tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18073586898497588292024-03-05T11:27:26.008-05:00LIFE HAPPENS - Ramblings and musings from a writerLife happens, but we can make a difference.....Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.comBlogger271125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-54863308982819716962023-06-26T10:27:00.001-04:002023-06-26T10:28:43.285-04:00Brown-eyed Boy<p><br /></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-6a214d69-7fff-67e7-96d9-d3a922ad9ca4"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My first memory of school was my reluctance to go. I was a painfully shy 5-year-old when I entered first grade at Jackson Elementary School which was located in a rural farming community on the southern tip of Union County, North Carolina.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I had a strict first-grade teacher who didn’t put up with much in her classroom. I have a stark memory of her taking me out in the hallway and whacking me on the back of my hand with a ruler for talking to the girl beside me. I cried, but I never did it again.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Although I was scared to death of my teacher, she taught me to read and opened up a whole new world for me beginning with Dick and Jane and a dog named Spot. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Second grade was better. I got up every morning eager to go. Reading, spelling, coloring, and music lessons were my favorite subjects and I had a teacher I loved.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I have a vivid memory from my second-grade year of a new student transferring to our school from another school in the middle of the school year. The principal brought him into the classroom and Mrs. Sharpe, our teacher, showed him to his seat. Like with all new students, we gave him the once-over. When his shy brown eyes met mine, I was mesmerized. I think we all were. His were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Between second grade and fifth, we all learned basic arithmetic skills. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, and reciting the times table. Those formative years were filled with spelling tests, handwriting, and mastering our reading skills. By that time, I had grown bored with chapter books and had discovered biographies of famous people like George Washington Carver and Amelia Earhart. By the end of 4th grade, I had read our teacher's entire library of biographies and wished she had more.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In fifth grade, I was assigned a seat beside the brown-eyed boy with mesmerizing eyes, and that's when my first crush began. I was in love!</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">By 8th grade, we were preparing for high school. I had a growth spurt that year and by the end of eighth grade, I was 5’5”, the tallest I would ever be, and taller than any of the boys in our class. I towered over the brown-eyed boy and the crush was over.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">High school was different. Our school merged with several other schools so there were new people to meet and boys taller than me. I loved high school! I hung out with a group of friends, dated a few boys, and made good grades. I rarely saw the brown-eyed boy and when I did, he was still short.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The summer before my senior year, my older sister and her husband bought a new bright red Impala and I begged her to let me go cruising around town in it. Cruising was the biggest past-time for high school students in those days. We would cruise from one car-hop place to another and then make our rounds again. We hung out with friends or showed off a new boyfriend; it was a way to be noticed, and what better way than to be driving a new, shiny red car. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It happened when we stopped at the old Dairy Mart for ice cream, the one last stop before my sister and I would head home. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I noticed the car first. A turquoise 1965 Falcon Futura—stunning. I liked it even better than the shiny red Impala I was driving. Then I noticed the two boys standing beside it. One was a friend we cruised around with, but the other one I didn’t know. He was tall and thin and when he turned around, I was staring into brown eyes. Who was this guy? He was handsome and he looked vaguely familiar. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The short, stocky boy of my elementary days was grown up. He’d had a growth spurt over the summer and was now thin and almost 6’ tall. And those eyes! Once again, just like in second grade, I was mesmerized.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Today is our wedding anniversary. The brown-eyed boy and I have been through ups and downs like many couples who marry young, but our love has grown stronger because of it.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The boy’s hair has turned silver, and his steps are a little faltering, but still…. When he looks at me with those great big brown eyes and smiles, I find myself mesmerized all over again.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Happy Anniversary to my brown-eyed boy! And a prayer for many more.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-83725555265810799942023-01-30T13:38:00.003-05:002023-01-30T13:42:37.745-05:00WORD FOR THE YEAR<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>January 2023 was almost gone and I hadn’t chosen my </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Word of the Year.</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A few years back, our pastor introduced us to this practice of choosing a word to reflect on all year, and since then we’ve all drawn a word from a basket in early January. Each time my hand would hover over the basket, I would pray that this would be the word God was laying on my heart and that He would reveal how I would use it throughout the year. There were times that I drew from the basket and groaned and there were times that I drew from the basket and grinned.</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-d19c7a01-7fff-ae02-c4c8-29f3ca9437b1"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>A few years ago, I drew the word </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">encouragement</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I smiled. It was a good word. My first thought was that I should seek ways to be encouraged through God’s Word so I started looking for scripture that would fulfill that purpose. I felt like I’d found it when I read Isaiah 41:10. </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The prior year had been filled with little worries here and there that became bigger worries when I dwelt upon them. Of course! That was it. I just needed to lean on God for encouragement rather than the word’s antonym, discouragement.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>It was a good word; a good scripture, and a good plan and I found that handing things over to God, which I sometimes did begrudgingly, worked, and slowly my attitude began to change.</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> But</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, God wasn’t finished with me and that word </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">encouragement</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> yet.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>During that time, our Bible Study group was studying books of the Bible authored by Paul and we had some long discussions about Paul himself and how he went from being a zealot in the persecution of Christians to a Christian convert that began on the road to Damascus when he encountered Jesus. In my quest for more knowledge about Paul, I decided to read all of his letters. It was in reading</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I Thessalonians</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, chapter 5 that revealed to me another way to use my word, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">encouragement</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The first reading in Chapter 5 that reached out to me was verse 11.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The next was verse 14: </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span>Aha—not only was I meant to be encouraged by God’s Word, but I was also meant to be an encourager to others. So what did I do? I started making a conscious effort, with God’s help, to encourage friends who were struggling with day-to day problems; to encourage those with physical and mental health issues; to encourage fellow authors who were struggling with getting their work published, and to just use an encouraging word here and there to perfect strangers wherever I met them. And then, because I knew that God had called me to write, I asked Him to use my written words to encourage readers who were going through difficulties of their own. From the response of my readers in the reviews they leave, I feel that my prayers have been answered. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>That one four-syllable word that I chose, or that chose me, whatever the case may be, gave me direction. Keeping it taped on the bookcase above my desk grounded me and kept me focused all year long. If your church doesn’t do this, I </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">encourage</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> you to find your own word for this year. If you google “church word of the year”, you’ll find some good words to claim as your own. Whether God chooses it for you or you choose it yourself, you’ll find that by keeping it in your heart and written down, it will give you direction as well.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>As I mentioned above, there have been times I didn’t like my word at all. Last year’s word was one of them. </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Organization</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Oh no—this word was meant for someone else. For a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants person, the thought of organization made me groan. Writers are supposed to be organized. Not me. There are so many areas in my life that are in chaos and I wait until the last minute to get them done. I have a lousy filing system and can never find where I put things. To put it bluntly, I’m a disorganized scatterbrain. How I learned from that word is a </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">story</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> that I’ll share another time.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>And speaking of stories, since I was late choosing my 2023 word, my pastor rushed to her office after church yesterday and came back with </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">word cards</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> splayed out in her hands for me to pick one. It will be interesting to see how the one that chose me plays out. My 2023 word is </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Story</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and I’ve already made a good start with the one I’ve just shared with you. Next? The Old and New Testaments are filled with stories. But to keep me focused, I’ve written my word down on a piece of paper and taped it to my chalkboard. Taped, because I can’t find my chalk sticks which brings me back to last year’s word, </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Organization</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. It may take me a lifetime to deal with that one. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj50qPGg5Zjx5Em6Y4oZgHGigLEZplHcUSeW_Iy6a9ZzOhOSZWPLDFBK_5Qg2C9FuBCSF6CRSEPnc2TeGsluYetaiLRC8zkkvjjVpf7ow1KjyBhWHZedUtCvJVTjIfzvO42e08FAnUpfFL4m7r5QAPHd5quDEbgTdvnq_CKfoNgO46Rbphn1I8S8D9/s1080/chalkboard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj50qPGg5Zjx5Em6Y4oZgHGigLEZplHcUSeW_Iy6a9ZzOhOSZWPLDFBK_5Qg2C9FuBCSF6CRSEPnc2TeGsluYetaiLRC8zkkvjjVpf7ow1KjyBhWHZedUtCvJVTjIfzvO42e08FAnUpfFL4m7r5QAPHd5quDEbgTdvnq_CKfoNgO46Rbphn1I8S8D9/s320/chalkboard.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-89823042386430410382020-12-11T21:43:00.000-05:002020-12-11T21:43:54.758-05:00Angels in the Room - The Year of Influenza 1918<p>This is a true story as told to me by my mother. It's about another pandemic, the deadly Spanish Flu of 1918 and the tragic effect it had on her family. My mother is 12-year-old Jessie in this story and her sister, Selma was 14 at the time. I wrote this about 2 decades ago. Everything in the story is true however I wrote it in a creative form to give voices to the real-life characters. At the time I wrote it, my mom was no longer here to correct me with names and ages and the proper sequence of the events, but the angel in the room seen by her sister made an everlasting impression on my mother and on me as she told me the story. The story is a little rough around the edges. I like to think I've learned a little more about writing since then. In light of our own pandemic of 2020, I have revived the story and will share it now since history seems to be repeating itself. My mom's life was forever changed by the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918.</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Angels in
