tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-177652022024-03-13T19:11:26.221-04:00House of LimeModerately risky and life-celebrating for over 40 yearslimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.comBlogger1738125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-1417241206897280202018-07-28T21:35:00.000-04:002018-07-28T21:39:02.902-04:00Falling from the Nest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWopKhQ86pKZWdbNMveK0TE9mkb-KCcP9ObA5IHESMQaMUStscraOTMu6tSDzOdkd_by3f0M8FpiPPNBN_eU4Ap7A1GLj1yoLNSx0pCKPRK7SbaD2UrMUMofdNSGjrjHYNFtu2/s1600/IMG_7287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWopKhQ86pKZWdbNMveK0TE9mkb-KCcP9ObA5IHESMQaMUStscraOTMu6tSDzOdkd_by3f0M8FpiPPNBN_eU4Ap7A1GLj1yoLNSx0pCKPRK7SbaD2UrMUMofdNSGjrjHYNFtu2/s320/IMG_7287.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mama sparrow flapped and chirped<o:p></o:p></div>
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With great fury<o:p></o:p></div>
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As my husband and I peeked in <o:p></o:p></div>
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on her babies,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Eyes open, feathers formed,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nearly ready to fly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The babies squawked at my camera lens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One fluttered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was it fear or anger<o:p></o:p></div>
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At these intruding giants?<o:p></o:p></div>
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He beat his wings<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until launching over the edge of the nest<o:p></o:p></div>
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Onto the pavement<o:p></o:p></div>
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Where he could only overcome <o:p></o:p></div>
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Gravity’s pull by inches.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh how Mama raged impotently then.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What could she do against us<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even as my husband<o:p></o:p></div>
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cupped her baby<o:p></o:p></div>
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To set him back in the nest?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I apologized to Mama,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Prayed that my own children<o:p></o:p></div>
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Would fly rather than plummet<o:p></o:p></div>
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in the coming days,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that I’d have grace to trust <o:p></o:p></div>
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In unfamiliar forces<o:p></o:p></div>
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Which I could mistake as malevolence<o:p></o:p></div>
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Should my fledglings fall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-6424872409109442822017-12-03T16:04:00.003-05:002017-12-03T16:46:14.094-05:00Ritual<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For as long as I can remember, my birthday has always
required that I take some time to draw away from people, become quiet, and send
prayers of gratitude for and toward the woman who gave me life. I think of her on other days of the year to
be sure, but on this day, because we shared it, because it is the day only we
share, because she was the mystery of my life, I need the quiet to give thanks,
to revere, to wish her well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s not a habit most other people ever understood. They might claim to understand the need but
they could really only understand that it existed and grant acceptance. They could not begin to conceive of the need
for silent connection across whatever the unknown distance was, the intensity of the drive toward reverence,
how wounding the thought of being denied the meditation is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the years the ritual has had different forms as I
matured. It went from childish
daydreams, to grieving a loss, to formal prayer, to longing, to wishes for her
peace and well-being. Sometimes it was
all at once. Always, it was wrapped in
silence. Usually, in solitude.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t recall which year, but in recent ones, perhaps it
was the birthday after I’d been declared cancer-free, I took my period of quiet
and sent out the wishes for my birthmother’s health in all manners, for her
happiness, and that she’d somehow know I was grateful to her. The words arose in my spirit, “Don’t you
think it’s time you tell her that yourself?” Hhhmm, maybe it was. But still I waited.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The last two years, I actually invited people into my
ritual. I’d found a local labyrinth and wanted to walk it as my birthday mediation. The first year I asked a dear friend to join
me, one who I knew enjoyed meditative practices and who, for different reasons,
had her own need to draw away for quiet reflection. We walked in silence following the path that
turned in and around on itself bringing us close only to separate us greatly
within the maze even though we remained a constant number of steps away from
each other. The metaphor for the twists
and turns life takes us on as we travel was rich. My friend and I embraced upon reaching the
end then basked in a few more quiet moments before exiting the path.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last year I asked my daughter to walk it with me. She’d been through some deep trials and I
knew the labyrinth was a place of refuge for her.
She asked if her friend could join us.
The three of us traced the winding labyrinth in silence, each alone with
her own thoughts but walking together to the end. Again we paused and shared hugs at the
center of the maze before departing.
There was a sweetness to sharing the walk with young women just
beginning their adult journeys. What I held
in my heart, was I had chosen to begin the journey an active search to finally
thank my birthmother. It was indeed time
I told her myself rather than sending those thoughts and wishes on the unknown
winds. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What I did not know was a year later the ritual would be
altered forever by having the mystery answered, by being welcomed into a space
that had always been reserved for me.
And so, on October 12, 2017, forty-nine years after being sent home with
a family who could keep me safe and provide what my birth mother could not, I
sat at her breakfast table. In pjs , robes,
and slippers we sipped coffee and tea considering what the day ahead would
hold. She and her husband assured me
that though they had ideas I was free to decline any or all of them because my
comfort and happiness with the day was paramount to them. I said all their ideas seemed perfectly lovely
and I welcomed them. I told them about
my ritual, admitted a sense of unease about abandoning it completely because I
still had need for the quiet even though I was sitting before them and able to directly
convey my lifelong gratitude for her selfless choice to protect my welfare. There
were smiles and comments affirming my need.
We almost moved thoughtlessly into the next topic but I said, “Wait.
This is significant. We need to take a
moment to hold this momentous occasion with reverence. I’ve waited forty-nine years to say thank you
to your face.” Then looking directly
into the eyes of the woman who carried me and sent me to my family without ever
being able to see or touch me, and with tears in my own eyes, I mouthed, “Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Later that day, in between activities, we took a drive
out to Presque Isle, a peaceful forested park with paths along Lake
Superior. We had about a half hour before dinner reservations and I
had not yet had my quiet. I asked if we
could take the time we had to do a walking meditation on the path
here. It was a straighter path than the
labyrinth, the curves more gentle. My
birthmother, her husband, and I walked along in silence breathing in the lake
breeze, watching sunlight filter through trees, feeling the crunch of leaves
underfoot, hearing the lap of waves on the shore. At the end, we embraced. I felt the contentment of knowing my
gratitude had been both given and received, of a mystery being resolved, of
being received with gladness like a new child.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I believe the ritual will remain for as many years as I
do. Though it is transformed from one of mystery to one of wonder, it will always
carry gratitude.<o:p></o:p></div>
limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-33408075224023302692017-08-02T21:50:00.001-04:002017-08-02T21:51:03.701-04:00Transition<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<i>Although shortest
in duration, transition is the most intense stage of labor occurring just
before the second stage when the baby is pushed down the birth canal to be
born.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This wait<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Has far exceeded<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Any normal gestation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">By decades.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This labor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Has been protracted,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A rhythmic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Annual contraction<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">When imagination<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Dilated<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In attempt to grasp<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What reality <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">May be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I pace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My home,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My yard,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My husband <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Has finished painting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A long ignored room,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Has cleaned,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Has sent away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Onlookers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It won’t be long now,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Just an hour until<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She calls from the hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I breathe,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hang sheets on the
washline,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Paint my toes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Nervous tension<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Rises<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">As unseen forces<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Propel me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Through time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Until <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The car bearing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The woman <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Who carried <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But never held me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Pulls into the driveway<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And she hears<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My first cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-23340288876762241872017-06-27T22:51:00.000-04:002017-06-27T22:51:57.496-04:00Catching up...So it's been a while and the visit with Lecram is what it took to get me back to blogging. What, you may ask, kept me away in the first place?<br />
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Well, I was walking to blogland carrying a basket full of goodies one day when a hungry wolf jumped out of the bushes and....hhmm, no. Let's try again.<br />
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Well, when we left off back in November 2015, I was working in a couple urban elementary school libraries one of which had been unceremoniously moved to a stage at the end of a gymnasium. They did however bring back full-time librarians so I was no longer working alone. Sadly, The librarian I was assigned to share the stagebrary with was...hhmm...shall we say, less than competent or committed to providing good service. It was the straw that broke the camel's back for me and I began looking for new employment closer to home.<br />
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A job I had applied for and not gotten a year earlier was posted again and though I was annoyed with the poor communication from them the year before I got over myself and applied once again. I was called for an interview and admittedly carried the attitude of Morgan Freeman's character Red in <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i> when he goes before the parole board the final time. I reasoned they took a pass on me when I behaved well so what did I have to lose but if they hired me no one could say they didn't know what they were getting into with me. I was a bit stunned to be hired.<br />
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So just over a year ago I bid farewell to my beloved teachers and students in the urban elementary schools. I was given a truly loving send off and shed copious amounts of tears. I traded an hour commute in heavy highway traffic for a fifteen minute commute on rural roads, full time-pay that netted me less than Calypso earned scrubbing toilets in a hotel, for part-time pay that was netting me a good bit more, and a filthy stagebrary where I had a broken laptop and basketballs flew in and knocked books off shelves for a gleaming new library with lots of natural light and all the tools I actually needed to do my job. If I hadn't taken the job you'd have to wonder if one too many basketballs made contact with my noggin while I shelved books.<br />
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There was this little problem of aching for my elementary kids and friends back at the old school. So I decided I'd go back as a volunteer once a month to read to classes. Though lots of people questioned the sanity of that choice it's been a good thing. I get my little kid fix, I get to see the friends I made, I provide a respite from some of the nonsense they all deal with, and then I go home. In other words, I get all the fun without all the bullshit that weighed me down when I was an employee there. At the same time, with a little distance I see how horribly dysfunctional the whole situation is there and when I start lamenting how bored I can get in my current position a visit gives me enough of a dose of the mess to remember how fortunate I am to be in a better situation. <br />
