMKvVKAJ06wJXR-baEBL9lTCrNuTbaPLAwO0jSvxvDEce661tDLtMMv2KALVy2abIGxlz7EmnnH8eWT7ye8Ax4zG9vRNxmBRyEMyEVYIIB-p5ExL8zy0CU/s1600/IMG_20160823_185815156%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZP1PnHikVpatn0Mgmr8CmqMKvVKAJ06wJXR-baEBL9lTCrNuTbaPLAwO0jSvxvDEce661tDLtMMv2KALVy2abIGxlz7EmnnH8eWT7ye8Ax4zG9vRNxmBRyEMyEVYIIB-p5ExL8zy0CU/s640/IMG_20160823_185815156%257E2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">Here we are in August, enjoying a community outdoor blues concert. Anne is wearing her special hat. The one she wears to annoy her husband, who has a much more conservative fashion sense than she does. It shows up in many pictures. </span></td></tr>
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For the first twenty-five years of our married lives, Anne and I only saw each other three times. Let's just agree that flying a family of five or six people from the USA to New Zealand, or vice versa, is a major financial commitment, and neither of us had the means to do it regularly. We wrote, sent birthday and Christmas boxes to each other's children, and occasionally talked on the phone, but whole segments of our lives were unknown to each other. </div>
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In the last ten years, I have been blessed to be able to visit "home" every two years, so Anne and I have spent more time together. And in August, she and John came to visit and for five weeks we lived in each others' pockets. And now they are gone again and there is a hole in my life that I didn't know existed. </div>
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Rather than dwell on the pity party we are both having right now about being separated again, I am sharing photos of us. And remembering the good times. The hilarious times. Because when we are together we tend to laugh so much that sometimes I have to rush to the toilet before I humiliate myself. Sometimes it's too late, which the husbands just don't understand. </div>
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We attended a memorial service for Jeff's dear cousin, Janet, and afterwards spent a happy hour at the International Rose Test Gardens in the west hills of Portland, with a whole bushel of cute grandchildren. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSe_OrAJXFDVzUUEY8D_qTmVq0Sij7tUVIsGmYsso3qd2bgqAaKdGk_Ripfc6spqNhgXte3J_O09NUyIzGEEqW0-O2bUqq9mTnHcLGKMSCio4FuaOLTo7uLlfBVRZ7jSOIrBeJO1XgPtw/s1600/IMG_20160821_164752580_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSe_OrAJXFDVzUUEY8D_qTmVq0Sij7tUVIsGmYsso3qd2bgqAaKdGk_Ripfc6spqNhgXte3J_O09NUyIzGEEqW0-O2bUqq9mTnHcLGKMSCio4FuaOLTo7uLlfBVRZ7jSOIrBeJO1XgPtw/s640/IMG_20160821_164752580_HDR.jpg" width="416" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkF3-gzJuZucEq7kNpqReatrdBgtdSzr2_tRTYgAXXtu_Xya_MIORMHe1Lj57aOhZbGnTIybApeWXUj56v_JKtEz05uX8SqJzpKRF9Hb2dYWjQ0hNVXvtJQQTigEvL8ZwerKypQpg3dY/s1600/IMG_20160821_164700822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkF3-gzJuZucEq7kNpqReatrdBgtdSzr2_tRTYgAXXtu_Xya_MIORMHe1Lj57aOhZbGnTIybApeWXUj56v_JKtEz05uX8SqJzpKRF9Hb2dYWjQ0hNVXvtJQQTigEvL8ZwerKypQpg3dY/s640/IMG_20160821_164700822.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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A few days later, we took twenty people to spend four days in a mansion at the beach. It was crazy and busy and fun. Here we are at the beginning of the stay.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsTmQk3HxBoRqcHoXK1x_deYkgl_5SmaTa_DRKhffKDolVfFN_O-V_S2WFi1hgYhf0OE0aUCw7DZh1iOSwsBjcNUrlynI8DZD73ElHCHcNCMnafSBz7VtlWNFO6rzhkUv_wEhlEvFGNg/s1600/IMG_20160825_142111100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsTmQk3HxBoRqcHoXK1x_deYkgl_5SmaTa_DRKhffKDolVfFN_O-V_S2WFi1hgYhf0OE0aUCw7DZh1iOSwsBjcNUrlynI8DZD73ElHCHcNCMnafSBz7VtlWNFO6rzhkUv_wEhlEvFGNg/s400/IMG_20160825_142111100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeTsKryUT5QZmQKRwpbOndgVuyxKs54GfP3EwNNmCQsDXDAjA2f9MvPO-ZPWAilZdXmUP7-DFtYL7v4L9tM_qzPELJ5-3_q44Q8YWNTxrujSMtGTWeu81F9RmmX_BUGsgNeQ4jxKqP10/s1600/P1020581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeTsKryUT5QZmQKRwpbOndgVuyxKs54GfP3EwNNmCQsDXDAjA2f9MvPO-ZPWAilZdXmUP7-DFtYL7v4L9tM_qzPELJ5-3_q44Q8YWNTxrujSMtGTWeu81F9RmmX_BUGsgNeQ4jxKqP10/s400/P1020581.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O9ocjoI9bSjzfFf09ZJ7RR1sHVSx2iXRXDbJsF_8vZIquw4-0_VV0UvJuDvW5gC01fyCLfq-aamH9rXvJn9p_EqBQEpfeo2q19sf0qReekJN879rhZd5w02YTpLlCI4oN1GTIBYcDUE/s1600/P1020582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O9ocjoI9bSjzfFf09ZJ7RR1sHVSx2iXRXDbJsF_8vZIquw4-0_VV0UvJuDvW5gC01fyCLfq-aamH9rXvJn9p_EqBQEpfeo2q19sf0qReekJN879rhZd5w02YTpLlCI4oN1GTIBYcDUE/s400/P1020582.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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One day, the four of us escaped from the mayhem and took a little drive down the coast. We ate lunch at the Sea Hag in Depoe Bay and took our time exploring some new and old (to us) places.</div>
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We made the men try on some coats at the factory outlets in Lincoln City. They were not persuaded to buy any of them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7mAL2pVADh1SAsNe6RE3Jr19UvYcotIPprAHzAttHhHPputuDMKs4T79UHR2xHHzxJvmk1QFgOfvTnp9bZId1sCg1n-YPjRcO20bYCUS-zQlupdnXrnaoSr94IrJS60WKP92T7Ql1XM/s1600/IMG_20160826_105402946_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7mAL2pVADh1SAsNe6RE3Jr19UvYcotIPprAHzAttHhHPputuDMKs4T79UHR2xHHzxJvmk1QFgOfvTnp9bZId1sCg1n-YPjRcO20bYCUS-zQlupdnXrnaoSr94IrJS60WKP92T7Ql1XM/s400/IMG_20160826_105402946_HDR.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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Anne and I tried on some hats in Depoe Bay.</div>
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And yes, I bought mine. But only because Jeff liked it.</div>
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We loved these crazy old lady hats at the artist's co-op in Lincoln City. The men were very <strike>disturbed</strike> impressed by them as well. We would have bought them just for the shock value, but didn't feel like shelling out ninety bucks right at that moment.</div>
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We stopped at a pottery place that I have been wanting to see for years. </div>
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Anne bought me a mirror I was admiring.</div>
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And I bought her a couple of little pieces that she loved, just <strike>so that we were even</strike> because we love each other so much.</div>
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We went out to Vista House for a few days and visited the Painted Hills and the Newberry Volcanic Monument. </div>
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Pretty sure Anne is taking a photo of my bottom in this picture. It was a recurring theme. </div>
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On the way home, we met Bethany's family in Sisters. They were on the way out to VH for the weekend. My grandkids love their Aunty Anne. She brought them a massive amount of presents and spent lots of time with them, and I think they love her almost as much as they love me. Maybe more. But I'm not a bit jealous because she loves them too, and the more people that love each other in this world the better.</div>
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And then we walked around the town taking Sisters photos, because how could we not? </div>
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My grammatical self wished there were apostrophes in the signs, but we can't have everything, can we?</div>