the Room: 1918 – The Year of Influenza<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jessie turned two of the kitchen chairs around to face each other. She sat down on one and propped her
feet up on the other. She would catch a quick wink before she laundered the
fever-soaked sheets from her sister Selma’s bed. Just as she felt herself slip into a
lulled sleep, racking coughs and gasping sounds came from the bedroom she
shared with Selma and her younger sister, Pearl. As Jessie jumped up, she
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. Her slight frame
and pigtails were a stark contrast to the furrowed brow and dark circles under
her eyes, revealing the worry, stress and responsibilities weighing heavily on
the shoulders of the twelve-year-old child. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The year was 1918. World
War I had just ended, and something far more terrifying had put fear in the hearts
of the people of rural Union County. For them, the war had been a remote, far
off war that had taken away some of the local boys and spit them out on foreign
soil with a dozen or so them never to return home again. North Carolina lost
approximately 1600 men in the war. In contrast, the tragedy that was happening now would
claim the lives of over 13,000 men, women and children in the state alone and more than 675,000 in the United States. It was a flu epidemic
and it had hit Jessie’s family of twelve with brute force. The first to get it
was young Woodrow, who had just turned 4. The other children followed quickly. Jessie's mama had nursed them through it until she and Papa came down with it. Only Mary
Lee, 6 months old, had escaped being sick and was sent to an aunt who was
nursing her own child and had plenty to spare to nurse Mary Lee. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The younger children
had bounced back quickly, but the others weren’t so lucky. Their fevers would
spike and break, then spike again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And the persistent,
non-stop coughing seemed as if it would take their breath away. Grandpa Will brought
over some whiskey and mixed it with honey which helped a little with everyone
except Selma, and Selma was the one Jessie worried over the most. Of course,
she was worried over Mama and Papa, too. They were talking nonsense, but
Grandpa Will said it was normal because of their high fever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Besides Mary Lee,
Jessie was the only one spared from the illness and in her young mind, it was
because God had intended for her to be the one to care for them. Papa said that she
was named after Jess Watson, a circuit rider; a saddlebag preacher who rode on
horseback through the country preaching the gospel and saving souls. She may
not be able to save souls, she thought, but she could work hard at trying to
save lives, so she worked night and day caring for her family. This was her
third day as the lone caregiver, and she was bone-tired.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She checked on Selma,
but she was now asleep. The steam from the water she was boiling to do laundry
seemed to have calmed her coughing for the moment. She was alarmed at how pale Selma
was and how thin her little arms were. Although two years younger than Selma, Jessie
had quickly outgrown her. She had learned early on to carry the load of both their
chores because Selma couldn’t keep up. The two were inseparable. Not only were
they sisters, but they were best friends. Jessie really didn’t understand what
a “heart condition” was, but she sensed her older sister’s frailty and she
vowed to always take care of her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jeremiah Starnes had
built a big house in anticipation of a large family after his marriage to Jenny
Griffin in the beginning of a new century, 1900. There were three bedrooms, a
big kitchen and a sitting room. The boys all shared a room and the girls shared
another. Mama, Papa and the baby slept in the other bedroom. Their little farm
had thrived and with all the children pitching in, the crops had been harvested
and a little money set aside for provisions would last until the pattern began
all over again in the Spring. They were a happy family. They worked, played and
prayed together and their life was good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The younger children
had been unusually quiet all day. Pearl and Eli were playing with marbles on
the kitchen floor. Roy was out splitting wood and milking the cow. Billy
brought in wood to keep the fire going. Jessie poured water from the stove into
a metal tub and quickly washed the sheets from Selma’s bed. She hung them from
a makeshift clothesline hung from one corner of the room to another. They would
freeze stiff if hung outside. It was the middle of December and an unseasonably harsh
winter where the days were short on sunshine and long on cold. Inside, the heat
from the woodstove would dry the sheets quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jessie had no idea
what they would eat for supper. They had eaten three meals off the soup Grandpa
had brought over on Sunday. Usually, neighbors pitched in and helped each other
when there was sickness in a family, but trouble was, all the neighbors were
sick too. The ones who were not sick were too afraid to venture into a home
filled with raging influenza. She supposed they could eat some cornbread and
side meat with a cold glass of buttermilk, so she went about warming up the
skillets on the cookstove and sent Billy out to the icehouse where the milk
and buttermilk were stored. She never once complained nor thought that the
responsibilities she was undertaking were anything but normal. She was unaware
that in households both near and far away, people were dying of the very
illness that had taken over her home, and she had no idea that it was taking
the lives of the young children, the weak and the elderly. If she had, her
little heart would have been heavier than it already was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After they had eaten,
she finished up the supper dishes. She fed the children their
cornbread and buttermilk and had boiled a few potatoes and onions she found in
the cellar to make a broth for the sick ones. Mama and Papa had eaten it but
Selma would only drink water. She put the little ones to bed and curled up on a
blanket on the floor beside Selma’s bed and finally went to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Sometime in the night
she heard a stirring and Mama came into the room with a lamp. She could tell Mama’s
fever had broken because her eyes were clear and sharp. She put her hand on Selma’s
forehead and listening to her labored breathing, turned to Jessie. “You’re tired,
little one. Go on to bed. I’ll take over here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jessie was too tired to protest. Her burden was suddenly lifted, and her
eyes filled with tears of relief. Her body shook with emotion as she held her mother
tight. She woke up the next morning to the aroma of biscuits baking and the
younger children chattering. Mama was better and the world was a brighter
place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She saw that Selma was awake and she ran to
her side praying that she was well. Selma seemed to have less fever but was so
weak she could barely lift her arm to touch Jessie’s face. But she was
smiling!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Jessie, I saw Jesus
last night,” she said excitedly. “And angels!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why there’s an angel in this room right now! He’s right there,” she
said and pointed to the far side of the room. Jessie looked but saw nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Selma, you’re just
seeing things, like Mama and Papa did when they were talking out of their
heads!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No, I’m not. He’s
all dressed in white and I can see him plain as day. Jessie, surely you see him!
There’s light all around him like the sun is shining on his face. Talk to him, Jessie.
Find out what he’s doing here. I’m too tired to talk.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that, Selma went back to sleep and seemed
to be breathing just a little better.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Mama, Selma said she
saw Jesus and some angels when she woke up. She says there’s an angel in our
room right now,” Jessie said as she walked into the kitchen. Mama was still
pale and at Jessie’s words, a fearful look came over her face. Her knees were
weak and almost gave way under her as she made her way around the kitchen
getting breakfast ready. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Mama, please sit
down. I’ll finish up. You aren’t well yet.” The last thing Jessie wanted was
for her Mama to have a relapse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No, I’m fine. I’m
just a little weak. You’re going to be sick too, child, if you don’t get some
rest. I don’t know how you did it. You kept up with the chores and waited on
all the rest of us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mama’s praise made
her blush as the other children looked on. She’d only done what needed to be done.
The others had shared in the chores. She was about to say so when Papa walk
into the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Look, Mama! Papa’s
better too,” she said excitedly. She ran over to hug him and was shocked at how
thin he was. He was a small-statured man anyway, but now she could feel his
ribs when she gave him a hug. It seemed to take a huge effort for him to walk
across the room to the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mama told Papa about Selma
seeing Jesus and the angels as they ate breakfast. Papa frowned and he and Mama
exchanged looks. “I’ll go check on her, Jenny,” he said and got up from the
table. A moment later, she heard Papa cry out, “Jenny, come quick!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jessie fell right in
behind Mama as she made her way down to the girls’ room. The child on the bed
was pale and breathing shallowly, but she had a look of joy on her face as she
reached one arm and then the other up into the air. “I can almost touch Him,
Papa.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Who Selma? Who is it you’re trying to touch?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Why, it’s Jesus! Don’t
you see him?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned to look at Papa
as if willing him to see the same thing she was seeing. “And the light, Papa! Can’t
you see how bright it is? Jesus and the angels are calling me to go with them.