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So that's the professional chapter.<br />
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The personal chapter has been.....interesting. Last summer Logophile came to visit and we took Philadelphia and turned it upside down. We had a fantastic time! Then after twenty years, I finally got my entire crew back to my beloved Trinidad. I had been back a couple times in between there but it had been twenty years for my girls and my son had only been there in utero. It was a rich and wonderful time for us all to share together with each other and with the friends there who are more like family.<br />
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There has been the strange space of learning to parent adult children as they navigate their own joys and dilemmas, both big and small. There is the equally strange space of watching our own parents age, decline, and losing Mr. Lime's mother. The shifting shapes of family as some ties strengthen and others weaken for a variety of reasons makes for an interesting range of different perspectives on old events and new directions.<br />
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The strangest space of all has been the effect of finally deciding it's time to search for my birthmother, the process of finding her, and the psychedelic warp of perspective that has offered.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-16735171670610517692017-05-09T21:17:00.001-04:002017-05-09T22:11:59.161-04:00Da Count-Lime and Lecram and Lisa in Da HouseI haven't posted in well over a year, in blog years that's a small eternity. About a month ago, Susie asked me to come back. Life has been a little bit of a wild ride since then, 99% good stuff but it's kept me hopping. Then I got a call from my old pal Lecram Sinun saying he was going to be traveling across the continent to my coast and asking if I might have some time to get together. You're damn right I would have some time!<br />
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First Jimmy and Janita met for drinks at a local jazz club. They have an 11 year history and Janita was glad to meet her good pal Jimmy who cheered her on and even named her when she was first born. Eleven years, how the hell is that even possible? Lecram's comment about meeting bloggy buddies is each one comes across as themselves on their blogs and then when we meet they are just more obviously...themselves. I have to say that holds true for me too. Meeting Lecram was no different. No surprises in his persona, just meeting a beloved old pal face-to-face for the first time. It's great fun to finally be able to look someone in the eye, see mannerisms, hear a voice, and feel it all come together to finally flesh out a person fully and to realize it all adds up to everything you expected and more. Starting out with a level of comfort and familiarity makes it so easy to dive in without any real hesitance. Lecram is one of those deeply reflective people too so reading his blog for the past decade or more and having a strong sense of who he is made the ability to connect in person even easier. The conversation flowed effortlessly, so much so I didn't realize we'd all be cleaned up around at the end of the evening and were those patrons...the ones who close a place down....until he pointed it out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHo54Rl-_OCETvOF3NsF15LiRP5o5-sLDkGGA6ucBbZgI0uaOXXPUmIuiIJG7rIJHqPwhL3-oEk0LZAdGHbEGGFTvm9Tfo-mvqyMoGW9cRsOJyzkvnvEEoNWBqRdVbC-S2mbY/s1600/IMG_8449+%2528533x800%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4wq9Npyds6YQBJ16Hrnnb9zg1zcQKtae2fxpW2p-K_n-rMkA70E83qrtQ1mVniA9_CMAGHfhOqlz9NdSLtGJ7CWKlPJajOZBfh_kBm_v-nF9ks0DYwWKbM22UrH8zCCE8qCp/s1600/IMG_8448+%2528800x533%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4wq9Npyds6YQBJ16Hrnnb9zg1zcQKtae2fxpW2p-K_n-rMkA70E83qrtQ1mVniA9_CMAGHfhOqlz9NdSLtGJ7CWKlPJajOZBfh_kBm_v-nF9ks0DYwWKbM22UrH8zCCE8qCp/s320/IMG_8448+%2528800x533%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>The next morning Lisa and Lecram returned for a tour of local cemeteries, because I am just that exciting a host and my hometown is just that thrilling a place that people are dying to come here. (Ba-dum-DUM) Truth be told, Lecram and I share a certain affection for the peace and the craftsmanship and history cemeteries contain. Not a lot of people dig that so of course we had to celebrate our strange attraction to them with a little tour. Here he was greeting the town's founding fathers.<br />
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Lisa graciously provided paparazzi services upon request when we found a setting we liked either in the graveyards or between the three we visited. Yes, I took them to three different cemeteries in town. Listen, if you want to go throw your money away at the casino, be my guest. Lecram and I prefer dead people. Don't judge.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4nwLZgdsd94aqgjDzAc65ozT_LNlxDjnv6hgmsOf_E1BK6PCngZuUDeo3oNuvCv9TS3_yJzqSt7C4ZX7NQjMkeJ_MjTQjhzBdv_fGe0vbQZMeKiDFJpcEx9h0szM6uZAW3F6/s1600/IMG_8453+%2528800x533%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4nwLZgdsd94aqgjDzAc65ozT_LNlxDjnv6hgmsOf_E1BK6PCngZuUDeo3oNuvCv9TS3_yJzqSt7C4ZX7NQjMkeJ_MjTQjhzBdv_fGe0vbQZMeKiDFJpcEx9h0szM6uZAW3F6/s320/IMG_8453+%2528800x533%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>We got Lisa in on the action when we found a nice big headstone to use as a tripod....either that or it was one of the zombies we found lurking among the graves. (insert maniacal cackle here). She was such a great sport not only about bringing Lecram out to my neck of the woods but in staging some of our shots and she was a lovely person to meet as well, insightful, interesting, and open to wherever the ride took us.<br />
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After a bit of discussion we agreed we share a preference for the very old, very simple headstones as opposed to the obelisks which seem to be demanding we pay attention to them. I think they seem to say, "I'm dead but still potent!" Which seems a silly and futile argument when you're worm food.<br />
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On the way back to the car I asked if they were familiar with the PA phenomenon that is Wawa? They were not so I hipped them to it. After having a yummy bit to eat at a far groovier local mom and pop establishment Wawa was anti-climactic at best but they could put a marker on their travelogue bingo card. It's an important PA ritual. Next visit (and I hope there is a next one, both here and on the west coast) we'll cover other important PA sites and rituals like fire hall wedding receptions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRnUncc-Bkqy8nWhqZo-jcf1anQ-yMotD0ciecPU53suwglGay3IWQSAde2J-ffxYc_y-iiYp7pRzlLRZXbGT3B2dXcjDA-IYIvpiXN8fr6wW13lf5b-enkof8wkQx9788inG/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRnUncc-Bkqy8nWhqZo-jcf1anQ-yMotD0ciecPU53suwglGay3IWQSAde2J-ffxYc_y-iiYp7pRzlLRZXbGT3B2dXcjDA-IYIvpiXN8fr6wW13lf5b-enkof8wkQx9788inG/s320/IMG_0724.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUoNSlHqPDkopteA81bb0ALwV4m21QqI5rbXfhAguq0jT6hZiEOUxOhc83H9ST7zP7EBKjJv9nVrqiT-wIYFxNFqFVrbnVUntiXmle6BTHD3pQj8DyQEtkEFhdyGP23sAj0vI/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUoNSlHqPDkopteA81bb0ALwV4m21QqI5rbXfhAguq0jT6hZiEOUxOhc83H9ST7zP7EBKjJv9nVrqiT-wIYFxNFqFVrbnVUntiXmle6BTHD3pQj8DyQEtkEFhdyGP23sAj0vI/s320/IMG_0725.JPG" width="240" /></a>From there we hit the grocery store to get ingredients for a curry fest at Chez Lime. After years of trading food posts and some private exchanges about food which got us both sweating like we'd just eaten a hot curry it was obvious this had to happen. Lecram prepared a Malay Hot Chili Curry #1 with four, count 'em, four serrano peppers. (Four is hot, but 5 or six is local hot) I was anxious to enjoy my first Malay curry. Lecram is an awesome cook and excellent guide to a new recipe and way of making a different kind of curry. It was a joy to be at his elbow as he showed me all the ways to make this authentic. And man did it smell and taste fabulous. I love me a good Trini or Indian curry. I make and enjoy a Kenyan curry (more later). I like Thai curry. I was delighted to taste Lecram's Malay curry, which was wonderfully distinctive from all the rest.<br />
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While Hot Chili Curry #1 sat on a back burner doing its thing it was time for me to get started on my pot. I made Kenyan curried venison because Lecram expressed a great longing
for venison. I actually learned this dish from a Kenyan friend about 20 years ago after she expressed a great longing for venison and I shared some of our bounty with her. I also fried up some roti and made Kenyan ugali to go with
the stew. A lovely bottle of Pinot Noir from Lecram complemented it all well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIHE8tP-jHUhV8IIc3XI_ctC-lHaQj1U3hXEm4XAKvvSObMMZzF5nniYLRa4SGjmcNLobps6vJ0OQfNYxa0a4do59shyv19YWTT_80qCXhvbq-bZB93en8dzpPWVxXEPQ2fzy/s1600/IMG_8457+%2528498x800%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIHE8tP-jHUhV8IIc3XI_ctC-lHaQj1U3hXEm4XAKvvSObMMZzF5nniYLRa4SGjmcNLobps6vJ0OQfNYxa0a4do59shyv19YWTT_80qCXhvbq-bZB93en8dzpPWVxXEPQ2fzy/s320/IMG_8457+%2528498x800%2529.jpg" width="199" /></a> Lecram, Lisa, and I filled our bellies but for me at least I felt my heart and soul filling up. With now adult children working on all different schedules and having their own busy social lives, and my new job (more about that later) often putting me on an opposite shift from Mr. Lime there are darn few family meals here any more and even less frequent are times in the kitchen with people I care about. This day gave me the joy of sharing cooking time with a dear old friend and making a new friend. I got to stand at Lecram's elbow and learn his tips and tricks for making a proper Malay curry. I had a chance to prepare a couple dishes for some hungry pals who were anxious to enjoy them. We all sat together trading stories, sipping wine, sopping up two different curry gravies with fresh roti and ugali. (Oh and if there is any doubt, Malay curry and Kenyan curry go reeeeeeally well together even though the flavor profiles are noticeably different. Super yum!) Sharing this culinary time made me realize how deeply I've missed having appreciative people to cook for and with. It fed a long felt hunger to spend kitchen time with other people who derive joy from preparing and sharing food together.<br />
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Every moment together felt like a special gift to me. I shared how when I first stumbled across Lecram's blog I felt unworthy to even comment because I was so blown away by his creativity and talent, that when he "noticed" and commented warmly on my blog I felt as if the exalted artist had blessed me with some tiny bit of esteem. We all had a good chuckle over that. Though I will always have tremendous admiration for Lecram's talent and ability to make things happen and sustain himself as he continues to produce works, over the years we became friends and this time just confirmed that.<br />
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Way back up in that picture where Lecram is holding up four fingers there is a plaque that hangs over the door in the background. It hung over my grandmother's kitchen door and I claimed it when she passed. It is the girl scout motto, "Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver. The other, gold." It was pure joy to finally meet my old friend face to face and to make a new friend in Lisa. Our time together filled my soul, heart, and belly to bursting! Thank you, Marcel, for letting me know you'd be passing this way. Thank you, Lisa, for being so graciously willing to chauffeur and stage shots.<br />
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As we chatted we spoke of the power of blogging to help us form connections all over the world and the greater depth and intimacy if promoted when compared to Facebook or Twitter. It's been a long absence and I don't know how regularly I'll post here but it's good to be back. I'm hoping to keep up with the old friends who also seem to miss the circles we had here, and who knows what new friends wait to be made...Well, there are some stories from 3-D life, we'll see if they make the blog...<br />
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Cheers!<br />
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<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-77841906178913134762015-11-01T16:54:00.000-05:002015-11-01T16:54:31.764-05:00Long Time No Post...This poor blog has been languishing, so much so that I even failed to marked its 10th anniversary back on October 12. I gave it to myself as a birthday present a decade ago. Although I have been largely absent the last couple of months I am still grateful for all the remarkable people I've had a chance to meet as a result and for the countless ideas I've been exposed to and creative opportunities It has brought.<br />
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Now, what has been keeping me so insanely busy? the start of the school year has been horrendous. Basically, I walked in the first day of school to find the 10,000 volume library had been packed up over the summer and unceremoniously dumped on the stage for me to put in order....with no help. Oh, and the stage still had all the curricular materials from two past reading programs on it as well. And it was filthy. And my desk had been thrown away. And my book carts had been given away. My computer and printer were missing. And the locked closet of my book repair supplies had been pillaged. I was, to understate it in the most extreme way, not pleased. To put it bluntly, I told the principal in so many words that this was the third library in two years I was told to reassemble from scratch by myself and to date this was the biggest damn clusterfuck I had been handed yet, so congratulations on attaining that distinction. Yes, I actually looked him in the eye and said those words. There were other words after that wherein I went on the detail the level of clusterfuckedness and what was necessary to uncluster the massive fuckedness of the situation. This all fell on deaf ears. It was a time of unparalleled joy and delight if you enjoy being subjected to the whims of incompetent leadership. <br />
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Since that time I have put to order the utter chaos that was over 200 boxes of books plus shelves. I tracked down and reclaimed my carts, computer, and printer. In order to get through the weeks of heavy lifting I took my yoga mat to school. I lifted boxes and books until my back said enough for one day then I rolled out my mat and did yoga until it felt better and the homicidal urges passed....since zero assistance in the process was provided.<br />
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We have resumed circulation which means I finally have the chance to enjoy the kids again and all the hilarious conversations they provide. Here then are some of the early conversations this year, which have amused me and reminded me why exactly I endure the stupidity of this school district.<br />