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We took a cruise to Alaska for our last two weeks together. It necessitated a car journey to Seattle, light rail into a hotel in downtown Seattle, and an Amtrak journey early the next morning to Vancouver BC. We arrived at our hotel in the early afternoon. The men were beat and wanted to take a nap, so Anne and I took a bus to <a href="https://www.capbridge.com/">Capilano Suspension Bridge Park</a> and spent a few hours in the trees, <i>sans</i> men. </div>
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We walked along suspension bridges and suspended walkways between giant trees. It was amazing.</div>
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And I caught her coming out of the toilet!</div>
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And later, Anne let me eat a squishy Hershey's milk chocolate with almonds bar that she had been carrying around in her purse for days, because she takes care of me like that.</div>
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The next day, before we boarded the ship, we all took the bus to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanley_Park">Stanley Park</a>. We had plans to take a shuttle bus around the whole park, which is over 1,000 acres, but after spending a fruitless half hour trying to track it down, we discovered that its services had finished for the season. Phooey.</div>
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So we rode a little train (John's long legs were severely constricted) and then attended a military memorial service for Polish soldiers in Canada in the Second World War, which was a serendipitous aligning of events. </div>
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There were bagpipes. And men in kilts. And a marching band.</div>
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We finally made it to Alaska. This one is in Ketchikan. </div>
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We took a tour to Mendenhall Glacier from Juneau, and walked from the visitors' centre to Nugget Falls. There was a very nice girl helping people across this difficult spot on the trail and I thought how generous it was of her to do that. I figured she must've helped a few people and then got stuck there. Anne laughed and said no, she is a park ranger. Now I ask you, since when do park rangers wear skirts?</div>
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Oh well, she was still very nice.</div>
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During a tour to the Yukon from Skagway, we stopped at Caribou Crossing for lunch. And petted sled dogs.</div>
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In Fairbanks, just before returning home, we had dinner in a bar across the road from the hotel. The food was unmemorable, but our waitress was the sweetest, a girl named Angel from a remote native village on the coast. Anne and I were wearing our new hats. A lady who was working on the curb repair (which must be a constant task in Fairbanks because of the snow ploughs) admired them immensely. </div>
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Well, that is that. Life is back to as normal as it gets around here.<br />
It occurs to me that my sister and I were raised by the same mother, who is, above all, a nurturer.<br />
And that is what we do for each other.<br />
Which is kind of nice.Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-68710240297147366232016-08-16T10:04:00.000-07:002016-08-16T10:04:47.757-07:00Triumph of the smart phone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If you know me at all, you know that I am a dedicated and purposeful Luddite. I resist all new technology until I can no longer escape its snare. For years I clung to my old texting phone, which I considered to be all I needed because it had a little keyboard rather than the old phones which had buttons that you had to press multiple times to choose letters. I declared frequently (and annoyingly too, I am sure) that I refused to own a phone that was smarter than I. When I found out about Republic Wireless, I mulled over the possibility of switching to their service before I was forced by changing technology to make a choice. I liked their low low prices and choices of plans, because I didn't figure on suddenly becoming a constant user of my phone just because its capabilities had increased. </div>
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I finally took the plunge, partly because I thought the camera on the phone might make up for the loss of my camera. And thus, because my phone is truly smarter than I am, I'm stuck with uploading photos from the phone to the blog, one by one, in a painfully slow fashion. Which causes much procrastination on my part.</div>
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So these photos are from our visit to Texas in April to see these lovely girls.</div>
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Scarlet really loves her papa.</div>
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London takes her art very seriously.</div>
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We went to the Perot Museum and London gathered groceries...</div>
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...and drove the delivery truck.</div>
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Scarlet was happy just hanging out with Papa some more.</div>
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And just because one can never get too many views of this sweet face.</div>
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I showed London how we could put Scarlet in the buggy and there was no end to the fun after that.</div>
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And here is London enjoying a drink of hot chocolate in her new Peter Rabbit cup.</div>
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We miss these kids.</div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-31862219782783108892016-05-04T20:56:00.003-07:002016-05-04T20:56:52.266-07:00A very round numberBirthdays.<br />
Love 'em or hate 'em, they still roll around every danged year, regular as clockwork, and they cannot be ignored, as much as we might try. I have been downplaying mine for a few years (<i>Oh, I don't want a fuss, I have everything I need, it's no big deal)</i> and most people seem happy to oblige. Jeff is usually out of town and it tends to be a normal day, except for a slightly unsettled feeling that I should be having a more outlandish time than usual, even though I'm not.<br />
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May is a month of birthdays in our family.<br />
<i>So is December, but that's mostly Bethany's fault for giving birth to three of her five children in that worst of birthday months. And my sons didn't help by marrying girls with December birthdays.</i><br />
<i></i>My sister and I have birthdays that are four days apart, and Tommy and Jeffrey's are both in May, as is London's. I've probably forgotten someone. <br />
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My aunties in England have always been very faithful senders of thoughtful birthday cards. When I was a young girl, the cards often had my name in shiny letters on the front. When I was 21, I got a special card with a plastic silver key in it, which is an old English tradition. Several birthdays with nice round numbers have been remembered with cards bearing the appropriate numbers.<br />
And this year is no different. These cards have been sitting on the TV cupboard for a few weeks now. The aunties always send cards by surface mail, being frugally minded, but I think they arrive in much less than the promised six weeks because we generally get Christmas cards several weeks before the day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Aunty Marg and Uncle Fred</td></tr>