Can I go, Papa?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jessie didn’t
understand why Papa was crying and holding onto Selma’s hand so tight. “No
child, don’t go just yet. We want you to stay here with us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Selma looked disappointed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I love you, Papa. I
love you too, Mama. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to stay with
you, but I think I’m supposed to go with them. Jessie, come here. Maybe you can
see them.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jessie walked over and sat on
the bed with Selma. She held her other hand and looked in the direction Selma
was looking.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Yes, Selma – I see
them!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t, but it made Selma
happy and she gave Jessie a weak hug and settled back on her pillow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’m so tired,” she
said. Jessie could hear a rattle in Selma’s chest, but she was no longer
coughing. As she watched, the breathing became shallower. Mama and Papa knelt
down to the bed and Papa put his head on her chest. Mama was crying softly.
Jessie got up so they could both get closer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Papa spoke. “You can
go to be with Jesus now, baby girl. We will all join you someday.” The young girl on the bed took one more shallow breath and slipped peacefully away. Mama’s
shoulders shook as she sobbed. Papa held her tight and motioned for Jessie to
join them. “She’s well now, Jessie. See the peace that’s come over her face.
God is the giver of life. When we’re born, He breathes our first breath into
us, and when we pass on, He takes our last breath into His own and our spirit
goes to be with him.” Their tears spilled down and blended in with the tears
that were flowing freely from Jessie’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She sobbed
uncontrollably. All she knew was that she had lost the one person who
understood her every thought – her best friend and sister. Papa pulled her to
him. “Jessie, honey, our Selma will be running and playing with the angels.
She’ll have a healthy heart in Heaven.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His words fell on
deaf ears. She thought only of her loss as she walked back to the bedside. “Bye,
bye, Sis,” she said and gave her sister one last kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Constantia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-81137560517962970232019-02-28T18:40:00.002-05:002019-02-28T18:40:22.826-05:00Cosmopolitan Magazine May 1926<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I love old magazines and pick them up at antique shops and yard sales when I can find them. I especially love the ones prior to 1940. I was thumbing through this May 1926 issue of Cosmopolitan recently and thought I'd share some of the photos.<br />
<br />
I love those finger wave curls and the demure expression of the cover girl.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNUFQqvdsuKhsqlX4GWbTRP5t5Bbz3IovwGBLpzN9feAjuA-e2VD01kTA6yDRceXHWA-VLOkdzbYSrQPyoMRET0kOpAvN90LYvSih3EBbNI0VerNn0GOLIYSFPeaagTkN5gNN243UnY0/s1600/DSCN7436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNUFQqvdsuKhsqlX4GWbTRP5t5Bbz3IovwGBLpzN9feAjuA-e2VD01kTA6yDRceXHWA-VLOkdzbYSrQPyoMRET0kOpAvN90LYvSih3EBbNI0VerNn0GOLIYSFPeaagTkN5gNN243UnY0/s320/DSCN7436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front Cover - 35 cents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2Q88mL81R5Ri-nYyrHuF1LDCFhDMiRLl8Dqqvx-7ok538BzSb_hA6HOfu8g6xZBsXwXo4upFU0x2ZoD5DKcMW09ruHCeppVjXmORi0O10yvMLNHDzfNMvScuHinfZVofbi1wk0S7mmg/s1600/DSCN7428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2Q88mL81R5Ri-nYyrHuF1LDCFhDMiRLl8Dqqvx-7ok538BzSb_hA6HOfu8g6xZBsXwXo4upFU0x2ZoD5DKcMW09ruHCeppVjXmORi0O10yvMLNHDzfNMvScuHinfZVofbi1wk0S7mmg/s320/DSCN7428.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back Cover - Moms are still staging photo shoots. This one is adorable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Diamonds: A girl's best friend?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MTWLC9AZVqtqtnEj0GeyXZKWAy_YAPi3_nxJjUHC1n-WVUHWoOfV-dHDgtEePeAVvMFRqtTFO3MsOtoxCzl-XllvwnLoB-r3TrCi2pNULOQZ_Jmrm8WX6s7Txf-Fkq9rMmRROCZwoZs/s1600/DSCN7415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MTWLC9AZVqtqtnEj0GeyXZKWAy_YAPi3_nxJjUHC1n-WVUHWoOfV-dHDgtEePeAVvMFRqtTFO3MsOtoxCzl-XllvwnLoB-r3TrCi2pNULOQZ_Jmrm8WX6s7Txf-Fkq9rMmRROCZwoZs/s320/DSCN7415.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 ct diamond $145. I'll take one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The teacher in this next ad would get in trouble today. She's blaming the mom for her son not being included in the games on the playground. He doesn't have the energy to play because she doesn't give him Wheatena for breakfast.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5AM4mHkbVOJdgdMh9kKDSJutD1k4gVJlCWpeLNkA8iTa7NWfJcOakDFGEc6Mds7U61LouSx3myQgYK5rc0P0peBF69qGy-nv8fnZ0nwzZJJDUbgEjIlzuNy7sQibLCRw6TXEG1BBAFk/s1600/DSCN7392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5AM4mHkbVOJdgdMh9kKDSJutD1k4gVJlCWpeLNkA8iTa7NWfJcOakDFGEc6Mds7U61LouSx3myQgYK5rc0P0peBF69qGy-nv8fnZ0nwzZJJDUbgEjIlzuNy7sQibLCRw6TXEG1BBAFk/s640/DSCN7392.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Wheatena, no friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This picture is amazing. This girl could step right out of the magazine and no one would blink an eye in today's world. Especially her hairstyle.<br />
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Apparently, Sterno and Gillette went in together to make this an interesting shaving experience. This was in the days before hot water instantly spewed forth from your faucets. A novel idea! I wonder how many sold.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSaMMG4EzddgUtfLydGPLB1uWo89Ps1mk_lu3nrd5bDjhTU8PPzQGQR4E12rzgTygEAz9_flWj75Q2vZ4287QlA2gcc_PfbaTSiOryinsMNXoB-P5RrD9BkBRo7W7eXgVmwrMezT6leI/s1600/DSCN7438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSaMMG4EzddgUtfLydGPLB1uWo89Ps1mk_lu3nrd5bDjhTU8PPzQGQR4E12rzgTygEAz9_flWj75Q2vZ4287QlA2gcc_PfbaTSiOryinsMNXoB-P5RrD9BkBRo7W7eXgVmwrMezT6leI/s320/DSCN7438.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love the Lanvin ad below. The bride gets a silver server when she buys a wedding gown.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTUQy3-UXlqxyJSKexPRnwU5T1FiWt_FdhlphnCaoOdBpp0fzDzNPmvBkZE8cU2vwc0JumQgPSOAnMJl2B0UPxtVWnctrATq3yLRaEAXRX_4mHBEncWQzErBvROmEH1j-uw9zSrjGtok/s1600/DSCN7402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTUQy3-UXlqxyJSKexPRnwU5T1FiWt_FdhlphnCaoOdBpp0fzDzNPmvBkZE8cU2vwc0JumQgPSOAnMJl2B0UPxtVWnctrATq3yLRaEAXRX_4mHBEncWQzErBvROmEH1j-uw9zSrjGtok/s320/DSCN7402.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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The next few pictures are solutions for this and that:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkA4WUVY-dUPOLMadPnyUy3bD7u0FkC92KOj1lJyNBeT0qmmRnGk5MosvwlfdCnw5WNRAzd6UU9MVnm0fFf_Ro8eplTc0zBhp3_CH3yUoUkZ_hMX5YbXrR3MsB3rtiL5FO_gFS-HS_320/s1600/DSCN7425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkA4WUVY-dUPOLMadPnyUy3bD7u0FkC92KOj1lJyNBeT0qmmRnGk5MosvwlfdCnw5WNRAzd6UU9MVnm0fFf_Ro8eplTc0zBhp3_CH3yUoUkZ_hMX5YbXrR3MsB3rtiL5FO_gFS-HS_320/s320/DSCN7425.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blu-Jay Plaster for keeping your feet free from corns.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianBrxycAs82LjO59jH_QbG3tHRWRu4Wexfj3bgzSYmDoX7HwImXLOkmxeHf_ftPfKLMoyVsIIOHsATPrrPvMN0cxbl6Wjk0XlV5qlmzqWPRPkT3vtLbaBU_hD9yNaLAAMtZ0sg7ZHbVE/s1600/DSCN7426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianBrxycAs82LjO59jH_QbG3tHRWRu4Wexfj3bgzSYmDoX7HwImXLOkmxeHf_ftPfKLMoyVsIIOHsATPrrPvMN0cxbl6Wjk0XlV5qlmzqWPRPkT3vtLbaBU_hD9yNaLAAMtZ0sg7ZHbVE/s320/DSCN7426.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwxZBW3I3323zlQzNThz980mxXX34h-zCJVMXiUVYAkOpd9VoHM1M3d2KrNDJvcFoadW-16UqhQtZvgpdTsOaQdnPe93HajDMdIwohxS6xapByRfNEmWZWB7RcbtikHEAUbf14Ix12TGw/s1600/DSCN7417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwxZBW3I3323zlQzNThz980mxXX34h-zCJVMXiUVYAkOpd9VoHM1M3d2KrNDJvcFoadW-16UqhQtZvgpdTsOaQdnPe93HajDMdIwohxS6xapByRfNEmWZWB7RcbtikHEAUbf14Ix12TGw/s320/DSCN7417.