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<b><br /></b>
<b> 2nd grader:</b> Miz Lime, are you gonna dye your hair?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Nope, I like it the way it is.<br />
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<b>2nd grader:</b> Did you dye it to get it all grey and white?<br />
<b>Me:</b><i>(laughing)</i> No, I let time do it for me.<br />
<b>2nd grader:</b> That's a lot of work?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Indeed it is.<br />
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When checking out books I ask for a student's last name so I can find
them in the system. For kindergarteners it's a crapshoot as to whether
or not they know their last name. When one wee one told me
her first name I asked, "what is your last name?" She stared at me
blankly so I rephrased my question, " What comes after Agatha*?" She
brightened and announced proudly, "Sleepyhead!"<br />
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And then there was the boy who answered my question of what comes after Hobart* with, "Hey, white boy."<br />
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Fridays with kindergarten are telling... <br />
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<i>Conversation #1</i><br />
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<b>Librarian:</b> What month is it?<br /> <b>Kindergartener:</b> TUESDAY!!!<br />
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Sweet mother of Bill Murray, if it were Tuesday all month I would drive a truck with a groundhog in it over a cliff!<br />
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<i>Conversation #2</i><br />
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Girl comes up
to my desk with no book. I ask where her book is and the librarian says
no books for her because she was throwing them.<br />
<b>Me:</b> uh-oh, was that a good choice?<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> <b>Her:</b><i> (shrugging)</i><br /> <b>Me:</b> Are you learning to make good choices in kindergarten?<br /> <b>Her:</b> <i>(with great sincerity)</i> Nooooo....<br /> <b>Me:</b><i>(stifling giggles) </i>You're not?<br /> <b>Her:</b> No<br /> <b>Me:</b> Do you think you will be able to learn to make good choices?<br /> <b>Her:</b> <i>(enthusiastically)</i> Yes!<br /> <b>Me:</b> Oh good! What's one good choice you think you could learn to make?<br /> <b>Her:</b> 7? 8?<br /> <b>Me:</b> <i>(confused puppy head cock)</i></span><br />
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<i> Conversation #3</i><br />
<br /> Boy comes to me crying that someone hurt his feelings.<br /> <b>Me:</b> what did he say that hurt your feelings?<br /> <b>Him:</b> He said I was stupid.<br /> <b>Me:</b> Well I can understand that doesn't feel good. Let me ask you, do YOU think you are stupid?<br /> <b>Him:</b> <i>(shaking head no)</i><br /> <b>Me:</b> Do you think you are a smart boy?<br /> <b>Him: </b><i>(nodding yes)</i><br /> <b>Me:</b> Good. I think you're a smart boy too. <i>(He smiles)</i> Do you know what smart boys do?<br /> <b>Him:</b> No<br />
<b>Me:</b> They remember that they are smart and let comments about being
stupid fly away from them. Do you think you can do that, smart boy?<br /> <b>Him:</b> <i>(big grin)</i> Yes!<br />
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<i>Conversation #4</i><br />
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<b> Me:</b><i>(as little dude steps up to check his book out)</i> What's your name, friend?<br />
<b>Him:</b><i>(using his fingers to pinch his mouth into fish lips)</i> mmffmm fffmmmp...<br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>(chuckling)</i> Can we try that again without fish lips?<br />
<b>Him:</b> <i>(still pinching and now shaking head no)</i><br />
<b>Me:</b><i>(mumbling as I'm making fish lips)</i> Can you understand ME now?<br />
<b>Him:</b><i>(grinning ear to ear and nodding emphatically)</i><br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>(laughing because OF COURSE this backfired )</i> Well, fish can't have library books because they get the books all wet.<br />
<b>Kid behind fish lips boy: </b>His name is Charlie!*<br />
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And then there are the parents...<br />
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I had a young teacher tell me a student's parents inform her she
needs to be patient with their kid because...wait for it......they
aren't.<br />
Idiots: holding teachers to higher expectations of self-control than they hold themselves.<br />
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If you want to feel like a rock star push a cart full of books into kindergarten.<br />
If you want to feel like a priest hand out the little paper positive behavior reward to 1st grade. As they sat along the wall while I handed
them out a few kids reverentially placed one hand palm up inside the
other as if they were ready to receive Eucharist while I went down the
line . I thought a couple would cross themselves.<br />
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Is library a religious experience? I think so and I try to make it<span class="text_exposed_show"> a sanctuary. Does that make me the Priestess of the Library?</span><br />
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I love it when the tough guys love books.<br />
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<b>Tough guy Fifth grader:</b> Miz Lime, where's the poetry books?<br />
<b>Me:</b> These three shelves.<br />
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<b>Friend of tough guy:</b> Where's the good books, Miz Lime?<br />
<b>Me:</b><i>(opening my mouth to speak my standard response)</i><br />
<b>Tough guy:</b> <i>(totally stealing my line)</i> Man, they're ALL good books in here!<br />
<b>Me:</b> Amen, brother! You beat me to it. Rock on!<br />
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And there's always the challenge of figuring out which book a kid wants...<br />
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<b>2nd grader:</b> Can I have the book with the little white guy? My classmate had it last time.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Tell me more about the book so I can figure out which one you mean.<br />
<b>Him:</b> He has yellow on him and goes up to the sky.<br />
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He wanted......<br />
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<i>The Lorax</i> by Dr. Seuss. Proud to say I nailed it.<br />
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And finally, there was the administrator who studied the posters I put up on the backs of the bookshelves facing out into the gym from the stagebrary (that's what I call it now that it's located on the stage at one end of the gymnasium...because OF COURSE that's where the library belongs.<br />
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<b>Her:</b> <i>(with great irritation)</i> Who put up those posters?<br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>(with pride)</i> I did!<br />
<b>Her:</b><i> (chagrined)</i> Oh.<br />
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*names changed to protect student privacy <br />
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limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-36474991256060520652015-07-05T14:11:00.000-04:002015-07-05T22:44:05.615-04:00Wild Berries<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> As
a child I’d walk with Nana and Grampop</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">on the trails behind
the cabin.</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In the heat of summer
</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">we’d find the bushes</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">laden with tart wild
berries.</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We collected them as
we walked,</span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">one for the basket, </span></sub></div>
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<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">one, two for my
mouth.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dappled sunlight fell
on our faces and hands</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">as Nana exhorted me
to restraint</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">during the harvest,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“We have sugar and
cream</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">back in the cabin.”</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As a child I’d watch
Mom-mom</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">stir the boiling
elderberries</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pop-pop had gathered
for jam.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I watched him squeeze
the cooled berries<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">through the
cheesecloth,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the purple-black
juice tracing </span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the veins on his
forearms.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I once asked to have
some berries</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">before they went in
the pot,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, girl. They’ll
give you a bellyache.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">They need the heat.”</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As a woman I moved to
the woods </span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">with my husband and
children.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I remembered the wild
berries,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">searched my property</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and found none.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I called the berries
in the wilderness.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">They did not answer.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">There were sour
years,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Years of pain and
quarrel,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Years of heat and
squeezing,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Years when I so
desperately wished</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I could speak with my
grandparents,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the men and women who
</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">had survived
Depression and War</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and broken promises.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I wanted</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">to sit at their feet
and ask, </span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where is the
sweetness?”</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In want of quiet and
healing</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I returned to the
wooded paths,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">inhaled the piney
air,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">let the brook water
wash my toes,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">dried my feet on the
moss,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">listened to the
birdsong,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">warmed my face in the
leaf-filtered sunlight.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When my heart was at
rest</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">the berries were
waiting for me.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">They whispered,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“We have come.</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We are here,</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">wild</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<sub><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">and free.”</span></sub></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
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limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-88834131978838608922015-05-31T22:42:00.000-04:002015-05-31T22:42:32.063-04:00Overheard in the Library<b>3rd grade girl:</b> Where are the girly girl books?<br />
<b>Me:</b> What exactly do you mean by that? Can you explain more clearly what you are looking for?<br />
<b>Her: </b><i>(looking at me as if I just fell to Earth from Mars)</i> You know the books girls would like...<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> <b>Me:</b> Well, I'm a girl and I like motorcycles. Are you looking for books about motorcycles?<br /> <b>Her:</b><i>(completely certain of my dullness in comprehension)</i> Uh, no!<br /> <b>Me: </b>Ok, then tell me what you like.<br /> <b>Her: </b><i>(wheels are spinning...no response is forthcoming)</i><br /> <b>Me:</b> (<i>smiling)</i>How about you think about it while you keep looking.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
She trots off and returns a moment later to declare, "Princesses! Do you have books about princesses?"<br />
<b>Me:</b> I sure do. Fairy tales or biographies?<br />
<b>Her:</b> Fairy tales.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Now we're getting somewhere! <br />
Library Girl may have other superpowers but she doesn't pretend to read
minds.That way she has a chance to challenge them to work a little.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`<br />
<br />
Library related conversation with my daughter:<br />
<b>Me:</b> So do you want to know what the least frequently checked out books in my library are?<br />
<b>C:</b> I can't even guess.<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<b>Me:</b> Presidential biographies. Forty-seven of the bottom 50 titles are presidential biographies.<br />
<b>C:</b> That's a shame. I can recall having a fascination with Taft when I was a kid.<br />
<br />
That there is evidence of a nerd begetting a nerd.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
Things you don't expect to say in the library: Please stop comparing your bellies and choose a book.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
And then there are the library questions which momentarily make you take pause.<br />
An articulate, well-mannered 2nd grader walked into the library and
inquired with all seriousness, "Mrs. Lime, could you please tell me
where the pink beaver book is?"<br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>(wheels spinning wildly as I
try to shift into school appropriate mode rather than wildly
inappropriate double entendre mode and actually generate an answer)</i>
*blink...blink...........blink blink* Uummm.....<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<b>Him:</b> <i>(with utter propriety and impeccable diction)</i> It's the book where he tries on lots of clothes.<br />
<b>Me:</b><i>(delighted for that piece of clarifying information as it
immediately fires the correct synapses)</i> Ooooh! You mean <i>Naked Mole
Rat Gets Dressed</i>?<br />
<b>Him:</b> <i>(still with great composure yet gratitude
that we have communicated effectively)</i> Yes, that's exactly the book.