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I've been thinking lately of birthdays when I was young. I only remember one party with friends, and it was the month before we left England for New Zealand. Anne and I had a joint party, due to the previously mentioned proximity of our birthdays. It was probably the most exciting event in my life up to that point. My friend Janet gave me two books from the <a href="http://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk/malory-towers.php">Enid Blyton <i>Malory Towers</i></a> series. They went to New Zealand with me and I read them many times before they finally fell apart. </div>
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I don't remember any other presents from that birthday. But I do remember how thrilling birthdays were in general, due to the simple fact that we got a few presents from our parents and our aunties and uncles. I still have some of the well-read classic books I received for birthdays and Christmases. And there were a couple of beloved dolls that almost survived to be loved by my daughters, but they didn't fare well being packed in a heavy trunk for a few years. As in, their faces caved in and their arms and legs fell off. Sad.</div>
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One year, when I was about thirteen, I got a briefcase for my piano music and a few other things for school and I was almost giddy with happiness. It didn't really take much to satisfy us because the acquisition of new things was a relatively rare event. Throw in a nice birthday dinner and cake made by Mum and we called it <strike>good</strike> spectacular.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From my cousin Lynne</td></tr>
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The sheer joy of occasionally receiving a small new possession will never be realised by any of my grandchildren, and I think it's kind of sad. I'm not saying it as a criticism of anyone, it's just the way things are these days. Families have more disposable income, items are cheaper thanks to the invention of plastic and trade agreements, and commercials are ubiquitous. Moms have to be constantly vigilant to stay ahead of the clutter caused by the mostly disposable possessions of their children.<br />
The discrepancy, of course, is no greater than between me and my parents. Their tales of receiving an orange in their Christmas stocking and the subsequent bliss as they ate it is a great contrast to my childhood of plenty of good food and every comfort I needed and wanted.<br />
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I guess the point of this post, if I could quit my rambling reminiscences, is that birthdays tend to be a bit full of angst for most of us as adults.<br />
Kind of like Mother's Day.<br />
We don't want to be seen as expecting a big amount of hoopla, because that would be needy and embarrassing, but the kid in us wants someone to throw us a party or take us out on the town to celebrate the fact that we exist. And usually it doesn't happen. Which is okay, because I would hate the pressure of trying to do that for everyone else in return, but I do think it's nice to have a big shindig once every decade or two. Like the surprise 40th Jeff and a friend threw for me twenty years ago. Crikey.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G5bmgbIbzhs_vA2klGlc3a7EHO7grf3uyplxqUhhWI0UQ9ruzd7Zf6Yz3uVBG-xq9WeFvBpfV5acInrGQimF9co14DTCJ2_beMfaCH8Vaqlsvz8_KZyDTaKKdobg5vlcqCYNHfVBr2M/s1600/Scan1-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G5bmgbIbzhs_vA2klGlc3a7EHO7grf3uyplxqUhhWI0UQ9ruzd7Zf6Yz3uVBG-xq9WeFvBpfV5acInrGQimF9co14DTCJ2_beMfaCH8Vaqlsvz8_KZyDTaKKdobg5vlcqCYNHfVBr2M/s320/Scan1-001.JPG" width="250" /></a></div>
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I threw myself a birthday lunch a couple of years ago and asked people to donate to MamaBaby Haiti instead of bringing a gift, if they were so inclined. It was genius. I got to enjoy the company of my friends and MBH was blessed. Nobody seemed to think it was weird or, if they did, they kept politely quiet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Aunty Connie, rocking the personalized card concept</td></tr>
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I once knew a mother who gave each of her many children a birthday week.<br />
EVERY. STINKING. YEAR.<br />
Now there are some kids who will have some serious expectations of birthdays for the rest of their lives! My kids felt lucky to get a birthday dinner with family. Parties with friends were limited to ages 5, 8, 12, and 16, with a surprise party around age 10. I am, I suppose, the birthday Grinch. To which fact my grown children will attest, because I am just as likely to forget to call them and their children on their birthdays as to remember, although I never forget to send presents.<br />
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So there you have it. My ruminations on birthdays.<br />
What, you thought I would reveal a life-changing truth?<br />
Nope. Still as angsty as ever.<br />
But if you are wondering, I despise snacks that are made from seaweed or kale, so if you are thinking of commemorating my birthday with some kind of deliciousness, those are not it.<br />
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Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-20704697686818673842016-04-21T01:35:00.001-07:002016-04-21T01:35:33.373-07:00An unusual spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's a running joke with most of the USA that Oregonians have webbed feet from all the rain. While we have more rain than freezing temperatures in the winter, and spring is usually wet enough that we don't have to start watering the gardens until June, we actually have lots of sunny or partly sunny days all through the winter season. This winter was unusually rainy. I think we set some records, but it is a good thing because there was <i>mucho</i> snow in the mountains and hopefully some of the lakes that have been low will get filled up with the snow melt.</div>
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Our spring has also been rather astonishing. Last week and this week we have had several days in a row in the high 80's. I believe this has also been record-breaking. All of the spring flowers have sped through their days of prettiness and are now bundles of wilted leaves. Roses are blooming and everything is a most brilliant shade of green. I am enjoying it now, but am a little afraid of what the late summer will bring if everything blooms out ahead of schedule.</div>
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But enough of doom. Just for the record, let's take a walk around the garden and admire some of the beauty.</div>
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Coral bells are looking splendid and I am hoping for some hummingbird action very soon. I have been collecting huechera (pronounced hoo-keh-ra) plants for some time and now have a nice selection of varieties with different coloured leaves.</div>
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The shade bed always looks good at this time of year, but it is quite outstanding right now. Earlier, it had displays of snowdrops and hellebores. I'm not sure I have ever bought a hosta. I just filch them from friends. And while I did buy a few ferns, they keep throwing out babies and I keep transplanting them to other parts of the garden.</div>