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay! I want Dr. Folts Soap to slenderize my figure to ideal proportions. If it had worked, Dr. Folts would have made millions. I've never heard of him, have you?</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKRw4Q565Ha_4AQUx9CEEBmtX9rUJAtqheSXXQfKonNiuz_ULc8MGNyIpcnIqz300RiaF-NAHt7s6SWXtHWFbgk_d6IQ3WhZMk19f7TLMzsLXO2ysCGcOMRUSrmQTHjAWZxYgFHFnqTo/s1600/DSCN7418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKRw4Q565Ha_4AQUx9CEEBmtX9rUJAtqheSXXQfKonNiuz_ULc8MGNyIpcnIqz300RiaF-NAHt7s6SWXtHWFbgk_d6IQ3WhZMk19f7TLMzsLXO2ysCGcOMRUSrmQTHjAWZxYgFHFnqTo/s400/DSCN7418.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So-o - Mange medicine for women? </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxPufi74KGhTb-SyALTlOGTCEWCfV3yaQFAhXkT9C3pjhEk0zVgsiT891T0M3ZOcZC7qhmvL7BNheX5BSauwJWCikuoNwmbNROKxbmu3tYfYPkeFdNyZdTyQW7K7fi2oK1GaYmyHLO3c/s1600/DSCN7401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxPufi74KGhTb-SyALTlOGTCEWCfV3yaQFAhXkT9C3pjhEk0zVgsiT891T0M3ZOcZC7qhmvL7BNheX5BSauwJWCikuoNwmbNROKxbmu3tYfYPkeFdNyZdTyQW7K7fi2oK1GaYmyHLO3c/s320/DSCN7401.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girdles - always trying to hold that tummy in.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7450ONKjuy0hFeFdzfrt9c9KniNzMllAcsYx0PmvYFslyRZb8Yq02TfxJBZ0_baDcXqiJAqG7TbQ-kTAbdctGlK_XXMcjbsWFc8Y7wOrinLPY7fyuZp3KSqJYiOI3MUDN3M77caJSGW0/s1600/DSCN7405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7450ONKjuy0hFeFdzfrt9c9KniNzMllAcsYx0PmvYFslyRZb8Yq02TfxJBZ0_baDcXqiJAqG7TbQ-kTAbdctGlK_XXMcjbsWFc8Y7wOrinLPY7fyuZp3KSqJYiOI3MUDN3M77caJSGW0/s320/DSCN7405.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The age-old battle of trying to keep your teeth white</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzA8oIOsGiuDXHoXPKazipCEp9NvC05YKJASBtIgd4bS_3g5t_5O0qo2lmZvVJh9G794jPnlID4Chj3O0s1fuqrGWOUeq0Y_7PJSdGvlyLbmOUYLkRlmXf8i1lReKX4JnTlyg_l2LdnF0/s1600/DSCN7454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzA8oIOsGiuDXHoXPKazipCEp9NvC05YKJASBtIgd4bS_3g5t_5O0qo2lmZvVJh9G794jPnlID4Chj3O0s1fuqrGWOUeq0Y_7PJSdGvlyLbmOUYLkRlmXf8i1lReKX4JnTlyg_l2LdnF0/s320/DSCN7454.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let that gray show for heaven's sake!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLyJikHipqBI3-oNn9kRY1Nv2_8K80UaQdNrFw2aQdZPE1Cb22v958J5Y2KzgRYor974sRRppzqmPyyFVkt66RAdwow5GhwSuQaK_2tw9F1mieAkqMwegvN1wnrGanNtCOUHO8GFhgQU/s1600/DSCN7453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLyJikHipqBI3-oNn9kRY1Nv2_8K80UaQdNrFw2aQdZPE1Cb22v958J5Y2KzgRYor974sRRppzqmPyyFVkt66RAdwow5GhwSuQaK_2tw9F1mieAkqMwegvN1wnrGanNtCOUHO8GFhgQU/s320/DSCN7453.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum Deodorant for fresh smelling underarms - but if you want to get rid of the hair, use Evans Depilatory Cream<br /></td></tr>
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Perfumes:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCwr2TSkQPn9uEFY_IGdRjrHqr82oHWXwUIiBVK-StQLoXOir9bQNJzNQBOlIad3tYmuGZ81haX7UFRiqNkHEHqozIfjXON6NcHZ2CtjcWJz8JC_a39K9lqzL1PXEKVCk5gmPtqTiCxM/s1600/DSCN7437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCwr2TSkQPn9uEFY_IGdRjrHqr82oHWXwUIiBVK-StQLoXOir9bQNJzNQBOlIad3tYmuGZ81haX7UFRiqNkHEHqozIfjXON6NcHZ2CtjcWJz8JC_a39K9lqzL1PXEKVCk5gmPtqTiCxM/s320/DSCN7437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Beauty Secrets:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzDeqpmHWAE2zApfXw8SI3LgQm3V2SZ8MD7fBhzB10avLmrztN12vJAStZtzDJQzWR-oZmU8Xe6BiMgPwK913f617PbhjgCKoWe_6p0sj6ip8MB9JL942m6Vw0bzdTkSqgssF0wxsXmQ/s1600/DSCN7407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzDeqpmHWAE2zApfXw8SI3LgQm3V2SZ8MD7fBhzB10avLmrztN12vJAStZtzDJQzWR-oZmU8Xe6BiMgPwK913f617PbhjgCKoWe_6p0sj6ip8MB9JL942m6Vw0bzdTkSqgssF0wxsXmQ/s320/DSCN7407.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ponds Cold Cream - It's been around a long, long time.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RjS10ZWaKtBkOn51f7C5xnWOGsDH3Fiu5qD3CsXfrwR9HImZyn8iPEP7S8RXOgsbw63Yl3HNMyxuIj02ObpyyJB58gu7J28kj6M1snjH2UGdkkVMXJdALjOXz1ewpiAxQ-dkmZM6vbY/s1600/DSCN7420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RjS10ZWaKtBkOn51f7C5xnWOGsDH3Fiu5qD3CsXfrwR9HImZyn8iPEP7S8RXOgsbw63Yl3HNMyxuIj02ObpyyJB58gu7J28kj6M1snjH2UGdkkVMXJdALjOXz1ewpiAxQ-dkmZM6vbY/s400/DSCN7420.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women must have started aging a lot sooner back then.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhGUlE0naz38FdfUyYqOcOT6pgKwz0Pt2ys_F03gMqu3zm0d_wV-i3TLD2rKqx8R6euKSonvIV6dpcS23QqGqS5yju2q68ioNjCa1Xu0BNfuX95ynk716mSPI5cCQxz97l9nmLGy5fAc/s1600/DSCN7422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhGUlE0naz38FdfUyYqOcOT6pgKwz0Pt2ys_F03gMqu3zm0d_wV-i3TLD2rKqx8R6euKSonvIV6dpcS23QqGqS5yju2q68ioNjCa1Xu0BNfuX95ynk716mSPI5cCQxz97l9nmLGy5fAc/s400/DSCN7422.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So it was a woman's<b> duty</b> to keep fresh the<b> beauty</b> of girlhood. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CTRIwfC25wJof_CWqfUHWwp-PCrnRh2epmvuUgxoFcEMlpNFgAhs8BHc8fiQ6y4Yr9_BfvyBALk4l8NAMD3GvmBlx9B3vva61g4eDnv7Nq42W8EZrxFPXn2Kw_SzleelQGuM2ti_E5w/s1600/DSCN7423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CTRIwfC25wJof_CWqfUHWwp-PCrnRh2epmvuUgxoFcEMlpNFgAhs8BHc8fiQ6y4Yr9_BfvyBALk4l8NAMD3GvmBlx9B3vva61g4eDnv7Nq42W8EZrxFPXn2Kw_SzleelQGuM2ti_E5w/s320/DSCN7423.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden Glint Shampoo - I love the graphics of this ad</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHtK19MkcmhLtGXe26WkT0H_Gm7J31YxqAZasIMIxV8QSo61fiDoMlzKLyg21cwNBKPJUSP83WyEEfr7ckgtiQB3OphthLq71Fozg24E248XB7JKp56MTGd5inJWyxRNga4Qii8uO8_M/s1600/DSCN7398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHtK19MkcmhLtGXe26WkT0H_Gm7J31YxqAZasIMIxV8QSo61fiDoMlzKLyg21cwNBKPJUSP83WyEEfr7ckgtiQB3OphthLq71Fozg24E248XB7JKp56MTGd5inJWyxRNga4Qii8uO8_M/s320/DSCN7398.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And YARDLEY'S Old English Lavender Soap. They still make this!</td></tr>
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Car Advertisements<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE7eRQ7mtgGA2IKBEzsMwqL5QCwXz-DB9sXnjuQnrZ9OoSZSM-8P61j9Zi2NShioUzmiFtgtnAJRLHnv49oc6n933WeQ6ayEidldph4rKC8GiIOnSYNXF7sdoiFBJWQIndw8mc4Py2F0/s1600/DSCN7404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE7eRQ7mtgGA2IKBEzsMwqL5QCwXz-DB9sXnjuQnrZ9OoSZSM-8P61j9Zi2NShioUzmiFtgtnAJRLHnv49oc6n933WeQ6ayEidldph4rKC8GiIOnSYNXF7sdoiFBJWQIndw8mc4Py2F0/s320/DSCN7404.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll take a new Ford for $520!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkJ3yOC9KeuNv0rPvB9wXDhe3rdc6QR4lxxtujfglIh6AZD1mlP0BW7NkMBBJr6GiSKVZJC4IluAEccM_8UdTYo5oeCuunJ4uJC1ivz3CttA2v7pW1uqPG2XUwEOkkDss1zAnhxlpIi8/s1600/DSCN7406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkJ3yOC9KeuNv0rPvB9wXDhe3rdc6QR4lxxtujfglIh6AZD1mlP0BW7NkMBBJr6GiSKVZJC4IluAEccM_8UdTYo5oeCuunJ4uJC1ivz3CttA2v7pW1uqPG2XUwEOkkDss1zAnhxlpIi8/s320/DSCN7406.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ford is still with us today; Paige is not. Maybe they priced themselves out of business.<br /></td></tr>
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Electricity - A novelty in rural areas back then. This ad is interesting. Electricity is touted as the Great Emancipator for women. From the wording in the ad, it sounds like the Great Job Eliminator for women.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3UpvhyR1Py_Uy1J-wF6hCXSyi2BIC6pktsEDdvnGRL9aME68E-lXIkg2EGhwHCriNWsX7dcXjrylB0ZPwuJUUyx9RWxou5a13OnZgKnAwwo0LwkaHRsztKTyXNUvFZAQ5iSWZch-5Tg/s1600/DSCN7410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3UpvhyR1Py_Uy1J-wF6hCXSyi2BIC6pktsEDdvnGRL9aME68E-lXIkg2EGhwHCriNWsX7dcXjrylB0ZPwuJUUyx9RWxou5a13OnZgKnAwwo0LwkaHRsztKTyXNUvFZAQ5iSWZch-5Tg/s320/DSCN7410.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbq9SrKTDhaiO98G29qisCz2D3q-zR3i4oinHrC4mjvospS88CNyyzLJRprob11_lgZW3XLstUZ6EgdIhLT1E6CnyuYx35oAzb0ZGD8CliIAsGSGSxuYawh26c6UUSTziYeXvEMkfEWs/s1600/DSCN7411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbq9SrKTDhaiO98G29qisCz2D3q-zR3i4oinHrC4mjvospS88CNyyzLJRprob11_lgZW3XLstUZ6EgdIhLT1E6CnyuYx35oAzb0ZGD8CliIAsGSGSxuYawh26c6UUSTziYeXvEMkfEWs/s320/DSCN7411.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deceptive advertising - From first glance, it looks like the typewriter costs $2 but the small print says you get a free trial for $2. I wonder what the cost of the typewriter really is? But look at the ad right beside it. All those envelopes and paper for $1 shipped! Plus your name and address is printed free. Or is there some fine print there too?<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKijvfjNb_aoZA4iUZxIqfC9erB7V6J9OAHORHS3eUTENT2zK2Ega0TxQkfvqC9ad3_ocrWt7J2BbrG_1v5mh8ddBaI58noCuhAhJC_prNAlpA2ho_jF0sz8Zl9R-rRU7TcsJnSZ1VpHM/s1600/DSCN7414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKijvfjNb_aoZA4iUZxIqfC9erB7V6J9OAHORHS3eUTENT2zK2Ega0TxQkfvqC9ad3_ocrWt7J2BbrG_1v5mh8ddBaI58noCuhAhJC_prNAlpA2ho_jF0sz8Zl9R-rRU7TcsJnSZ1VpHM/s320/DSCN7414.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learn to Fly. No thank you. The plane looks a little rickety to me.<br /></td></tr>