Do you have it?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Yes, friend we do. It's my very favorite Mo Willems book. It's right here.<br />
<b>Him:</b> Thank you so much, Mrs. Lime. You have a nice afternoon.<br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>(smiling)</i> Thank you. I already have, friend. I hope you do as well. Enjoy your book!<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
I had to close the section where Disney books
are found because of the extreme level of destruction which has been
occurring there repeatedly and the reminders of library etiquette going
unheeded. The young patron who told me she wants more
Disney books in the library lamented that she couldn't choose anything because there were no other good books. I directed her to 398.2 in
non-fiction, three whole shelves of folklore and fairytales as opposed
to half a shelf of Disney in the picture book section. Her eyes boggled.</div>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
</div>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
And I am left to consider, where is my own vision so narrow I cannot see a new world of joyous wonder?<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
It's
standardized testing season in our great commonwealth. In the interest
of formulating questions relevant to the real world here's one for all
you kids.<br />
<br />
If Miz Lime spends $50 a week for gas to get to and from
her job and she just paid more than a week's pay to fix the vandalism
done to her car while at work (because the cost came in under her
deductible amount) and the district says she's SOL for being reimbursed
because she wasn't in a school parking lot (because said school doesn't
even have a lot, thus necessitating parking on the street) how much
money could she have saved by just not going to work during testing week
(when she can't see classes anyway because they take over the library
for testing) and merely being docked pay once she exceeds her 4
remaining sick days? Generate an equation to express your answer.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
<b>Her:</b> I forgot my book, can I bring it tomorrow?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Well, tomorrow I am at my other school.<br />
<b>Her:</b> You have TWO schools you have to go to?<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> <b>Me:</b> Yes.<br /> <b>Her:</b> What's your other school?<br /> <b>Me: </b>Warren G. Harding<br /> <b>Her:</b> Warren G. Harding?? That's another big school! Isn't that a lot of pressure?<br /> <b>Me:</b> <i>(smiling)</i> Sometimes, it is. Yes.<br /> <b>Her:</b> Man, That's just a lot.</span><br />
The kid gets it, more than the school board or superintendent. There is hope</div>
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
Bless the poor, toothless kindergarteners and first graders. It
drives me nuts when at the end of the school year they still don't know
their own last name but when they know it and the lack of teeth makes it
impossible for them to pronounce it I feel great pity.<br />
<br />
Thowweth. My name is Thowweth.<br />
<br />
Feel free to guess. <br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
Crap that makes Library Girl want to open a can of whoop ass:<br />
When I ask a student who just stepped OVER a book if he saw that book
on the floor and he says no while looking at it. Then I ask if he sees
it now and he nods. Next question from me is, "Well, what would be a
wise choice when you see a book on the floor?" Student response is to
walk away. <br />
I compelled the student in question to demonstrate
the wise choice. I did so calmly, without violence or profanity. I love
elementary aged kids but some days making sure my edit button works and I
don't hurl a heavy reference work at anyone is challenging.<br />
</div>
</div>
</div>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
Another young man informed me he didn't want a book. Said student cried bitterly the week before when I didn't allow him to check a book out due to egregious misbehavior. I asked if the earlier tears had been crocodile tears. He was confused as to what that meant so I explained the idiom. He insisted they were sincere but he didn't want a book this week because the one he liked wasn't in. I guaranteed he could find one he liked among the 10,000 volumes if he looked. He was skeptical. I asked what he liked. He said animals. I put a book about crocodiles in his hands. He regarded it and declared it sufficiently interesting. Next week we may tackle sarcasm.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, a simple but satisfying exchange with a kindergartener after she checked out her book.<br />
<br />
<b>Her:</b> <i>(a little sheepishly)</i> I can't read this book but I reeeally like the pictures.<br />
<b>Me:</b> That's okay. Sometimes the pictures help us figure out what is happening in the story and the artist made them hoping you would enjoy them. I am a grown up but I still like to look at picture books because some of them have such beautiful art in them. If you want to read though, I bet you can find some of your sight words in the story.<br />
<b>Her:</b> <i>(excitedly)</i> You sure are right about the pictures! Look at this one! It's sooooo pretty!<br />
<b>Me: </b><i>(smiling)</i> It really is.<br />
<br />
She continues paging through the book reverently regarding the artwork then discovers a page with a large rip.<br />
<br />
<b>Her:</b> <i>(in dismay)</i> Oh, Miz Lime, someone didn't take care of this great book!<br />
<br />
And another book and art lover is born, may her tribe increase.</div>
</div>
</div>
limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-24028160120160582422015-05-31T22:17:00.000-04:002015-05-31T22:17:37.497-04:00Before May Ends......I have to get in at least one blog post.<br />
<br />
It's been a month of insanity. I started the month teaching one yoga class a week. Then the studio owner opened a second site and I picked up a second class there. Next was an after school class for some of the teachers where I work. Finally we added subbing for the owner while she's off on a seven week world tour so I had a couple of weeks where I taught four nights in a row after doing my day job every day. And just in case that wasn't tiring enough PennDOT decided it was time to dig up the main route to work thus doubling my commute time... and hour and a half to go 40 miles...oh joy oh bliss. And yes, I tried alternate routes. The problem is, this area is rural enough that they aren't highways and all the other commuters decided to try them too so they are just as gunked up as the main route. Yeah, so I have been just beat.<br />
<br />
I've also been going to this writer's group for the last several months. I like it. A lot. It's a terrific group of talented people and they have been very welcoming. The irony is I've written fewer original pieces in the months I've been attending than before I started. Sigh. I did introduce them to the concept of the Friday 55s and they all have enjoyed writing their own. It makes me smile thinking G-man lives on in this little group of writers even though he is no longer with us to host it here.<br />
<br />
Work continues to be.....um...fascinating. It would seem that having a rotten situation made permanent is my reward for making things work well in a situation I thought would be temporary. Damn my ridiculous work ethic and concern for the students. What was I thinking by trying to provide good service?<br />
<br />
Isaac is in Haiti and has requested I send his copy of The Hobbit. It encourages this library lady that when he kid is in the Third World he is not pining for his game system or some other luxury but for books.<br />
<br />
Calypso and I have begun an herbalism course together. I am excited to share it with her even if I am concerned about my ability to work well with plants given that in a mere three weeks I killed a houseplant I was given.<br />
<br />
Next month I go visit Diana in Georgia. I can't wait to see her. It's been since Christmas.<br />
<br />
Other than that I am counting the days until the end of the school year, which also means I am doing inventory, that is, counting all 22k books in my two libraries.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-60131802103790998102015-04-13T21:20:00.001-04:002015-04-13T21:20:16.174-04:00Oh the Irony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://thecarruths.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/natl-library-week.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://thecarruths.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/natl-library-week.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This week is National Library Week. I live in the state which brought you the United States' first free public library. I also live in a state which schedules all the statewide standardized testing for 3 weeks in April. Wanna take a wild guess as to when all that begins? Yep, today. Wanna guess <i>where</i> the testing takes place in my schools? Yep, the library. Therefore, during National Library Week we can't have any book circulation. It's enough to make a library lady either cry or rampage. In order to soothe myself I bring you some interesting happenings in the library lately.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <br />
<br />
The kindergarteners get very excited when I come to pick them up. One little guy, who is enthusiasm embodied, shouted upon seeing me, "It's Library Girl!!!" I thought it made me sound like a superhero so I am adopting it as my new moniker. <i>Faster than an OPAC! Able to leap tall stacks of books in a single bound. She stands for facts, information, and the literary way! It's a teacher, it's a book lover, it's Library Girl! </i><br />
<br />
<i>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</i><br />
<br />
A student was dawdling in choosing a book after his teacher had given the countdown for finishing. He grabbed a book off the shelf and moseyed to my desk. As he arrived he announced, "I'll take this book, It's sucky, but I'll take it." Nope, we have 10,000<i> </i>books<i> </i>here there is no reason for you to grab one you think is sucky. Go find one you actually want. He said he couldn't find one. I asked what he liked. He told me. I stuck a book in his hand. He looked at it and said, "This doesn't look like it sucks." Good, try to enjoy it. Maybe he needs to go spend some time with the kindergarteners.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
I have long had a big soft spot for six year olds in glasses. I also collect Caldecott Award winning books. When a glasses sporting six year old comes to the library and asks on every visit if he can have a "reward" book* I am a complete goner.<br />
<br />
*The first week I said I wasn't sure what he meant by "reward book" and asked if he could explain more about it. He drew circles in the air and declared, "They have gold and silver circles on the covers!" It was at the end of a long day. His little grin when I handed him <i>Officer Buckle and Gloria</i> totally made up for his one classmate who drove me nuts.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
One little girl came up clutching a Disney book and begging, "Please, Miz Lime, can you order lots more Disney books? They're my favorites!!!" I told her that was a great idea and she ought to talk to the principal about it. Bewildered, she asked why. I explained that is because the principal decides how much money the library gets for ordering new books each year...and that it's been five years since our library had new books ordered.<br />
<br />
Lime...disseminating information and fomenting unrest among primary students since 2012.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
At the same library we have a tile floor. Judging by how long certain spills have remained untouched, the floor has not been mopped all year. Could I do it? Yes, but I spent a lot of time cleaning up after adults last year. I've asked repeatedly for people to clean up after themselves. I've been told the custodial staff is responsible. My take home pay for a full-tome job running two libraries is less than what my kid earns at a part time job serving burritos. I expend a lot of energy just keeping 22, 000 books in order. I figure if the floor looks hideous enough maybe someone will finally be compelled to do is or her job. That has proved to be unsound logic. I am now considering finding a kid with the belly bug and having him strategically barf in the library to get the floor mopped.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
I have a fifth grader who has asked me for books on quantum mechanics and the works of Shakespeare. She has been so understanding when I have told her we have nothing like that. I so wish I could put something in her hands that she wants but I am encouraged that she tells me she gets to the public library where she can find these things.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
One student returned a badly damaged book. In such cases I assign the fine after speaking with the student to see if there is a plausible story or any sense of responsibility or contrition. This student seemed to have both so I showed her that the cost of the book, which I could not repair was $18 and I told her I would only fine her $5. We are a very poverty stricken district. So few fines come in....ever. She sat down, thought a moment, and asked if she could still check out a new book. I reminder her that all books and fines have to be taken care of before new books can be selected. <br />
<br />
Her: Well, my parents were going to focus on buying me stuff on Friday so I don't think they will be able to send the money in.<br />
Me: Perhaps you could suggest they buy you $5 less "stuff" and send it in for the fine. Better yet, you could go home and ask them for some chores to do to earn the money to pay for the book.<br />
Her: (indignantly) I don't like chores!<br />
Me: (arching a single eyebrow and questioning my earlier sense of mercy) No one <i>likes</i> chores but they are a responsibility...just like that book you didn't take good care of.<br />
<br />
It was a more professional response than what I wanted to say which was, "Then it sucks to be you."<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
I may be Library Girl but it takes more than Super Human strength not to burst out laughing when a first grader checks out a book about outer space and announces, "YOOOOOOUUR-anus is an AWESOME planet!"<br />
<br />
<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-6234641555296912372015-04-03T13:05:00.001-04:002015-04-03T13:05:35.130-04:00Good Friday 55s<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Although our beloved friend and host of Friday 55, G-man, is no longer with us I humbly offer my traditional good Friday 55s with this year's newest verse appearing as the last in the collection.</span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Magdalene</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wandered</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">tormented, unclean, unwelcome.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He drove away my darkness,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">restored me to a community.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I followed him,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">served him gratefully.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now I follow at a distance</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">witnessing his torment </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">as darkness falls on him,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">while the others turn away. <i><br />
</i>I watch where his body is laid.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I may offer</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">my final loving act of service.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
<b>The Arimathean</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I followed him secretly</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">since I was on the council which
opposed him.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At His trial</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I would not condemn him</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">though the others did.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What I could not do while He lived</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I dared after He died.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I boldly asked Pilate</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">for the body,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">prepared it for burial,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">laid Him in my own tomb.