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When I went to England about twenty years ago, I brought back (quite illegally I am sure) a packet of aubretia (rock cress) seeds. The little darlings have served me well, spreading and surviving in spite of summer hardships. They brighten up the late spring garden in several hues of purple.</div>
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After being without a greenhouse for the better part of two years, Jeff has almost finished the new one. I rather love it. It has been a labour of love, although I sometimes have to put a damper on the more grandiose plans that enter his head. There are tomato and lettuce seedlings growing in there right now. </div>
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Lilies of the valley have come into their own this year, multiplying like rabbits. I adore them. The little bell-shaped flowers are completely adorable and the scent is delicious. My mum knew I loved Yardley's Lily of the Valley perfume and she kept me well supplied with it, so they always remind me of her. </div>
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I have a love/hate relationship with aquilegia, commonly known as columbine. They are prone to much self-seeding and revert quickly to the wild variety, although this lot by the snowball tree have retained the double flower, for some reason.</div>
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And these in the front flower beds have reverted. I try to cut down the spent flower stems before they go to seed, or chaos quickly ensues.</div>
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And the snowball tree, which looks quite lovely right now but which annoys me most of the year. I keep threatening to chop it down. Well, Jeff would actually get to use his chain saw on it, which would make him a happy man.</div>
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Violets, one of my favourites, the first little start of which I actually filched from an acquaintance's pot. And no, I never confessed, so every time I look at them I feel a twinge of guilt. But it is now populating several spots in my shade area.</div>
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The rain is on its way back to our weather forecast, so who knows what the garden will look like in a few days, but I have enjoyed seeing everything in the full glory of the sunshine. Colours are brighter in the sun. </div>
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And a note on the photos. I lost my camera at Six Flags of Texas last fall, but I just got a smart phone (I know, late to the tech party as usual) so these are camera pictures. The focus is a bit dim when it comes to close-ups, but I think it's not too bad overall. One of these days I must commit to a better camera, but I have to make too many decisions in my life lately and that one must wait for a while. </div>
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Happy spring!</div>
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Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-85854760308204746002016-03-26T02:37:00.002-07:002016-04-07T04:34:04.048-07:00A brief musical history. Of me.Sometimes, when I tell my piano students that I have been playing the piano for over fifty years, I wonder how that can be possible. I see astonishment, awe, and sometimes a complete lack of understanding in their eyes as they try to assimilate that fact. And it makes me laugh.<br />
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I began taking piano lessons at the age of eight, and I think it was just because Dad decided I should. I really wanted to be a ballerina and ride horses, but I took to the idea and it changed my life. Not in the way people use the phrase these days, like when they find a new cookie recipe or a new pair of shoes. It really did play a big role in how my life went from then on. Dad told me that if I learned to play the piano I would always be popular. I don't think he meant "popular" in the high school sense of the word, but that I would make friends through it, and that has certainly been true.</div>
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I don't remember my first piano teacher's name, but she was a nice elderly lady and I enjoyed my lessons and playing the piano at home. I was very excited when I got to the point that I was playing two notes at the same time and I distinctly remember asking Mum and Dad to come and watch me do it. </div>
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I can picture her house and even the garden, as Dad must have done some bartering of plumbing work for piano lessons and he took Anne and me with him and we played in the garden while he worked. My teacher lived in Badsey, which was only three miles from our house in North Littleton. The piano/sitting room was the first door on the left as you entered through the front door and went down the hallway. The room was very cold in the winter and I am pretty sure my teacher must have had an electric heater going, but it didn't help much. For a long time I thought she had a gurgly stomach, but then one day I realised she had a hot water bottle on her lap!</div>
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I studied for the piano and theory exams of the Trinity College of Music and sat one exam of each every year. We used to have to drive to Cheltenham, which was about 20 miles away. I always got good marks in the exams but my knees used to shake something terrible when I sat the practical exams. It was just the examiner and me in a room together. I played my pieces and he sat and wrote comments and graded me. It was very scary. I always loved the theory exams, they were much less pressure and I just enjoyed my theory. I loved to play Strauss waltzes.</div>
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When we moved to New Zealand, Dad found me a new piano teacher. Her name was Dame Ella Hall and she had been a famous concert pianist in Europe in her heyday. When I knew her she was in her eighties and I think she had early dementia. She wouldn't remember anything from one week to the next and I quickly learned that if I forgot my list I could get away with anything. She was still a good teacher though! When I started high school at CCNZ, I began taking lesson from her daughter, Dolores Hall, who taught me for the next five years. She kind of doted on me and I got by with a minimal amount of practice. She always told me that I could play with feeling, unlike the students of the other teacher at the school. She was being a bit snotty. I enjoyed playing the piano during those years and learned to play hymns for seminary class and also played for school assemblies and choirs. I loved to play songs like The Entertainer and pop songs. When I practised classical songs at home, Dad would often yell out, Why don't you play something we all know? He bought Lily of Laguna for me to learn, as it was his favourite song. I still have the sheet music. It is very politically incorrect. Here it is if you want to sing along. </div>
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<i>Oh, well, that one only has the innocuous chorus. The original lyrics are<a href="http://ingeb.org/songs/shesmyla.html"> here,</a> if you want to scorch your eyeballs. It was written in 1898 by a British composer and was performed by blackface performers, who were very popular in England for many years. I remember watching them on the telly as a child. As time went by, the racist lyrics were stripped out of it until it became a mostly innocent love song. </i></div>