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Necessities: Toilet tissue and laundry soap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRhe0yh40wFbUyTGBlWcNNWN-yPczDi98JJn8mW4FYOcFvV122HjYHrOyAWY_IQJTeMMmnDQZfhjQU81FIIkMxuZDfywBRDfJktcRezUs2VDEyKJEPlqcuWk5eTtw1LVxgufDw778JF0/s1600/DSCN7399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRhe0yh40wFbUyTGBlWcNNWN-yPczDi98JJn8mW4FYOcFvV122HjYHrOyAWY_IQJTeMMmnDQZfhjQU81FIIkMxuZDfywBRDfJktcRezUs2VDEyKJEPlqcuWk5eTtw1LVxgufDw778JF0/s320/DSCN7399.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scot Tissue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxhiIIJek7pfIWG9dTNl0HGS2niiERt4Odhpyj3-WtkIAhJE5hWu2UKiZTW0xJp2SBYNNITORCi_M38IdbzV3b18NcUStg2bclVGhIIuZ6AaCGwpJQQmSl0qKZkaLRqQw3ECvXZRYp-g/s1600/DSCN7408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxhiIIJek7pfIWG9dTNl0HGS2niiERt4Odhpyj3-WtkIAhJE5hWu2UKiZTW0xJp2SBYNNITORCi_M38IdbzV3b18NcUStg2bclVGhIIuZ6AaCGwpJQQmSl0qKZkaLRqQw3ECvXZRYp-g/s320/DSCN7408.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I still love using Fels soap as a stain remover for my laundry<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJWk1B1jlYp-aheVTgqNirwzKrYqvkGCQmaLyqA6z2G7ihAZQvWc57KoiuB1ylxzyKB3FQL4o0UgRvgRQ3Non0XSFhwk7yRlkcTJf9JMKlOKSyUIzWz6Uska5NJ0g1_qPr084WFs1Xv8/s1600/DSCN7400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJWk1B1jlYp-aheVTgqNirwzKrYqvkGCQmaLyqA6z2G7ihAZQvWc57KoiuB1ylxzyKB3FQL4o0UgRvgRQ3Non0XSFhwk7yRlkcTJf9JMKlOKSyUIzWz6Uska5NJ0g1_qPr084WFs1Xv8/s320/DSCN7400.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kellogg's PEP cereal - love the color ad<br /><br /></td></tr>
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Furniture: Bathroom and Living room<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr85L5kEz18EK5dAHIoKHfUtgD6DTtCcq9GFiI35aWc_ZesrY5nzk69GbjOKUC4BJ0wSSDKK66jb6lKaDTDXvz6BfPk3Roo_NUYJq_WSK92W31duryadOsrwVaP0scisFADIibC2tQPmE/s1600/DSCN7409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr85L5kEz18EK5dAHIoKHfUtgD6DTtCcq9GFiI35aWc_ZesrY5nzk69GbjOKUC4BJ0wSSDKK66jb6lKaDTDXvz6BfPk3Roo_NUYJq_WSK92W31duryadOsrwVaP0scisFADIibC2tQPmE/s320/DSCN7409.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where is the toilet?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4I2pr6Q4Cw9m1eYfkoGt7cXO6vE8YiedQzRDwIYEYMDxIvX-MRkYXtyrFaYl0c6qxj2LnO_ohpmFbVsmAdotxkyelg60H2wPE-swiw2cGi0-cFLyTkgNa7e5KwQiBm0J2G4fOn1Dnzc/s1600/DSCN7389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4I2pr6Q4Cw9m1eYfkoGt7cXO6vE8YiedQzRDwIYEYMDxIvX-MRkYXtyrFaYl0c6qxj2LnO_ohpmFbVsmAdotxkyelg60H2wPE-swiw2cGi0-cFLyTkgNa7e5KwQiBm0J2G4fOn1Dnzc/s320/DSCN7389.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This furniture is from the same era as when our house was built. They probably had something similar.<br /></td></tr>
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Stories: This magazine was filled with short stories and beautiful graphics.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlOMCkZT5WXuQCixYBLDT7-iSQ-n_PHuADfRArulyl6uZewCsM8g3NI0P3zYKjhz9wIqvfC003S64wuvAa5STWHvFlc0I9XPblrpzfZHm4vHPEJ3ZqUHf0Uz2BU2X_i_KgDCTq5KsJd8/s1600/DSCN7385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlOMCkZT5WXuQCixYBLDT7-iSQ-n_PHuADfRArulyl6uZewCsM8g3NI0P3zYKjhz9wIqvfC003S64wuvAa5STWHvFlc0I9XPblrpzfZHm4vHPEJ3ZqUHf0Uz2BU2X_i_KgDCTq5KsJd8/s320/DSCN7385.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Haughty Miss Pink</td></tr>
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I hope you enjoyed the world of 1926 through the pages of my magazine. This was before the Great Depression and WWII. They didn't know the unpleasant surprises that lay waiting ahead. Life was good.</div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-10163873533581320362018-12-28T22:43:00.001-05:002018-12-29T19:54:20.043-05:00Christmas Memories - The Year of The Bicycle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-f8fcf30f-7fff-3f5e-f0df-ddb22e795ab9"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We all have those moments in life where we remember who we were with, what time of day and exactly where we were when it happened. Some are historical moments like November 22, 1963 - moments that everyone who was alive back then remembers. And then there are private moments that mean nothing to others but mean oh, so much to us as individuals. For me, one of those moments was the Christmas when against all odds, Santa left a brand new bike under our tree. A new bike may not sound like much to some of you, but in 1959 at our house, it was nigh close to a miracle. Just four years earlier, our home and everything in it had burned to the ground and with no fire insurance, my parents struggled to build a new home. They never really recovered from the financial hardships the fire had caused. The fact that I knew this and had no expectations other than finding a few trinkets under the tree that year, made The Year of the Bicycle all the more miraculous.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were a farming family; not a big farm but it produced enough, even in lean years, to feed and clothe the seven children in our family and still have a little extra. The fire changed all that, but the one thing it didn't change was the resilient spirit of my parents, their strength of character, and their unflinching determination to move on and not dwell on the past. I was the youngest of the seven who were spread out over a period of twenty-three years. At the time of the fire, there were only two of us left at home. All the rest had married and moved out. To help make ends meet, my mother took a job as a sales clerk at The Glamour Shop, a ladies' clothing store. Mama was everything I'm not. She was kind, courageous and outgoing - and she never met a stranger. Her kindness inspired kindness in others and in the Year of the Bicycle, that kindness paid off.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Family Shoe Store was located right next door to The Glamour Shop and that year, they were giving away a bicycle for Christmas. It wasn't a raffle or a drawing. You wrote the name of a child on a small ticket and put it inside the large box that sat on the sales counter. The day before Christmas, the store owner would count the names in the box and whoever's name had the most entries would win the bike. Somehow my mama convinced her friends, coworkers, customers, acquaintances and complete strangers to go into the shoe store and write my name on a ticket and put it into the box. I have no idea how she did it. Surely, some of these people had a child that wanted a bike for Christmas, but on Christmas Eve, she was so certain my name would have the most entries, she wouldn't go home until the names were counted and I can imagine her excitement when my name was announced.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next morning when I saw the bike under the tree, I didn't have a clue that it was mine. My sister and her children had come home from Kansas for Christmas and were staying with us. I assumed that the bike was for my nephew who is just a month younger than me. I passed right by it and rushed to the other side of the tree to find the large baking pan I had left out for Santa to fill with fruit, nuts, candy and toys. I was on a mission - I didn't want anyone to claim my stash! I'll never forget my sister grabbing me by the arm. I pulled away, thinking that Santa must have brought me more than he did her and she was trying to get to it first. She grabbed me again and pulled me over to the bike. It still didn't register. "It's nice. It must be Phil's," I said. "</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has your name on it," she said back. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">No one fussed at me on that rainy Christmas day as I rode my new bike clumsily around the living room running into things and people. The Year of The Bicycle is one of my fondest memories, a memory that has been hard to top. And it's all because of m</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">y mother's kindness, strong spirit and sheer determination to bring it about - and the kindness of others to put the name of a child they didn't even know in a box.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Glenda Manus</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">December 28, 2018</span><br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-52604628516988355962018-11-18T10:42:00.003-05:002018-11-18T10:42:38.966-05:00Newest Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