<i> </i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Governor</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
I found no fault</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">in the one brought before me.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My wife warned me.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Herod returned him to me.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I offered to release him</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">but the crowd demanded the murderer
instead.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lacking strength of conviction,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I yielded to the mob<b>.</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Water washed my hands</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">but could not cleanse my conscience</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">of an innocent man's blood.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Disciple</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I left my
business and my home to follow him.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I sat at his
feet,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">swore my
allegiance,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">said I'd die
with him.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">drew my weapon
in his defense.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When my test
came</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I cowered in
the darkness,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">denied we ever
met,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and knew my
love was nothing</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">as his poured
out for faithless me.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Cyrene</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I came to
Jerusalem for the Passover.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I heard the
commotion,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">saw the
condemned paraded in the street.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One was barely
alive.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I turned away
until...</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the Roman
yanked me from the crowd,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">laid the beam
on my shoulders.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Only when I met
the bloodied man's eyes</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">did I realize
he endures the judgment</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I deserve.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Thief</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Merciless
sun blisters my skin as the crowd's unrelenting curses assault my ears.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
weight of my own guilt,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the
pain of dislocated joints and bound limbs bear down so heavily</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
can barely breathe.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
dangle between present agony and hopeless eternity until He tells me,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Today
you will be in Paradise with Me."</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Guard</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm
glad to follow my orders well.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It's
like taking out the trash to rid the earth of the scum we execute here.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today
is different.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One
never begged for mercy, never fought us.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
spoke mercy on us all.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For
the first time I feel guilt.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
fall to my knees, confess His deity.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Mother</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We
had to travel when my time was so near.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
the king was killing the little boys we had to flee for our lives.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
was panicked when we lost him in the city.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
nothing has pierced my heart</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">like
watching the spikes enter his flesh</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
the sword plunge into his side.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Beloved</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
am a son of thunder</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
have asked him </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To
pour wrath upon the unrighteous.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve
witnessed his transfiguring divinity</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On
the mountaintop.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve
been promised a seat in his kingdom.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
watch him gasp for breath.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
entrusts his mother to my care</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
I am struck by the humanity</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of
a son.</span></div>
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<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-47802209142072754732015-03-31T22:20:00.000-04:002015-03-31T22:20:13.753-04:00Because it's March 31I can't let a month slip by without a single post. I think the blog would collapse into a black hole.<br />
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So what have I been doing? Well, I've begun teaching yoga classes, three so far. The first was canceled due to snow. And tonight, on the last day of March, it was canceled again...due to snow. I am more unhappy about the snow on March 31 than the cancellation...though that isn't thrilling me, I'd rather be safe. Given that I watched a car stall out trying to get up our hill I think the cancellation was wise.<br />
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So, the happy making stuff is we have reclaimed the extra bedroom. Diana moved out back in August but Calypso claimed that room for a period of time until we could paint her room. We had stripped the wall paper only about a decade ago. One must not rush into such things as painting walls. Anyway, we finally painted her room so she moved back into it and we reclaimed the last bedroom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPXcyzVsb5gKG8OIQdNrVZBSYVjGrhweD02ufCec8oABEQ7hbPJ9wiZ-obJtGcMDGoUZunfELGFcEi2ST5nqNPdi3RLTAtzQsKfTqcIrDNKS4kl7MyJhSByi6iBwl-ijV3y88/s1600/11026307_10152613818130741_6437181901025312395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPXcyzVsb5gKG8OIQdNrVZBSYVjGrhweD02ufCec8oABEQ7hbPJ9wiZ-obJtGcMDGoUZunfELGFcEi2ST5nqNPdi3RLTAtzQsKfTqcIrDNKS4kl7MyJhSByi6iBwl-ijV3y88/s1600/11026307_10152613818130741_6437181901025312395_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>Mr. Lime declared an intended use for it and I may have mentioned I thought it would be nice to have dedicated yoga space because nothing harshes a good yoga vibe like having someone try to step over you while in lizard pose, or stoop under you to ask a question while in downward facing dog pose. He said, as long as I moved all the books out of the den and into this room I could also use it for yoga space. so that also meant I'd finally get all my books out of boxes and back on shelves where they belong. Win/win! Although it was going to require a hard weeding of the book collection to fit them into the new space. This was also a job I wanted to happen so painful as it was I was glad for the motivation to get it done. Here are the results with one shelf yet to be built and filled on the floor. I nearly halved the collection. I have since gone out and purchased six more books but no one should be stunned by this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHu4orVRgVruURamKeNj0F5_58Yrt2TAe7hZwyo1MU2G_PA0hby9etvNrRpayrRQz2a7HFzSVGinz6i3oo9o67g4ipYbNWW-jLWWF6_U2_UUyQj9XPMk7GtG7OKxUsyl4D_Kz/s1600/IMG_7050+(800x533).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHu4orVRgVruURamKeNj0F5_58Yrt2TAe7hZwyo1MU2G_PA0hby9etvNrRpayrRQz2a7HFzSVGinz6i3oo9o67g4ipYbNWW-jLWWF6_U2_UUyQj9XPMk7GtG7OKxUsyl4D_Kz/s1600/IMG_7050+(800x533).jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>I began referring to the room as the yogabrary. It made me very happy. I had lots of space to move. No one was walking in on me or over me or around me. My books we out of boxes. All was well. Then I came home after a particularly aggravating day and had more happy making when I discovered this sign on the door.... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGquliezmWOzAiG6xbUnsYJCUJX9oa0URqHFkUW-kre6vXPUJzHlDbCF-5PbbnMa4Ox8dmA3zfQy7rPgt15-90XApd0k0qLGhuFLA-1Z5HuBRH18d5FmHuzNOOTvTMe-qGvL-m/s1600/IMG_7051+(800x533).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGquliezmWOzAiG6xbUnsYJCUJX9oa0URqHFkUW-kre6vXPUJzHlDbCF-5PbbnMa4Ox8dmA3zfQy7rPgt15-90XApd0k0qLGhuFLA-1Z5HuBRH18d5FmHuzNOOTvTMe-qGvL-m/s1600/IMG_7051+(800x533).jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a> ....which flips to this when I want to be alone. Mr. Lime gets it. One day I was so stressed several of his jokes went right over my head. He patted me on the hand and said, "It's ok dear, go breathe and do your yoga stuff." <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68d13j0xsuMLP6XhFct1iidDsRll9B01rJKIggX_thPWv81kmzhcSETfaxrpWPj-Bm15ytCm53fy9Xb8DsEIWGwq_fDu1qfp4cFasBFm-Hyw-mYsYqlWHu922Ft3hh4HSZOul/s1600/IMG_7053+(533x800).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68d13j0xsuMLP6XhFct1iidDsRll9B01rJKIggX_thPWv81kmzhcSETfaxrpWPj-Bm15ytCm53fy9Xb8DsEIWGwq_fDu1qfp4cFasBFm-Hyw-mYsYqlWHu922Ft3hh4HSZOul/s1600/IMG_7053+(533x800).jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a>So I did...<br />
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And then I did some more...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNzFnilNa0mjBIT7Qo88vsaYgI4K13keB_knF5GJuTR38cYPVG2QqE1AoNWNca2J7rsRTi9k4qg38_ggXXGB_qrFtyCFJjifUa9zzUKYn4DeXjqlu21ibo3IPhTSew-KzSR2P/s1600/IMG_7062+(533x800).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNzFnilNa0mjBIT7Qo88vsaYgI4K13keB_knF5GJuTR38cYPVG2QqE1AoNWNca2J7rsRTi9k4qg38_ggXXGB_qrFtyCFJjifUa9zzUKYn4DeXjqlu21ibo3IPhTSew-KzSR2P/s1600/IMG_7062+(533x800).jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
...and more... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RdDjzHdzVeZJO2BDObyr5zpOSybtdCnbuusV7BTRzOim0-0o-daHE4XUTvwO6do4mrDa5W4NtBUyv7qLIgy8nB2GD2Tz5_mUjmIFZxLpNpBagov4fEuFJA8HqGMdzZi7J_fi/s1600/IMG_7063+(533x800).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RdDjzHdzVeZJO2BDObyr5zpOSybtdCnbuusV7BTRzOim0-0o-daHE4XUTvwO6do4mrDa5W4NtBUyv7qLIgy8nB2GD2Tz5_mUjmIFZxLpNpBagov4fEuFJA8HqGMdzZi7J_fi/s1600/IMG_7063+(533x800).jpg" height="320" width="178" /></a>It was very relaxing.<br />
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I am a happy Lime.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-89624929281017337412015-02-17T20:18:00.000-05:002015-02-17T20:18:18.844-05:00This Gift Sucks!In the over quarter century Mr. Lime and I have been a couple there have been many gifts exchanged for various occasions, be they birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, Valentine's Day, Mother's or Father's Day, or on rare occasion, just because. Now to be forthright here, we often do not exchange a gift for our anniversary because it is the week before Christmas. We also tend not to exchange gifts for Valentine's Day because of it's proximity to Mr. Lime's birthday....but sometimes we do.<br />
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As you may imagine, sometimes the gifts have been things one or the other of us has longed for and all parties are happy upon receipt. Other times the gift is a complete surprise which also brings joy. Then there are the gifts that make the recipient wonder what thoughts went through the giver's mind during the selection process....indeed, were there any thoughts at all? We've covered the full range. <br />
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Mr. Lime had another birthday this week. I had a particular idea in mind but had not yet executed it due to snow storms and the size of the item I was considering and having no place to hide it. However, the day before his birthday he announced he wanted one thing this year....well, ok...two. First he wanted a box of Devil Dogs. Gross, but ok if it's what you want. The second item was astounding to me. He declared repeatedly that this was what he wanted. He stated in the presence of witnesses that should he receive the hoped for item he would use it with regularity. Calypso added her voice to the chorus and emphatically seconded the motion as to desire and commitment to use.<br />
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Now to be sure, this gift is something that were it to be given from Mr. Lime to me there may be all sorts of accusations of thoughtlessness or anti-feminist sentiment. However, the direction was reversed and this IS what he specifically asked for.<br />
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Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I present to you Mr. Lime's birthday present.<br />
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<br /><br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-39494649291633648402015-02-10T22:43:00.000-05:002015-02-17T20:19:00.113-05:00Radiant ThreadsLast May I joined a yoga teacher training program. I had only been practicing yoga for about a year and a half at that point. There were, and still are, many poses which I was unable to do at all. Part of me thought I had no business thinking I could be a teacher. Fortunately, my studio is full of teachers who believe in empowering their students and who are faithful to impart the idea that yoga is not a destination in which both feet are behind your ears, rather it's a journey which, though partially physical, is largely between the ears. As the Yoga Sutras tell us, the purpose of yoga is to calm the fluctuations of the mind, to quiet the chatter, to embrace stillness. All our movement and sweat and physical effort is really to tame the mind and prepare us to physically endure meditation long enough to find the stillness.<br />
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Still I had doubts. I was blessed to have people I respected tell me that I definitely had something to offer in this realm. I had little comments here and there from fellow students which made me dare. I had a therapist who, after three years of sitting quietly and neutrally when I expressed various things, blurted out emphatically, "I don't think there is any question that you should do this." I asked where the carefully neutral therapist went and why she would so strongly advocate for this particular path. She said it was a no-brainer because yoga had proven enormously beneficial to me physically and emotionally and when I expressed the possibility of joining the teacher training program it was the first time in three years I had said I was going to make a major investment of time and money in something just for me. She had a point.<br />
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Thus, I plunked down my deposit on the last day they would be accepted. I bought a dozen books. I rolled up my mat and prepared for my first weekend of two ten hour days back to back spent listening to lectures, engaging in a physical practice and, cramming my brain full of anatomy, philosophy, and the names of ten other women, only a couple of whom I knew.<br />
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It would be fair to say our group of eleven ended that first weekend wondering just exactly what the hell we had gotten ourselves into. And already personalities were emerging. We had the shy, the sassy, the seasoned, the serene, and the silly. Our age range spans four decades. Our cultures are diverse. Most of us were fairly local but a couple came from considerable distance.<br />
<br />