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I started an organ class at school but quit after a few weeks, I don't remember why. But I was called to play the piano for Sacrament Meeting when I was about 17 and I did it happily. One day, a member of the Bishopric came up to me and said, Why don't you just play the organ today? So I did. I made a right mess of it because it takes such different technique and I hadn't played it for a while. Dad got up to speak and said something about not knowing that I could play the organ, and apparently I really couldn't. I was mortified, but it was his way of being funny. But from then on I became an organist too, although as the years went by I quit attempting to use the pedals and just made up for it by using plenty of 16' stops.</div>
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I kept taking exams until 6th form. I was supposed to take the last level but I hadn't really practised diligently and was unprepared at the end of the year. Luckily, I got appendicitis and was in the hospital when I was supposed to be sitting the exam, so I didn't have to take it. Saved by a faulty appendix! I also took music theory during all five years of high school. </div>
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I continued to play for ward choirs and church and various other groups over the next few years. One of my missionary companions, Sister Barrott, also played the piano and we had a grand time playing duets together. I took lessons when I was pregnant with Jonnie and we spent some of our precious income on a used piano. I loved taking lessons from my teacher at Santa Ana College. I was taking a Music History class and the lessons came free with the programme. I felt like I learned a lot from that teacher, including how to play Chopin. He also commented to Jeff that I played with a lot of expression. After Jonnie was born I would take him to my lessons and the teacher would rock his little infant seat with his foot to keep him quiet.</div>
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I think back on all of the experiences I've had because of my ability to play the piano. I have played for weddings and funerals and even a party or two. I've accompanied many magnificent singers. I haven't been an exceptional piano player, not having the urge of a true artist, but I've managed to disguise the fact quite well for a long time! When I was working on my music therapy degree in my forties, I once again took lessons and this time I think I improved my talent more than all of the other times taking instruction. I loved the feeling of progression in my playing and played some pretty challenging music, as well as memorizing more than I had ever done before. </div>
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I started teaching a few students over thirty years ago. I have been trying to remember all of the people that I have taught over the years and the list is up to about 130, but I am sure there are more. Some only stayed with me a few weeks, some for years. None of my students have become concert pianists, but I think most of them learned to appreciate music. I taught my four kids to play the piano, with varying degrees of success, and now my grandkids. I love to see how music is such an integral part of their lives. It has been a long and winding journey, always challenging and mostly satisfying. Some days I still find myself leaving the music room at the end of teaching and doing a primal scream in the kitchen, but those days are in the minority. I am a lucky woman.</div>
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It turns out my dad was right: my life has been greatly enriched by all of the people that I have known because of this one simple fact. </div>
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I am a pianist.</div>
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My piano students after their piano recitals in May 2015.</div>
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Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-75070172816725474372016-01-04T21:53:00.000-08:002016-01-04T21:53:12.979-08:00That's all, she wrote<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Monday was another gloomy day as we set off north for Eilean Donan castle. Jeff had been wanting to visit this castle for some time as it used to be owned by the McKenzie clan, from which I descend on the maternal side. I was like, ho hum, another castle, but you know how we play along with each other's whims, so I went along with good humour.</div>
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The roadside never failed to entertain. This little area was filled with imaginative cairns. I love serendipitous stuff like this. I always wonder who stopped and took the time to build them. </div>
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And there it is. The pictures are not spectacular due to the lack of sunlight, but it is still an impressive sight. Eilean Donan means Island of Donan, and there have been fortified structures on this tiny piece of land since the 13th century. The size of the castle fluctuated over the centuries (for unknown reasons) and played its part in the Jacobite uprisings of the 17th and 18th centuries. It was finally destroyed by the British in 1719 when they were bombarding Spanish supporters of the Jacobites who were occupying the castle. The castle remained a ruin for almost 200 years until it was bought by Lt. Colonel John Macrae-Gilstrap. He, along with his Clerk of Works, Farquar Macrae, spent the next 20 years restoring the castle to its former glory, building it according to the surviving ground plan. </div>
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The castle is still owned by the Macrae family, who have a clan gathering every year and also use it for family holidays. I am glad that we toured the castle, as it was full of interesting history and intriguing stories of the family. I wouldn't mind having this place for a family getaway, although the heating bills are probably pretty horrendous! The family seems to managing it rather well, as all of the tourism pays for the upkeep of the castle. </div>
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This video came out a month or two ago. I was tickled when I recognised the castle and couldn't wait to show it to Jeff. </div>
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This was our last planned stop in Scotland, so we wended our way back down to Glasgow in the afternoon. Our last airbnb night was in a very lovely flat in Dumbarton, hosted by a very voluble lady who seemed to think that conversation between host and guests was mandatory, so we complied, or at least Jeff did. I was tired. But she did feed us hot chocolate and some fancy biscuits, so there was that!</div>
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The next morning we headed off to a mall to buy some last-minute presents for grandchildren. We found just what we were looking for and then headed back to the airport to return the car. I was very curious how many miles we had driven. The total was 1,650, which doesn't count all the miles we drove with Lynne and Richard. Of course, I wasn't driving then, thankfully. Considering that the entire length of the island is only 600 miles from top to bottom, I think that was a lot of driving! I was just grateful that I hadn't killed or maimed us, because some of those roundabouts are really treacherous for the inexperienced. </div>
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We felt very sad to leave Scotland and England and the people who are dear to us, but were excited to be going home, because look what happened when we were gone.</div>
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Little Scarlet Honor, grandchild number twelve, born to Sam and Charlie. And she is delicious.</div>