October 29, 2018<br />
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We visited James on October 29th to deliver the last load. A freezer, kitchen cabinets, a microwave cart, a lamp and end table, and some new clothes. He has continued to work hard on his home. He is so grateful for all that has been done for him! We helped him install the kitchen cabinet and unloaded the chest freezer so he could install it later.<br />
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Here he is saying goodbye! And God Bless!<br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-70606421777458628402018-10-24T22:37:00.001-04:002018-10-24T22:37:50.045-04:00Before and After Shots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJW_uz_H_OyfQ5BQSOVbrp7uGXPMuooqujypTRHwPs7ecgQo6NSHl4buZHfFxs8_9Vhq7fVoYDV0F8jSENvG9o2d4r7EIm9bh22hkqPEb_z0Eu2oqzOeImmI5qWSAW1B52RPgMGnNeQ2w/s1600/78755-Life-Is-Hard-But-God-Is-Good.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="618" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJW_uz_H_OyfQ5BQSOVbrp7uGXPMuooqujypTRHwPs7ecgQo6NSHl4buZHfFxs8_9Vhq7fVoYDV0F8jSENvG9o2d4r7EIm9bh22hkqPEb_z0Eu2oqzOeImmI5qWSAW1B52RPgMGnNeQ2w/s320/78755-Life-Is-Hard-But-God-Is-Good.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
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What a difference a day makes. I've been posting random pictures of the updates on James' little home that was flooded. It was even hard for me to figure how it looked before and how it looked after the repairs have been made with all the unorganized shots I had.<br />
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First of all, before we got involved, James had worked hard! He had torn out and replaced the lower inside walls and insulation. He had ripped out the rotten floors and put down subfloors, so he had already done a lot on his own despite having a severe kidney and bladder infection from ingesting some of the nasty water when he swam from his flooded house to his boat. He ended up spending a few days in the hospital and hasn't felt 100% since. It was all so overwhelming, he was at a loss of knowing what to do next.<br />
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So many people have helped financially, but some physical labor was also needed. That's when some men, including the pastor, from Waxhaw Baptist Church stepped in. In one day, this is what five men accomplished:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmu4ANVW191xVqRka-0lpFEXNtplPaRZCo8-FFhHC-i3rrUvREgkPBGZsq-6mvA5NJAQd21FTvjt3jB1dRwarQVRnUBW9eIPjEhQyLpoDYDgKka3jKCRoHamNHuDugbrx9EVhDvgl1xM/s1600/PicMonkey+front+of+house+before+and+afterCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmu4ANVW191xVqRka-0lpFEXNtplPaRZCo8-FFhHC-i3rrUvREgkPBGZsq-6mvA5NJAQd21FTvjt3jB1dRwarQVRnUBW9eIPjEhQyLpoDYDgKka3jKCRoHamNHuDugbrx9EVhDvgl1xM/s400/PicMonkey+front+of+house+before+and+afterCollage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before and after (front of the house)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pcMEDGrAjApaFHVjNeucrlvaiNl_1yrGqyZPGAFBL_XVMpdCIMj9yQLYQ_mM6M0I5sHsWV2HMBuLA6KLmxejJyo-w3UuSnOsA2dNU9AmJs30qfZGGtEqqAuwa4zQeaKXQhUQhVR7zXA/s1600/picmonkey+before+and+after+Back+of+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pcMEDGrAjApaFHVjNeucrlvaiNl_1yrGqyZPGAFBL_XVMpdCIMj9yQLYQ_mM6M0I5sHsWV2HMBuLA6KLmxejJyo-w3UuSnOsA2dNU9AmJs30qfZGGtEqqAuwa4zQeaKXQhUQhVR7zXA/s400/picmonkey+before+and+after+Back+of+House.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before and after (back of the house)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUf2lOHd-dQWb3FclhYzh5bGYKT50vqIIUQAZ8057jQ07se_9cr2HzEXQXpioS_yj_znL_L3aiSdrKlfRy_YWsAZksGWk3pWKdpBDQu304jbF_o7b3GLrzb1I2BSJppJdkyLCE4AynXI/s1600/PicMonkey+Left+side+of+house+before+and+after+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUf2lOHd-dQWb3FclhYzh5bGYKT50vqIIUQAZ8057jQ07se_9cr2HzEXQXpioS_yj_znL_L3aiSdrKlfRy_YWsAZksGWk3pWKdpBDQu304jbF_o7b3GLrzb1I2BSJppJdkyLCE4AynXI/s400/PicMonkey+Left+side+of+house+before+and+after+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before and after (left side of the house)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRTk8jtf-LRJs-Wa4lZrFSe-W-FnqwRAN_7dM-V_ZTxY0Rxxr2loSoh25UiYA7QVok87qPc-gGal8P00afSGRiuA0hqRXLSPLwz0nR0DIn__Wlc-bViKyliXxcCSp0DP6XvvnwpHSXLsU/s1600/PicMonkey+right+side+of+house+before+and+after+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRTk8jtf-LRJs-Wa4lZrFSe-W-FnqwRAN_7dM-V_ZTxY0Rxxr2loSoh25UiYA7QVok87qPc-gGal8P00afSGRiuA0hqRXLSPLwz0nR0DIn__Wlc-bViKyliXxcCSp0DP6XvvnwpHSXLsU/s400/PicMonkey+right+side+of+house+before+and+after+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before and after (right side of the house)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgej6wvX7qI-nHb2bpuwHi8q4TIIvjMYN_msJXf8wuBqjhYhdQ00-2i2ZlSQprI8jgxj-KINcTGXybmFu5DUe0RwrQpBqU1sgggliSQi9z5Dc5ZSq2i6aWN-v_U9-fTwUOVIgjZ47yXQr4/s1600/PicMonkey+before+and+after+kitchenCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgej6wvX7qI-nHb2bpuwHi8q4TIIvjMYN_msJXf8wuBqjhYhdQ00-2i2ZlSQprI8jgxj-KINcTGXybmFu5DUe0RwrQpBqU1sgggliSQi9z5Dc5ZSq2i6aWN-v_U9-fTwUOVIgjZ47yXQr4/s400/PicMonkey+before+and+after+kitchenCollage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before and after kitchen (beautiful floors!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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It's pretty amazing, isn't it? There is still some work to be done like underpinning and cleaning up. We're going down Monday to take a few things and try to figure it all out. James is extremely grateful! And from all I've heard, this project has been just as big a blessing to everyone who has contributed to it as it has for James! It sure has been for us. God Bless!<br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-34725697452242619652018-10-23T19:23:00.001-04:002018-10-23T19:35:00.462-04:00The Doers and shakers!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed by the generosity of friends, family, neighbors, the people of Van Wyck Presbyterian Church, members of Waxhaw Baptist Church and even complete strangers in the quest to help James, the person I wrote about who lost everything in the aftermath flooding from Hurricane Florence. <a href="https://seniormusingsmoments.blogspot.com/2018/09/his-name-is-james.html">Click here for links to his story.</a> <a href="https://seniormusingsmoments.blogspot.com/2018/09/an-update-on-james.html">And here</a>, and <a href="https://seniormusingsmoments.blogspot.com/2018/10/happy-despite-circumstances.html">here where we delivered his car.</a><br />