Over the months there were some major life transitions experienced by members of our group. One made a move of over a hundred miles right at the time when we needed to begin teaching community classes. She had to scramble to find a new studio in which to practice and which would provide space for that aspect of her training. One broke an engagement. One culminated hers in marriage. One had a husband and child move to a different state in order to separate her child from a very destructive situation. One buried an only child. When one member rejoiced or mourned the entire group stood with her.<br />
<br />
As the months passed and trust grew, histories were revealed. Wounds were exposed, sometimes for the first time. Stories one might never have expected bubbled to the surface. Sometimes they filled gently and floated aloft like a balloon as the person holding the history realized she could let go, that it no longer had power over her. Sometimes the stories erupted like lava from the belly of the earth. When the mountain trembled and a woman feared it might destroy her there was a circle of support to provide safety.<br />
<br />
Our group of eleven went from being acquaintances to being sisters. We shared laughter, tears, joy, frustration, exhaustion, delight, wonder, anger, discovery, insight, and boredom. In the last weeks we all wondered how we might do on our final exam. We spent one study session not so much studying as reminiscing over the last ten months, quelling anxiety, and laughing our asses off. This past Saturday we took our exam.<br />
<br />
Sunday morning we received the news that we had all passed with A's. Sunday afternoon we gathered for a simple graduation ceremony in which our head teacher spoke to each of us about what she respected and appreciated most in each of us. She then handed us a small lit candle and our diploma. During the party immediately following, the student who is an Indian woman presented each of us with a saree she had chosen especially for us. She said, "We read the Yoga Sutras for our training. Sutra means thread. These sarees represent the beautiful threads of our friendships. When you look at them remember how much I love you and all the love we have shared and will continue to share no matter where life carries us."<br />
<br />
And then we shed a few more tears and hugs and laughter as she wrapped us up in her love just before we prepare to go out and share our light.<br />
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<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-90217090923619841292015-01-18T18:12:00.001-05:002015-01-18T18:12:27.123-05:00Taking StockI know January is nearly half over but here I am to finally usher in the new year formally. I look back at the last post and see it's been over a month since my last post. That's the longest hiatus I've ever taken...period...even factoring in having body parts rebuilt or removed completely. I've missed being in this space and getting my thoughts out digitally in a more extended format than Facebook might allow.<br />
<br />
That last post still pains me to consider. I miss my friend. His departure was unexpected and sudden and left me reeling. In the wake of that I had the hope of a children's services position in a local public library. It was much closer to home than my current job, better pay, and hours which would have been conducive to my continuing professional development in both library science and yoga instruction. I thought the interview went well. I still think my credentials had to put me at the top of the list. For whatever reason, I didn't get the job. I felt condemned to continuing a horrible commute to be paid less than what Calypso makes working in a chain restaurant. You all know I love what I do but the conditions are just worsening by the day and with the various automotive traumas the idea of a long drive to a deteriorating situation became demoralizing. <br />
<br />
Although I don't make resolutions I do reflect on the end of one year and the beginning of a new one. Honestly, I was not in a particularly happy place as I considered 2014. Three cars totaled. The equivalent of a new car spent either in repairs or complete losses. Three job interviews with no fruit. Work going downhill fast. And the year bookended with Galen's death in December and my mentor's in February. I was ready to send 2014 packing.<br />
<br />
And then I cracked open the mason jar full of notes I had collected throughout the year. Another friend shared at the beginning of 2014 how she jots down the date and a sentence or two about something that makes her smile or laugh or gives her great unexpected joy and puts it in the jar. At the end of the year she opens it up and reads each one. I liked that idea and did the same. Opening the jar and reading through each of the notes reminded me of joys and blessings large and small, which 2014 brought my way. <br />
<br />
I remembered that along with the sorrows, 2014 brought:<br />
<ul>
<li>The return to my life of an old friend whom I had long ago assumed was gone forever after she withdrew. Tears of joy at the first phone call which lasted a couple of hours and later a reunion face to face.</li>
<li>Expressions of respect and encouragement from coworkers who have become friends.</li>
<li>Lights of dawning understanding in the eyes of students.</li>
<li>MY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF BEING CANCER-FREE!</li>
<li>The courage to enter a yoga teacher training program and getting to know the amazing women in the program with me. </li>
<li>Special and unexpected opportunities to share time with friends and family.</li>
<li>Courage to try new things and find success.</li>
<li>So many examples of laughter and love and joy from a myriad of sources.</li>
</ul>
The notes I read made me remember the good of 2014 and I realized how many more I should have written but forgot to do so. Even the sadnesses and frustrations had aspects in which to find good. Cars were lost but no one has been seriously injured...thank God! Friends have passed from this world but I was blessed to know and love them. I miss them dearly and wish with all my heart that I could sit down and share a conversation and a hug again but I still carry their voice in my heart. As for the jobs, I have to trust there will be something out there sooner rather than later which will be a better fit that I imagined the ones I didn't land to be.<br />
<br />
Here's to 2015. May we all take time to see the good it brings so we may not be brought low by it's trials.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-71416153591717608022014-12-11T20:36:00.002-05:002014-12-11T20:38:09.035-05:00Friday 55 & Da Count-RIP G-man<br />
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<b>FRIDAY 55X2 </b> </div>
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(Two because sometimes it's necessary)</div>
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<br />
You are loyalty and kindness personified, a devoted dad, a fabulous cook, an avid
fisherman, the kickass host of Friday 55, Mr Knowitall in the best sense, a
lover of all things Michigan and Harley Davidson, the glue in any circle of friends, the love who helped his friends smile in the darkest of times.<br />
<br />
I was
honored by your friendship, blessed by your kindness, cheered by your
humor, encouraged by your patience, exhorted by your gentle wisdom. I already miss your laugh and the way you said my nickname. I'll never forget your smile, your eyes, or your hug. Rest in peace, ride on in glory. Love,
Trini.<br />
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<b>DA COUNT</b></div>
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I cannot believe he is gone. I am gutted. We first became acquainted when he began blogging and I commented in a case of mistaken identity. I thought he was someone else I knew and had finally started a blog. We emailed back and forth a couple times before I realized I was totally mistaken. It could have been completely awkward but Galen thought it was hilarious and was so gracious. We became fast friends....for real. We had fun trading trivia. He tried to trip me up on cultural references from his own childhood and was surprised that I could keep up. He said I was an old soul and he forgot to grow up was why we got along so well in spite of the age difference. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We talked about how much fun it would be to meet but never much thought it might happen since I had no cause to go to Michigan and he had no cause to come to Pennsylvania. In 2007 I went to Texas for a wedding and noticed several of the flights had layovers in Detroit. I thought, "Hey, this could happen!" Respective work schedules conspired against being able to spend a day or two there but I planned a layover of several hours when Galen and Signgurl said they could manage to get to Metro for a quick visit. Bonus! I'd get to meet both of them. They brought Roxi Moon and Frogger along for the ride. The four of us had a little party in some area where non-passengers could go and where I wouldn't have to go through security again. Signgurl had awesome food for us as we all chatted away. Galen sat there grinning ear to ear the whole time. When it was time to go he wrapped me up in the biggest hug of my life. Somewhere there is a picture of that moment but sadly I can't find it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We shared confidences. I was honored that he'd trust me with some of his deep hurts. I was blessed that he helped me bear some of mine. He certainly helped me endure the year Calypso was sick. He always wanted to know how my kids were and often talked of his own. He'd share about his lifelong friends and his concerns for them. He didn't describe himself as such but I could tell he was the driving force behind a lot of social activity whether it was among friends, family, or coworkers. He was a big clown but he was also incredibly intelligent. He was just too humble to toot his own horn though he'd be happy to fart the alphabet for you if you asked. He had purchased a fishing cabin within the last year and since giving up season tickets for U of Michigan had taken great joy in spending weekends there with friends or his son. He told me a few times that retirement was beginning to look attractive. I knew he loved his job and worked hard at it. I also knew he was deserving of some leisure after his own terrifying health scare a couple years ago and a lifetime of hard work. I anticipated a happy retirement for him spent fishing and riding his Harley. Sadly, his great big heart gave out at work this week. What I wouldn't give for it to still beat strong in his chest and to share another hug.</div>
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G-man, I am so grateful you were my friend. Rest in well-earned peace, ride on in glory. Love you always, Trini.</div>
limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-56822870299249783702014-11-30T19:46:00.000-05:002014-11-30T19:46:10.523-05:00I'll just be over here getting ready to move to Mackinac Island*August: My car is totaled while Isaac is driving it and another driver hits him. He is not injured.<br />
<br />
September: Diana totals her car. She is not injured.<br />
<br />
October: Calypso is in a minor fender bender with Isaac's car while hers is in the shop getting transmission work done. No injuries.<br />
<br />
Early November: Isaac hits a deer with his car. Deer is a casualty.<br />
<br />
Mid-November: Driver in front of me stops short, I rear-end him. Still waiting for word as to whether or not the car to replace the one totaled in August is...totaled. Minor sprains and strains.<br />
<br />
Late November (today, in fact): On her way back to Georgia from Pennsylvania Diana is at a full stop on the interstate in Virginia in heavy traffic and another car hits her so hard she spins and winds up in the median. She finds he glasses in the back seat. Diana is concussed and whip-lashed. <br />
<br />
Dear God thank you thank you thank you from the depths of my heart for protecting my girl from serious injury. Please, I beg of you though, no more accidents. Every time one of my kids calls me with this information my heart stops and then restarts at levels normally only achieved in cardio classes. I'm so grateful no one has been seriously injured or worse. I'm also feeling quite emotionally whip-lashed by it all. Surely, you understand what this sort of thing does to a mama's heart. I know I am a fortunate mama because I get to hug my kids again but ya gotta know it all terrifies me that one day that may not be the case.<br />
<br />
Dear Diana, Calypso, and Isaac, I know you think I am silly because I always want to hug you before you leave the house and tell you I love you. Please indulge me. This is not frivolous. I needed to do it before all this crashing began occurring. Even more so now.<br />
<br />
Dear family from North Carolina, thank you thank you thank you for getting to my girl and taking her someplace where she can rest peacefully and for helping her sort out practical logistics while letting her head rest and heal.<br />
<br />
Now someone please remind me how exactly this breathing thing works.....<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: small;">*Mackinac bans nearly all motor vehicles. Sounds good to me right now.</span></i>limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-59709133069359930642014-11-16T15:26:00.000-05:002014-11-16T15:37:00.840-05:00The Good HinduA teacher of the Law asked the Lord, <i>"What must I do to inherit eternal life?" </i><br />
<br />
What does the Law say?<br />
<br />
<i>Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and mind, and soul and love your neighbor as yourself.</i><br />
<br />
You have answered correctly. Do this and you will live.<br />
<br />
<i>But, Lord, who is my neighbor?</i><br />
<br />
The Lord replied, "A woman was having many trials in her life. She had found a lump in her breast and needed surgery. Fortunately, it turned out to be benign. However, just four days after surgery and though the woman also had a daughter who was critically ill, her boss, an elder in a local evangelical church, demanded she come to work on her normally scheduled day off because the office was short-staffed. She was incredulous but dragged her still weakened self to work because she mistakenly regarded her boss as a "friend." Shortly after this he fired her and refused to give a reason although the office manager commended her work ethic and skills.<br />
<br />
Some time later the woman became frighteningly ill and this time it really was cancer. She had recently left her congregation though her son and husband stayed there. She and her family had been involved in that church in many ways for nearly 20 years. When the pastor learned from the woman's husband that she was ill he told the man he was sorry to hear it. He never called the woman, never sent a note, never asked the husband to express his concern for the woman he had known. Later, when the woman visited the church for an event her son was involved in the pastor made demeaning comments from the pulpit about "those people over at the ashram."<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the woman had met a female monk from the ashram. They exchanged pleasantries only twice. When the monk learned of the woman's illness she asked if she could have the woman's email address and phone number to keep in touch before and after surgery and treatment. True to her word, the monk checked in on the woman several times asking how she was doing, if there was anything needed, letting her know she was offering prayers for the woman's well-being. When the woman said she was feeling sad about the need for being quarantined from human touch during treatment the monk checked on her more often during that period of time to provide encouragement in the loneliness. When the quarantine was over the monk gave the woman a big, loving hug and rejoiced with the woman over the good report from the doctor."<br />
<br />
Which of these do you think was a neighbor to the woman facing trials?<br />
<br />
<i>The one who showed loved to the woman.</i><br />
<br />
The Lord said, "Go and do likewise."<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <br />
<br />