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Thank you for reading along with our adventures. I mostly blog for myself, but it does tickle me when people tell me they enjoy reading about our travels. And the best part is that as I write I get to relive it all over again.</div>
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Happy trails!</div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-73743687133524978982016-01-01T19:04:00.000-08:002016-01-01T19:04:26.010-08:00The Highlands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sunday morning was very dismal indeed, weather-wise, but we had people to see and places to go, so off we went. First stop was a B & Q just the other side of Glasgow. It had occurred to me that if I picked up some anaglypta wallpaper to take home with us, it would completely solve the stupid-Susan-used-too-much-extra-glue-on-the-wallpaper dilemma in our bedroom. With five rolls of this wallpaper, which can be painted the colour of my desire, the ugly walls will be well hidden. And the pattern is just stripes, so no matching required. </div>
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It was with great satisfaction that we continued our journey, which took us on this <b>crazy </b>road around Loch Lomond. A couple of times I thought we might die, I really did! Narrow and winding with nothing between us and the rocks on one side and the loch on the other. I was driving much slower than everyone else and had to pull over quite frequently to let cars go past, but I didn't care. Life is precious!</div>
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The day remained misty, which was unfortunate because things look so much prettier in the sunlight, but the scenery was still impressive.</div>
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The further north we went, the grander the scenery became, and once in a while the sun poked out its head. The mountains were awe-inspiring as they loomed over us. I was not expecting this.</div>
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We passed the Bridge of Orchy.</div>
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And many lochs.</div>
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In fact, we stopped so many times to take pictures that the four-hour drive took much longer. It seemed like every time we turned a corner there was another glorious vista just begging us to stop. We were definitely ruing our tight schedule.</div>
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We decided to pull into Glencoe, which is the site of a very famous battle. I think we were hungry, but there was no joy for us in Glencoe on that topic. But there was a street lined on both sides by very lovely houses, so we took a stroll down it before driving on.</div>
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On and on we drove, heading for our night in Fort William, which would only be a short drive from Eilean Donan Castle the next day.</div>
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The mountains became ever more rugged and impressive.</div>
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Every now and then, in the middle of these wild lands, we would see a lone house, and we wondered who was ferocious and wonderful enough to live there.</div>
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When we reached Loch Linnhe, the sun was doing its thing on the water. </div>
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We pulled over.</div>
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Fort William is the second biggest town in the Highlands. It is surrounded by mountains and is so beautiful it almost hurts.</div>
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This was our most expensive night of the whole trip, partly due to my procrastinating the booking of the room, but I think also due to the fact that it is so remote that everything is more expensive. We stayed in a bed-and-breakfast owned by an old lady named Marie who had been running the place for several decades. I don't believe she had ever married and it is how she has earned her living all her life. She was a bit curmudgeonly, but in an endearing way. I asked if she minded my cooking our dinner in her kitchen and she was reluctant, but finally decided she could trust me not to take advantage of the situation. She sat in the kitchen and harassed me in a friendly sort of a way while I was cooking, and finally told me that one time she had allowed an Indian family to cook their dinner in her kitchen and they didn't finish until midnight and made a terrible mess, so ever since then she had banned it. So I guess I was lucky she took a liking to me!<br />
Before dinner, we went for a walk down the river. Marie said it was a bit of a hike, but it was a skip in the park for us. Then she said because of her health she had rarely left the house in the last few years, so I guess it's all in your perspective.<br />
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The river was beautiful in the fading sun. There were several locks on it and they were all in the act of filling. We tried to figure out the mechanics of it all, but were not very successful.</div>
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This photo really gives you an idea of the size of those mountains. Ben Nevis is nearby, which, at a mere 4,409 feet, is the highest mountain in the entire British Isles.</div>
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This was one more place that we would have liked to spend more time and when I look at the photos I fall in love with it all over again. </div>
Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-10046305593519432042015-12-27T11:19:00.000-08:002015-12-27T11:39:16.162-08:00Dumfries and some Very Old Stones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Saturday only called for a couple of hours driving, up north to Dumfries. </div>
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Pronounced Dum-<b>freece</b>. Short "Dum," longer and accented "Freece." My husband torments me with the incorrect phonetic pronunciation every time. I figure, why not pronounce it the same way the locals do? But no, he has to be the American tourist every time. </div>
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Jeff wanted to see Cairn Holy, which has two Neolithic (very old) chambered cairns on some farmland overlooking Wigtown Bay, a bit south of Dumfries. They are estimated to date from around 4000 BC, which would be pretty awesome if they weren't so boring.</div>
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But before we got there, on the road from Dumfries to Cairn Holy, just outside Castle Douglas, we saw a promising restaurant called the Old School House. They advertised, among other things, a full meal for about ten pounds, no substitutions allowed. So we had the fish meal, which was very large and very hot, and not too bad once you got past your sizzled tongue. Then I had gingerbread pudding and custard, which had obviously been microwaved within an inch of its life, but was otherwise quite tasty. While we were waiting for the food to arrive, I went browsing in a little antique shop in the parking lot and scored some Irish linen tea towels. Which, I think you will agree, was quite exciting.</div>
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We continued down the road with pleasantly full bellies and arrived at the fascinating site of Cairn Holy very shortly. The countryside was picturesque, as always.</div>
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And behold the cairns.</div>
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And some cows.</div>