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Today was a day of action! Several men from Waxhaw Baptist Church showed up to work this morning and I've already been getting photos of their work in progress. Here's what the outside of the house looked like before and then some work in progress.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4bdSsCoUEjyGtJqkO0xvNtz57xKv1w5UL8WBebRP1NkJ17fsBKnTCn8XwPuMyenYfUK-zBgGyNJUinn1k0flp295DKU3ilz9TxnFcrMd3NeyduD5vZM3LVaaqK35ssHor5Fx_Kkp2A0/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4bdSsCoUEjyGtJqkO0xvNtz57xKv1w5UL8WBebRP1NkJ17fsBKnTCn8XwPuMyenYfUK-zBgGyNJUinn1k0flp295DKU3ilz9TxnFcrMd3NeyduD5vZM3LVaaqK35ssHor5Fx_Kkp2A0/s320/house.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfixhCgVbYREc-oZ4iYM6FzX2yRPhMLqyVWIABE8iSNDIwM6x7MImGoH0ovpMYhjc6qeqmmltsXUnNv5ogw4ksl-xcHvhO2WoRe8N6oVSs9BWRyJnpzKek7zVTnK6Go-bkh_YpUxSRays/s1600/Outside+of+house+after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfixhCgVbYREc-oZ4iYM6FzX2yRPhMLqyVWIABE8iSNDIwM6x7MImGoH0ovpMYhjc6qeqmmltsXUnNv5ogw4ksl-xcHvhO2WoRe8N6oVSs9BWRyJnpzKek7zVTnK6Go-bkh_YpUxSRays/s320/Outside+of+house+after.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painting in progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjee4f1ExivTQpM57kJTQ2p0lrYSxH1hios-qn9OuO4fCnYmfa6mGrvGUL7_PIGJaH8bjGYIvkhkIDLa0AKQwlhF4GZZPtIYnD1SHW5eq0VBeIjQiSR6gbPvlZiTMJfECjzPKGg7ega5KA/s1600/new+deck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjee4f1ExivTQpM57kJTQ2p0lrYSxH1hios-qn9OuO4fCnYmfa6mGrvGUL7_PIGJaH8bjGYIvkhkIDLa0AKQwlhF4GZZPtIYnD1SHW5eq0VBeIjQiSR6gbPvlZiTMJfECjzPKGg7ega5KA/s320/new+deck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Replacing porch floor in progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They're also working on the inside of the house and have put down flooring and are painting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zz20Vsg0pUbKmwVCO33NG43TokAkwYPxG5HCURBljVnoL6UUEq77DXqtElpbPnSWKujF60H15YhEHb-v-ri0kIuZQ1HdGbIkd-H3B4GD6DLJFUxbGJ60NbQeLe0S5WeLb-nDNdNmCWc/s1600/men+working.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zz20Vsg0pUbKmwVCO33NG43TokAkwYPxG5HCURBljVnoL6UUEq77DXqtElpbPnSWKujF60H15YhEHb-v-ri0kIuZQ1HdGbIkd-H3B4GD6DLJFUxbGJ60NbQeLe0S5WeLb-nDNdNmCWc/s320/men+working.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floor down - painting in progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These men have had a long day of hard work and I'm sure they'll be ready for a hot shower and soft bed tonight. I am so thankful for them and what they've done!<br />
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And a big thanks to Jonathan Cox, the owner of <a href="https://www.coxfurniturewarehouse.com/locations.html">Cox Warehouse Discount Furniture</a> in Whiteville for donating this wonderful recliner for James. It was delivered today! Jonathan is a nephew of Susan Moss Deans, one of my first contacts in the Whiteville area who was willing to help!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQylW-j2nqtm5shpDyOYu-VWudNyQmwZao816BVfLmn7p7IlsNNHYnDpw4wpZWBrC1TNT-9ty_uQQHfTdZjo0Wiba7idPz3dKaNIhzmEhniuwadc2DUaHv83tbDUkjiIcUGH8eZ4_a2JU/s1600/imagejpeg_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQylW-j2nqtm5shpDyOYu-VWudNyQmwZao816BVfLmn7p7IlsNNHYnDpw4wpZWBrC1TNT-9ty_uQQHfTdZjo0Wiba7idPz3dKaNIhzmEhniuwadc2DUaHv83tbDUkjiIcUGH8eZ4_a2JU/s320/imagejpeg_0.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure James is kicking back in this recliner tonight after an emotional day of seeing his home come together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Between the BBQ fundraiser and money donated by friends, family, and church members, we have also been able to purchase James new kitchen cabinets to replace the ones that were damaged in the flood and a chest freezer which is much needed since his main source of food comes from hunting and fishing. We plan to take these down next week and help him install the cabinets, the kitchen sink, and the faucets. The donations are also making a big dent in the biggest purchase of all, <b><span style="color: red;">the Jeep</span></b>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcS9Fy5SLqf7mKE7MRDMDtdoDDG4Pt38scF_hG4b4HuCUG09mhxlgQaHzzzjst57VK9XaZL2AwSLFisPAlypnF2H0NeVCNtdhjZr0kQIr0EfTaiTW_YJXeObB5CXbXTGLDBPcfr9CCYs/s1600/Jeep+Good+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcS9Fy5SLqf7mKE7MRDMDtdoDDG4Pt38scF_hG4b4HuCUG09mhxlgQaHzzzjst57VK9XaZL2AwSLFisPAlypnF2H0NeVCNtdhjZr0kQIr0EfTaiTW_YJXeObB5CXbXTGLDBPcfr9CCYs/s320/Jeep+Good+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jeep (before we delivered it to James).</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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The Letter of James was addressed to the early Christians and it encouraged them to be "doers of the Word". Our present-day Christians are taking heed and abiding by the Word!<br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">James 1:22-25 -</span></i><span class="text Jas-1-22" id="en-NIV-30289" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial"; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> "</span><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">22 </span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30289F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30289F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span></span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span class="text Jas-1-23" id="en-NIV-30290" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial"; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">23 </span>Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span class="text Jas-1-24" id="en-NIV-30291" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial"; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">24 </span>and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span class="text Jas-1-25" id="en-NIV-30292" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial"; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">25 </span>But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30292G" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30292G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do." </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="text Jas-1-25" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i> <span class="text Jas-1-25" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I will continue to update this blog as we do the final touches that will make James' life a little more comfortable. Love and Blessings to all!</span></span></div>
Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-23625357854904800752018-10-15T21:58:00.000-04:002018-10-17T16:17:26.317-04:00With God's Help<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't know where to begin. I'm exhausted from our 9 hour round trip today, so I think I'll tell most of this story with photos. If you haven't read this link, <a href="https://seniormusingsmoments.blogspot.com/2018/09/his-name-is-james.html">His Name is James,</a> you may want to read it first since it tells the backstory. But if you'd rather not, I'll give you a short recap. James lives in a community called Crusoe Island surrounded by the Green Swamp in Eastern North Carolina. He's one of many in the Carolinas teetering on the edge of poverty. The very people who, when faced with setbacks tend to give up hope of ever pushing their way up and out. Most times they just dig in a little deeper until no one knows they’re there.<br />
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The people in Crusoe were hit with an enormous setback after Hurricane Florence flooded their community in late September. James wasn't the only one hit hard and he's not the only one struggling to recover. He lives humbly in a small shack (way off the beaten path) that I'll estimate to be about 16' wide by 12' deep. He didn't have much in his house, but what he did have, he lost. Here's a photo that I took today.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James' humble abode<br /></td></tr>
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After the torrential rain that accompanied Florence, James went to bed one night not knowing what the next day would bring. His power was out and his flip phone's battery had died. He awakened to find his house flooded. The water continued to rise to about 4.5 feet and he was forced to make his way out of his property by this small handcrafted boat. He was rescued at the end of the road almost 2 miles away.<br />