I give thanks for the folks who demonstrated love to me in my time of need, whether I share their theology or not. I am honored by their friendship and blessed by their kindness. I can only hope to reciprocate adequately when the opportunities arise. I will not remain in the presence of those who would demean them.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-29610879724378155022014-11-10T21:14:00.003-05:002014-11-10T21:14:54.606-05:00Reclaiming My MatA little over two years ago, in the wake of losing a job in a very nasty way, I discovered yoga. One of the messages which helped me heal from that unpleasantness was the message of "letting go of that which no longer serves." It did not serve me to dwell in anger. It only kept me from moving forward. <br />
<br />
I also found it very healing to develop a practice in a discipline which teaches its students to honor their bodies meaning that whether I can make the same shapes as the instructor or the folks next to me isn't important. It's important that I am listening to what my body says is good for it and I am the only one who can know that for sure. Yoga helped me develop trust in listening to that inner voice. This was healing in both physical and emotional ways because I had struggled with back problems serious enough to send me to a neurosurgeon many years ago. I had limped through various forms of rehabilitation only to have certain health care providers suggest that when I complained of pain it indicated an unwillingness to work on my part. <br />
<br />
I kept telling them no, I was experiencing serious pain which was setting me back rather than moving me forward. I hasten to add I worked with great endurance and perseverance to regain the use of my hand and arm after demolishing it eight years ago. It ain't a lack of willingness to work...it was not being shown proper form to have the work be effective rather than harmful. Yoga gave me a sense of proper alignment so I could work in ways which allowed me to increase strength and flexibility while avoiding injury...because I was listening to what my body told me in the process. <br />
<br />
In so doing I was empowered to listen more carefully from day to day and even moment to moment. I had teachers who explained that just because I could do a certain pose yesterday didn't mean it would happen today. Conversely, not being able to do something yesterday didn't mean it was beyond reach today. I needed to greet each time on my mat as a new experience, without attachment or expectation. This message became critically important when I was diagnosed with cancer less than six months after beginning a yoga practice. The nature of my health problems created wild swings in my metabolism and energy levels to the extent that it wax impossible to predict how I'd feel on any given day. It was a crash course in advanced listening. Sometimes I'd have to stop in the middle of class and just take a rest while others continued working vigorously. I was ok with that. I was even encouraged when other students said seeing me in a resting pose gave them permission to do the same when they needed it.<br />
<br />
Yoga also helped me find a place where I could quiet a restless mind. My mat became the place for dropping out from between my ears and into mindful movement and meditation. Yogic philosophy tells us yoga is not just exercise for the body but a union of breath with movement and the body with the spirit. I found that on my mat. I shed anger with God and people. I found a greater ability to listen to the messages my body was giving me and the still small voice, conscience, God, the universe, whatever you want to call it. It all came together in union as intended. It got me through some dark days and helped me increase health both mental and physical. It made me want to know more and to be able to share it with folks who might want to learn too so I enrolled in the teacher training course.<br />
<br />
Teacher training has been at turns, amazing, fulfilling, overwhelming, frustrating, wonderful, inspiring, and infuriating. Two weekends of it have been downright upsetting. This past month's training made me want to burn my mat and never get back on it again. Part of the frustration is due to having to become familiar with styles of yoga which I do not connect to at all, which I find far too physically demanding. Although the message "honor your body" remains the same, that I even have to take a class in a particular style feels dishonoring and yet I have to find a way to learn the style even as I do not push myself to the point of injury. It's a challenging balance to find. <br />
<br />
The other aspect, which pushed me over the line recently, was topics which opened up huge trauma triggers for me. Between the physically demanding style I was learning and the distressing topics I felt as if I were losing the safe space my mat has always been. It felt as if my mat were being invaded or usurped, as if I no longer had a right to honor my own body and my own spirit by giving it what it needed. I was wrong, of course, but just like Dorothy had to learn that there's no place like home, I had to be reminded that my mat is MY mat and my practice is MINE.<br />
<br />
I am 46 years old. I've come to yoga late in life and after considerable physical trauma. I do not need to have a practice which looks like that of an athletic 20-something. If I do, great. If I don't, that's great too. The point is, I have a practice. It doesn't matter how vigorous or how gentle it is. It matters if I am finding a union of breath and movement, of body, soul, and spirit. It matters if I derive pleasure from my practice and want to engage in it, not whether I can put a foot behind my head or do 62 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGahVbKcXuA">chaturangas</a> in a vigorous Ashtanga class (I can't do either).<br />
<br />
The last training weekend I had damn near every trauma trigger tripped. I was reeling. I was a gaping, open wound sitting in a corner weeping through a class. I was broken and depleted and yet asked for more....which has so often been the story of my life. I was angry because MY mat is not the place for that. MY mat is where I heal from all of that. MY mat is my safe place. I wept because I was afraid I was losing MY mat. Then I remembered, it's MY mat and no one gets to tell me what My practice on MY mat looks like. <br />
<br />
I reclaimed my mat by staying off it for two classes. For one class I sat in the corner just working to find my breath while others worked physically difficult poses. For another class I stayed home. When I returned, I went to the class taught in the style that speaks to ME. I worked in the way MY body told me felt right. I dropped out of my ears and into my body working a slow, meditative pace which allowed my mind to find the rest it needed.<br />
<br />
When I teach I want to remember to empower my students to listen to themselves on their mats. It will be my job to tell them what they need to know to be safe. What they do with the rest of my instruction is up to them because it is their practice, not mine.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-6308589946304707542014-11-05T22:49:00.000-05:002014-11-05T22:49:58.277-05:00Overheard in (or regarding) the LibraryIt's
a strange soundtrack to which I work. Outside one door is a beginner
clarinetist honking and squeaking through <i>Mary Had a Little Lamb</i>.
Outside the other door kindergarteners are learning letter sounds and
chanting..t-t-t-t-t-t...Inside the library, the heaters that were just
turned on this morning are clanging along.<br /> <br /> It's got an interesting beat, a little challenging to dance to. I give it a 47.<br />
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5th
grader comes into the library and upon checking out tells me he was
stressed and ready to pull his hair out deciding on a book.<br /> <br /> <b>Me:</b> Friend, just relax. Picking a book should be relaxing.<br /> <br /> <b>Him:</b> I get stressed over everything.<br /> <br /> <b>Me:</b> Take a deep breath. Just breathe.<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> <b><br /> Him:</b> I tried that over 300 times. It doesn't work.<br /> <br /> <b>Me:</b> Well, stop breathing. Let me know how that works out for ya.</span></div>
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2nd grade quote of the day:<br /> <br /> <b>Him:</b> I wish this was a real library.<br /> <b>Me:</b> It is.<br /> <b>Him:</b> But everyone talks too loud.<br /> <br /> I love all the kids but the ones who crave the sanctuary get me every time.</div>
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<br />
Oh the self-control I exhibit...When a student commented on the leather
jacket draped over my chair I managed not to snarl and say, "It's made
from the hide of kids who damage or never return library books."<br />
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Then there's a little game I like to call "values clarification." You're in a
school of 700 or so 5-10 yr olds plus staff. You may have 2 or 3 of the
following and you may rotate which items you have but you may never have
all 4 at the same time: functional plumbing, hand soap, paper towels,
and toilet paper. Choose wisely...</div>
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Finally, Isaac came to me asking for $50 to buy a new box of contact lenses. I asked what happened to his money. He said he had enough but didn't want to spend it. Incredulous, I asked how much he brings home a week (from two part time jobs). He quoted a figure and I countered letting him know I bring home less than half of that. He said that was impossible. I pulled out a pay stub. Then he asked why on earth I still work there.<br />
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limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-46877887747648923122014-10-24T23:02:00.002-04:002014-10-24T23:02:52.371-04:00I Don't Know Where This Post is Going but It Will Get ThereCan you believe once upon a time and for several years I posted five times a week? My how times change. Back on October 12, Hugh Jackman and I shared a birthday and this blog turned 9 years old. I certainly never imagined I'd be doing this nine years later and although the pace of my output has slowed considerably I don't want to stop completely. This forum has provided me with people whose friendships have sustained me through some of my darkest days and who have rejoiced with me in great triumphs. I like to think I have reciprocated that to some folks as well. I am grateful, so very grateful for the friends who have become like family and the little community we've been able to form.<br />
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In other files marked "the times they are a changin'" I offer two examples of educational anachronisms. This week in one of my libraries a little boy ran to my desk carrying a book so he could alert me to the "bad word" contained in the title. The book in question was <i>Dick and Jane: a Christmas Story</i>. I had to explain that it was a nickname for Richard that has fallen out of favor. <br />
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Later, a fourth grade class came in with their brand new math workbooks for a new curriculum aligned with the mandated Common Core standards. As a table full of students hunched over their workbooks crunching numbers I happened to notice the two pages contained several word problems using a stamp collection as the main reference point from which to derive information. Let me repeat that. A stamp collection. A fourth grade class. A poverty-stricken, inner city school. In the year 2014. Cuz, yo, that's how we roll in da hood.....with our postage stamp collections. Bitches be all up in my face wantin' a British Guiana 1c magenta. <br />
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Sweet mother of irrelevancy, if we have to stop a math lesson to explain what the hell a postage stamp is and why on earth someone would have an entire collection of them because the kids are all giving that cocked head, confused puppy look I think we've derailed ourselves a bit here. Could we perhaps enter the 21st century and provide appropriate examples of things the kids might actually come in contact with so they can grasp how math affects their daily lives? If you want to introduce stamp collecting as a concept just say so and I will come up with a lesson integrating vocabulary, geography, history, art, technology and even math. Furthermore, the kids will be on the edges of their seats and learn something that may actually spark their imagination and intellect because it will be cohesive rather than random. This? This is just plain stupid.<br />
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We've also had all sorts of automotive traumas. In the last three months each of my three children has had an accident. Thank God, no one was injured. That's the most important thing. The cars have fared less well. Two were totaled, one sustained minor damage. Calypso's car has had transmission problem and is back on the shop for more of the same. Mr. Lime's Clampett-mobile style truck had the brakes go and tries to slowly poison the driver with carbon monoxide unless the window is cracked open. It's now in the shop for a new muffler and brakes. I'm just wondering which automotive gods I have pissed off and if an offering of motor oil and Turtle Wax will help appease them. Then again, one could say a Higher Power has had my back since the people I love most have been spared injury.<br />
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In happy news, I've been able to teach my series of free community yoga classes as practice of my new skills. Did I mention I was the first among my large class of teacher trainees to have to teach the public? How about that it was before we'd had the classes on sequencing or providing physical assistance to students? It was nerve-wracking to prepare for but fun to do once I was there. My
mantra for nerves was, "It ain't cancer. It's yoga." Very zen, huh? I'm sure the ancient gurus chanted that in Sanskrit or Tibetan. I was so encouraged by the two teachers who came to my classes, as well as my fellow trainees. And then there were the two ladies who were brand new to yoga and who told me they were hooked immediately because of the message that there is no competition and that they listen to their own bodies whether what they do looks like the teacher or the person on the mat next to them or not. I was THRILLED that they "got it" and were empowered by that.<br />
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So here I am nine years out, working in two urban schools running libraries, working toward being certified as a yoga instructor. I've been through a child's serious illness, my own serious illness, five surgeries, and more cars than I care to count. My three children who were in elementary school and junior high when I began this blog are all graduated from high school and on to the next steps of their lives. One is in Georgia, one in a local institute of higher learning, and one is preparing to go to Haiti next month in preparation for a later 1-3 month internship there. Mr. Lime is counting the years to retirement and I am embarking on new adventures within new communities of friends.limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-89050341242160384672014-10-05T22:53:00.001-04:002014-10-05T22:55:59.616-04:00FlexibilityFirst, an update on the aftermath of last week's post.<br />
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After being told I'd have to do "library on a cart" I spent a considerable amount of time gathering scholarly articles correlating library access to various measures of student achievement so I could fortify my arguments for the students having access to the full library collection, not just the couple hundred books I could fit on a cart and drag around the school. So as to not overstress the admins I highlighted key passages in the several dozen pages I printed out. Folks were unswayed though one noted I had come prepared, to which I replied, "I work in a library. I know how to do research."<br />
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However, I am glad to report an acceptable compromise was reached. Our school is bursting at the seams. I had to give up some geography in the library to accommodate another class being moved up there. I was able to convince the principal that library on a cart is such a piss poor excuse for library service that we cannot justify it. He offered the suggestion of only having part of the class come to the library at a time since an entire class can no longer fit in the remaining space. I agreed because the most important thing is that the kids have access to the full collection. We've already lost librarians and library instruction. We cannot afford to lose access to the collection. So a certain degree of flexibility from both the principal and from me has allowed for some semblance of a solution. It's not optimal or even desirable but it's preferable to library on a cart.<br />