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And some cairns.</div>
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What did I tell you? Fascinating stuff!</div>
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The lane was rather charming.</div>
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And then we drove back to Dumfries to find our farmhouse for the night. The hosts were out of town at the last minute so we had the place to ourselves, which was quite nice because I was able to do our laundry and hang our underwear up in the utility room without fear of scandal.</div>
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Just before dark, we drove into town and took a walk along the river. There was a fair happening next to it, which was exciting.</div>
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Before retiring for the night, we visited the nearby Tesco and stocked up on tins of Cadbury chocolates to take home, which would be exciting for the recipients when we returned home.<br />
This wasn't our most riveting day of the trip, but it's okay to have a more laid-back day every now and then. And the next day was going to be one of much driving, so there was that.<br />
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-88716931817267028672015-12-26T19:56:00.000-08:002015-12-26T19:56:38.944-08:00Grasmere Gingerbread and a Very Long Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Friday dawned frosty and foggy, so we bundled up and drove north to a little town called Grasmere where, we had been told by a friend in the USA, we would eat the best gingerbread in the world. Grasmere is in the very centre of the Lake District and it is also the residence of William Wordsworth, one of my favourite poets.</div>
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We drove through the very small village, found the Pay-to-Park, and set off with the intent of finding the gingerbread shop at some point of our explorations. The village is unbearably cute and full of shops selling overpriced merchandise bearing the trademarks of Beatrix Potter and Wordsworth. We spent an unholy amount in one such shop, stocking up on gifts for grandchildren and friends, and decided we had better find the gingerbread shop before we regretted ourselves. We asked some fellow tourists for directions and discovered that the shop was out of town a little bit, along the road that we had walked from the car park. We retraced our steps through the churchyard where dear William resides with his family. He was born in the Lake District and lived there for much of his life.</div>
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From there, it was a short walk to the Grasmere Gingerbread Shop. The recipe was developed by Sarah Nelson, a domestic servant, over 150 years ago. The smell of gingerbread wafts along the street and greets you before you can even see the shop. There was no queue, surprisingly, so we bought our obligatory packet of exorbitantly priced gingerbread, Jeff begged for a photo (which only one of the shop assistants was happy about) and off we went.</div>
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I will say that the gingerbread is surprisingly delicious. I am a fan of all things ginger, but I had never tasted anything like this and gladly abandoned any pretense at being gluten-free for the day in order to partake of its goodness. It looks like graham crackers with a crumb topping, but I think the secret is the crystallized ginger that is in the soft and chewy cookie layer. If you ever get to Grasmere, a tiny little village in the centre of the Lake District, you must try some for yourself. And then tell me "thank you."</div>
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We hot-footed it back to Rydal, which was just a few miles back along the road we had come earlier, and parked the car. Sadly, the parking metre was broken, so parking was free. We did a little victory dance, filled the backpack with camera, maps, and vittles, and headed off up the road.</div>
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And I say "up" in a literal sort of a way.</div>
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Then, about a quarter of a mile on, I was unsure as to whether or not I had locked the car, so we turned around and went back. </div>
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Yes, the car was locked, but we obviously needed some more gingerbread, so we grabbed some to nibble on and off we went. Again.</div>
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The morning was still looking a little foggy but it was definitely lifting. We should have seen the signs and left our coats behind. But we didn't.</div>
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It was such a beautiful morning and everything was green and the day stretched before us with the thrill of the unknown. My heart was happy.</div>
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There were a few houses along the road and I was just thinking to myself that I was surprised that some entrepreneurial type hadn't thought to set up a refreshment stand when we came upon this.</div>
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Too bad the chocolate cake was out, or I might have succumbed to gluten-full temptation.</div>
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The road went on and on and we kept consulting the little map book that we borrowed from our host. We are used to hikes that are fairly well marked on the trails, where you can aim for one destination, or a loop, with perhaps some options of side trails along the way. And even on such delineated trails, the hubcap and I manage to get lost or take the long way around more often than not. When you hike the Lake District, we discovered, the land is criss-crossed with many trails, and very few of them are marked. So what some people do, it seems, is create hikes and turn them into books that contain very complete descriptions of the routes, so that you can choose a hike that covers the kid of terrain, mileage, views, and difficulty that you prefer. </div>
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Our hike this day would take us past some caves, right up and over Loughrigg Fell, and in a big loop back to where we started in Rydal. </div>
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Much of the time was spent looking down on views like this. This is Rydal Water. We could have taken a downward path and walked along the water, but our chosen route called for staying at a higher elevation and we didn't want to jinx matters, so we stayed where we were.</div>
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Walls also criss-cross the land, and are often mentioned in descriptions of the route.<br />
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I was reminded many times this day of Bilbo's song in Lord of the Rings.</div>
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<i>The road goes ever on and on</i></div>
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<i>Down from the door where it began.</i></div>
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<i>Now far ahead the Road has gone,</i></div>
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<i>And I must follow, if I can,</i></div>
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<i>Pursuing it with eager feet,</i></div>
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<i>Until it joins some larger way</i></div>
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<i>Where many paths and errands meet.</i></div>
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<i>And whither then? I cannot say.</i></div>
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Rydal Caves, which are man-made and were once mined for blue slate.</div>
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These drystone walls are everywhere in Great Britain, and there are hundreds of miles of them in the Lake District.</div>
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As you can see, things were getting steeper. I hadn't really planned to climb a mountain on this day, and nothing in the guide had hinted of it, but it seemed we were about to do just that. You see, I always thought that a fell was a moor. Which it is. It is also a barren or stony hill. So we were lured onto the barren and stony hill under false pretenses!<br />
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And up we climbed, with Jeff very generously climbing up behind me in case I fell backwards.</div>
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Every time we thought we had reached the top we would see another peak behind it.</div>
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And the day got hotter and hotter, and pretty soon I was deeply regretting my sweatshirt and heavy leggings.</div>
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There it is.<br />
The top.<br />
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We rested on our laurels and ate snacks for a little while. Truth be told, we were exhausted and were not even halfway through the route, so some recovery was needed.</div>
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On our way again, navigating became a little more difficult because of the many forks in the paths, but every now and then a cairn of rocks reassured us.</div>
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We saw a few bits of wildlife, including some pheasants.<br />
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And some hardy sheep.<br />
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The way was dotted with tarns, which are small mountain lakes.</div>
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Only tarn is so much more fun to say than lake.</div>
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The old man behind me was in his eighties.</div>
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We took a couple of wrong turns but then the description of the terrain wasn't matching the guide book, so it was pretty easy to backtrack until we found our mistake. And, truth be told, we could have probably continued on any path and found our way eventually to the same destination, but the promised eight miles wasn't something we particularly wanted to exceed.</div>
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This is a kissing gate.</div>
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So we did.</div>
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We were never really very far from civilization, even though it often felt like it.</div>
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Nearing the end.</div>
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Steps built into a wall.</div>
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We came out of the more wild trails onto a stony road that led along the Rydal River. Jeff was in a great deal of pain by this time, deeply regretting his refusal of my offer to buy him some nice cushy hiking socks from Costco. His toes were bloodied and blistered which caused his leg injury to flare up again. So I lent him my hiking pole and slowed my pace.<br />
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We came out at Rydal Hall, and I talked the mister into hobbling down to the grot and waterfall.</div>
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I think I need a grot.</div>
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We sat in the grot and watched the waterfall and rested for a few minutes.</div>
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One of us enjoyed it more than the other.</div>
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And then we hobbled back to the car park.</div>
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And one of us was much more happy than the other to see the car.</div>
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And then we went back to our lovely little billet in Grange-over-Sands and I cooked us an easy dinner and we hit the hay.</div>
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151235641702592022.post-27884226480790186612015-11-24T21:10:00.000-08:002015-11-24T21:10:25.889-08:00Promenades are my favourite<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After finding our next rental with some difficulty (why is it never easy?) and taking our delicious nap, we set off to walk the mile-long promenade and hopefully pick up some grub for dinner. Grange-over-Sands was originally called the-granary-over-the-sands for its grain mill and it is an unusual town, one that we would like to revisit some day. </div>
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We entered the promenade at the north end.</div>
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The grasses are a salt-water marsh. Sheep graze on it and the meat is a rare delicacy. The bay is constantly changing. People visiting Grange-over-Sands a few hundred year ago would cross the bay with the help of a guide from the local monastery. It was a dangerous journey, as the rising tide, quicksands, and swift currents could all be a traveler's undoing, but it was safer than braving the roads that were plagued by highwaymen. You can still cross the bay on certain days of the year with the official guide, but it is dangerous. </div>
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The sea used to come right up to the promenade, but in the early 2000's a buildup of silt caused by the construction of humans provided a base for the grasses. The river also changes its course over the years, depending on prevailing winds and other factors.</div>
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This is the railway that was built in 1857 and precipitated the growth of Grange-over-Sands into a busy seaside town. </div>
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It was a perfect evening. The railings had just been painted. I got the impression that they are a point of pride for the town and probably get painted often.</div>
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Looking across Morecombe Bay.</div>
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Jeff liked this parking sign. The British seem to take good care of their vets.</div>
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Lots of places on the promenade beckon the walker to take a closer look.</div>
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We left the promenade at the south end and walked into the shopping district to look for a supermarket. We stopped at Higginsons of Grange, an award-winning butcher, and bought some delectable pork chops and seasoned chicken breasts. Then on to the co-op for some veggies and I just happened to see two cream doughnuts marked down to 29p or something ridiculous so I nabbed those as well and ate them swiftly before I had second thoughts about the gluten. </div>
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Back to the promenade to retrace our steps. </div>
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Our host was spending the night looking after grandkids at their house, so we had the house to ourselves. I cooked an easy dinner and we had an early night. We had big plans for hiking the next day. Wonders of the Lake District, here we come!<br />
<br />Sue Ohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17580315531280521167noreply@blogger.com1