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In other news, I spent this weekend of yoga teacher training learning how to safely give hands on assists to deepen stretches....so flexibility can be increased.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxWmfp8C-qXb11kMQye_pn1Z-XOFUjUxO0qQ6gAHTdrhpP3c_Crtenl_ApNhZgr3RD4bSiQr_2vx82sYGYM9Z6Y2nGfVjpfSr5rjARKtrXR2jKR6UKAFU26rjRlQ_A2SB1Lob/s1600/10718679_957863637564285_1272488083_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxWmfp8C-qXb11kMQye_pn1Z-XOFUjUxO0qQ6gAHTdrhpP3c_Crtenl_ApNhZgr3RD4bSiQr_2vx82sYGYM9Z6Y2nGfVjpfSr5rjARKtrXR2jKR6UKAFU26rjRlQ_A2SB1Lob/s1600/10718679_957863637564285_1272488083_o.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>Bending one classmate in half.<br />
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Asking another classmate to walk all over me.<br />
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I am learning flexibility in all sorts of contexts but I'd still like to tell the people decimating urban public schools and their libraries to get bent. <br />
<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-53731579568482307782014-09-29T21:05:00.000-04:002014-09-29T21:05:23.916-04:00DisheartenedI'd like to open by asking you what exactly you think would posses a person with a B.S. Ed. and who holds state certifications in Special Education and as a Library Assistant to put 80 miles a day on her car to earn $8.41/hr in order to provide book circulation to two urban elementary schools with a combined collection of 21,000 books and a combined population of roughly 1600 students and 75 teachers? Allow me to remind you this person performs the job alone. There is no M.L.S. credentialed librarian. The folks with advanced degrees were furloughed so those of us hired as "assistants" are doing this job alone....in two schools.<br />
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God knows I could find a Special Ed job tomorrow and be paid many times more than what I am currently paid so we can assume it's not the generous compensation for this job. The thing is, I burned out on the bureaucracy with that job. I love the kids who struggle for one reason or another. I love empowering them and helping them find ways to succeed. I just can't cope with the exhausting amount of legal documentation. It saps the energy that the kids need in order for me to be effective with them.<br />
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I am not enamored of long commutes and even less so since our family has had multiple major automotive issues in the last two months. I certainly don't enjoy filling my tank two or more times a week and honestly, my pay doesn't really help me do so. The travel route is congested with a great many aggressive drivers and several construction sites. Neither of those things help endear the drive to me.<br />
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At my two schools I lack basic necessities for my job such as an adult-sized desk and a chair with doesn't collapse under me every time I sit in it. I've become very adept at the art of the careful landing. I also sit in a moldy basement in one of the schools. Hey, who needs air-quality? What an unnecessary luxury. Oh right, the air is fine according to all reports (how many palms were greased for that and how many salaries could have been paid instead?) only it's not.<br />
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Of course, a case could be made for insanity being the motivation. These conditions are crazy-making. It also unnerves my husband on a daily basis that I drive as far as I do to park my car in less than safe neighborhoods to work for so little. My sanity certainly has been questioned long enough and in multiple contexts by many people so there may be sufficient evidence to convict on that charge.<br />
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I submit the main motivation is a soul-deep concern for vulnerable kids and for being involved in their educational process in a way which doesn't suck the life out of me, a desire to support a bone-weary faculty in their daily efforts, and an abiding love and appreciation for the power of books. There's also the satisfaction that comes from bringing order out of chaos, being able to provide efficient systems for accessing literature and information, and making both students and faculty aware of resources they never knew existed. Watching a child's eyes light up over something which engages his imagination or answers her questions gives me joy. Seeing a teacher breathe a sigh of relief over being saved a little time in searching for materials to use in augmenting a lesson gives me a little more energy to continue serving.<br />
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I don't see myself as a great savior but I do believe I provide an important service and provide it well. I believe the context in which I serve is critically important as I am serving students who begin life with too many strikes against them already. The students in my two schools are the poorest in the city. They come from homes full of violence, substance abuse, and transience. They come from homes with a lack of stability, food, and books. That's not to say every home represented is like this but certainly the demographics indicate there is a disproportionate degree of these attributes. There will never be a lack of people willing to work in comfortable suburban schools. It's important to attract capable, hard-working people to the worst situations though. I am capable and if showing up to do my job well in the midst of dealing with cancer doesn't demonstrate a work ethic, I don't know what does.<br />
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Our schools spend a great deal of time and money providing free meals, health clinics, food pantries, clothing closets, after school activities, and other services. These are important and can make a big difference. I am in no way suggesting these services cease. I will say we must not forget our primary job is to EDUCATE children. I am deeply concerned that the lack of value placed on our libraries indicates we have forgotten that responsibility.<br />
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We have already furloughed the librarians so our students are not receiving instruction as to how to properly use a library and access its treasures or literature and information, nor how to conduct effective online searches for digital information. We have completely failed them in providing the tools needed for them to engage in self-directed learning in the most expansive resource, the library. Ray Bradbury said he could not afford to go to college so he went to the library and "graduated" at age 27 after he had read countless volumes. Our students, who may never be able to dream of affording higher education, will not have a concept that they have the power to educate themselves. Hell, they probably won't even find out who Ray Bradbury is or have the chance to consider his works for that matter.<br />
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Still, I strive because it matters deeply for our students. When I interviewed for this job I said aside from providing excellent service I wanted to cultivate the library as a safe place. I am given 20 minutes every other week per class (which is pathetic to begin with) to allow them a sense of this haven, this sacred space for knowledge and imagination. It's a challenge but one I believe I have risen to. I cannot contractually provide formal instruction but I can take 20 minutes and do everything in my power to convey that this is a place for hope of finding solace or building a better future....until you evict the students and me from this place.<br />
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I am told I am now to "do library on a cart." I am to distill a 10,000 volume library to a cart which holds fewer books than the average teacher's classroom library, push it from room to room, and call it library service for 900 students and 30-40 faculty. We've already abandoned library instruction. If you want me to abandon proper circulation service then you are more insane than I am. This is a horrendous failure of educational leadership. If you want library on a cart stop pretending it matters at all. Delete the entire collection from the catalog, distribute the books to the students and teachers, and take the shelves apart. I have no interest in perpetrating the fraud of saying library services are provided to our neediest children under such conditions.<br />
<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-26846097475403529112014-09-18T19:44:00.002-04:002014-09-18T21:35:36.044-04:00Just Give Me the A Already Because My Other Classes Are Killing MeSchool has resumed. It's been an odd start to the year. t was very strange not to have to engage in the typical back to school preparations for children who are still in public school. Very weird indeed since Mr. Lime and I still had to get ourselves ready. <br />
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That said, Calypso (who would like me to post some touching sort of post about her...sheesh, kid discovers your blog and all of a sudden wants to be the star!) has begun a program at a community college. After a couple of online classes in which she did very well she has begun attending full-time on campus classes this fall. Here then, instead of a warm and fuzzy Hallmark sort of post, I present some observations on school.<br />
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She is not loving Statistics. I can't say as I blame her. If you recall, I <a href="http://houseoflime.blogspot.com/2006/02/thank-you-and-confession.html">burned my stats textbook</a> when the class was over. She has a particular classmate who is driving her even crazier than the topic itself. The classmate is a middle-aged woman who has just returned to school for the first time in decades and is understandably insecure about it. What annoys Calypso is not the insecurity but her inclination to ask the same question repeatedly because she can't be bothered to actually listen to the prof when he answers her. The incessant questioning is so constant a disruption that other members of the class and the prof himself are finding their patience strained to the limit. Calypso, though she is struggling with statistical concepts seems to have grasped at least one in assigning a nickname to this one classmate whose age is no where near the range of fellow classmates and who doesn't seem to grasp any of the social cues within a polite classroom. Said classmate is now referred to as Outlier.<br />
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Here then is what she related as the conversation with her Literature prof who said genres won't be covered individually but rather under themes such as Death, Alienation and Loneliness, Nature, Love and Desire. Under each theme there will be poetry, short stories, and dramas relating to the theme.<br />
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<b>C:</b> I was looking at the textbook and the syllabus and noticed there's a TON of Poe in the textbook but none was listed in the syllabus so I was wondering why.<br />
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<b>Prof:</b> Oh? You think we should? <br />
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<b>C:</b> Well, um, since you mentioned he's pretty much the father of the short story and we have a theme of DEATH, I thought his work might be relevant.<br />
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<b>Prof:</b> Hhhmm, good point. Which works do you think we ought to use?<br />
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<b>C:</b> (incredulous) Well, it's a safe bet that anything he wrote would work but how about a short story AND a poem?<br />
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<b>Prof:</b> You may be right. I'll add that.<br />
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<b>C: </b>Well, and I also noticed a lot of Plath in the book but none on the syllabus.<br />
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<b>Prof: </b> You think I should be covering Plath?<br />
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<b>C:</b> (looking around for Candid Camera) Well, uh, yes. She seems a good candidate for alienation and loneliness since, you know, she was feeling alienated and lonely enough to literally stick her head in an oven and all.<br />
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<b>Prof:</b> Hhmm, another good point. I hadn't thought of that.<br />
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Calypso then told me she needed to write a thank you note to her ninth grade English teacher who loved nothing more than when a student found death as a theme in any of the works discussed during Lit Circles (something Calypso found a real challenge at the time). I'm sure such a note will make that teacher's day.<br />
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<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17765202.post-74360029151231108612014-09-01T11:48:00.001-04:002014-09-01T11:48:51.328-04:00It's All Happening at the ZooThe week I was going back and forth to Philadelphia for my testing I decided to make a trip to the zoo one day. I've always loved the Philadelphia Zoo, which has the distinction of being our nation's first. I met my friend Gwen and her little one, Sweet Pea there. Join us.<br />
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Flamingos always make me giggle.<br />
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There were a couple of women discussing this position with the little one they were accompanying. We all agreed it looked like giraffe yoga. Downward giraffe anyone? <br />
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I was following my prep diet for the scans while at the zoo. Last year I may have fought the otter for the fish. This year my cravings were all about cheese, so I could just enjoy the otter's antics. We also had an extended discussion with the otter's keeper. We learned a lot about the breeding programs. Essentially the worldwide zoo population of these river otters is descended mostly from the same mother and there are more hoops to jump through to get your otter laid than any sane person would even want to imagine.<br />
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This bear seemed wholly unconcerned with any of that.<br />
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We were hoping the peacock would give us a show. He did not oblige.<br />
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Getting ready for a date and checking his deodorant? <br />
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"Listen, Glen may have on his aftershave but he still can't dance. Just look at that ungainly display on the dance floor."<br />
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GQ Lemur edition.<br />
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The beauty shop at the primate house.<br />
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Cutie<br />
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Deep in thought or needing a smoke?<br />
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Whoa, Mama! the ground is waaaaaay down there!<br />
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She seemed fairly annoyed by the people around.<br />
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Sweet Pea's favorite toy is her stuffed lion. It goes everywhere with her. She wanted this lion to meet her lion.<br />
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Majesty<br />
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If you've ever read E. B. White's <i>Trumpet of the Swan </i>you may recall the main character Louis lives at the Philadelphia Zoo for a time and plays his trumpet for tourists. The swan boats at the zoo are in honor of the book.<br />
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Sass<br />
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Just inside the entrance is this fountain. I've loved it since I was a child.<br />
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<br />limehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17259558876349307173noreply@blogger.com15