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He also lost his truck in the flood. Our purpose for visiting him today was to take him a Jeep that we bought along with Henry's brother Gary. Two other friends also donated generously to the cause and we're hoping to get a few more contributions from other generous souls. We had planned to have a fundraiser, but James was in such dire need of transportation, we didn't want him to have to wait that long so we went ahead and bought it trusting that God would make a way. It was an absolute joy to see his face as Henry handed him the title and the keys!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A big smile<br /></td></tr>
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James introduced us to another survivor of the flood. Charlie, a small bear cub, has been hanging around since the flood receded. James thinks he must have become separated from his mother as they were swept downstream from the Waccamaw River. He sleeps in the big oak tree behind the house and plays hide and seek most days. He's a fat little bear so he must be getting plenty to eat. His presence has been a great diversion for James.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie the Bear</td></tr>
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On our way in and out of the road that leads into this community, we were dismayed to see the results of the flood. We only took a few photos, but every single homeowner seemed to have all their belongings ruined and out at the curb for trash pickup.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look at this chair and wonder how many children and grandchildren have been held and comforted in it; how many family gatherings it has seen in its day; how many generations of this family have placed their weary bodies in it after a hard day's work. I look at this chair and I see myself; my own favorite chair sitting atop a mound of memories and I want to crawl up into it and cry for the person who placed it there. </td></tr>
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When we heard about the flooding in that area, we had struggled with how to help. When you donate your money to flood relief, you don't know where it's going. But then God put James in our path and we knew exactly what to do.</div>
Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-69625879379690850952018-09-30T14:22:00.000-04:002018-10-23T15:37:34.958-04:00An Update on James<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My heart is so full right now as I write this update from my post from yesterday. You know, we watch world news and political rants until we're heartsick, but we tend to forget that our world is also filled with so many KIND-HEARTED people! Here's an update on the story about our friend near Whiteville who lost basically everything in the flooding. He has now made his own repairs to the floors that were falling apart. After I posted James' story I got many responses from people who want to know how they can help. We'll get to that later.<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> Then my post was shared by many people including my dear friend, Linda. It reached one of her cousins in Whiteville who has a true servant's heart. I just now chatted with this cousin whose name is Susan and she said she had been praying for God to reveal the next person for them to help. Her husband is in the logging business and knows James but didn't know his circumstances. In one day's time, these gracious people have already visited him, assessed his situation fully, found out his basic needs (refrigerator, small stove, and a bed. I am just blown away by their kindness.</span></div>
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Now from this end, we'll be working on buying James some transportation. When we get back from a planned trip this coming week, Henry and I will be planning a BBQ fundraiser to help fund the cost of the vehicle and other pressing needs. Also, I plan to donate all proceeds and royalties from my books so we may be calling on people to buy BBQ and books. Books make good Christmas gifts and BBQ makes for good Fall of the year eating!</div>
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And, as Linda's cousin Susan says, God works in mysterious ways! Yes, He does!</div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-36981372165886623092018-09-28T22:29:00.000-04:002018-09-29T16:55:06.837-04:00His Name is James<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
His name is James. He lives in a little shack in the<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> isolated community of Crusoe </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Island deep in the Green Swamp of coastal Columbus County, NC. It's</span> located right off Highway 130 between Whiteville and Shallotte. He’s proud of his family surname, or at least until it trickled down to his own father, who along with James’ mother, was an alcoholic. James’ family once owned big blocks of land in downtown Shallotte, North Carolina, but when James’ daddy got his inheritance, he began to sell off bits and pieces. During his drinking binges, he sold the land for way under market value to buy whiskey. He eventually squandered it all away. The children had a rough time of it. James didn’t have much of an education. His parents didn’t think it important.<br />
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James grew up a rebel with somewhat of a temper to match his red hair, but somehow, he met and married a “good woman” (in his own words). Even though James knew by his own family history that alcoholism can tear families apart, he followed the path of his father and he lost his good woman. Addictive cycles are hard to break. He was a hard worker though. Without an education, he took menial labor jobs, most of them on shrimp boats, but a few carpenter jobs here and there. Not much money, but he was paid in cash, so he scraped by. He drank and hung out with his buddies on weekends and would probably have continued along that path until he died.<br />
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But one day, something fabulous happened that would change his life forever. He got saved. He quit drinking then and there, cold turkey, he said. He started going to church every time the doors were open. He found some better jobs and saved up a little money and pretty soon he was wooed by another woman and remarried. A woman who talked him into buying a little piece of land and making a down-payment on a double-wide. It was the best house either of them had ever had and she was happy with her new-found wealth. And she was a good housekeeper; you know the kind that keeps the house and throws the husband out the door. And that’s what she did. She had a job and said she would make the payments. She didn’t, and she didn’t let him know that she was so far behind on the payments, neither of them could have come up with the money to pay what they needed to pay to keep it out of foreclosure. So that’s where it went, foreclosed by the bank. And there went his life savings and along with it, his credit.<br />
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And right after that is when we met him. James loves working with wood and is very talented. He makes beautiful vintage-style dough bowls and other smaller wooden bowls. I bought a few things he had made, not knowing that this was his main source of income along with a few odd jobs. He was sixty-two by that time and it’s hard to get a job at that age. He resorted to drawing his social security early, but it was less than $500 per month because of the years of scraping by on the cash he was paid and not paying into social security. Some people would say this was his own fault not paying into SS, but when you don't have much of education and you're just scraping by at a poverty level, you live for the here and now, not the future. When we found out his financial condition, Henry hired him to come to work in our weekend tackle business at the beach. He worked for us seven-plus years until we closed the business two years ago. We came to love him and we’re proud to call him our friend.<br />
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What drew me to James was his witness for the Lord. He didn’t have much - an old shack in the swamp, a beat-up old truck that was always breaking down - but he was happy. The Lord provided for him, he said - maybe not the things he wanted, but the things he needed.<br />
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After Hurricane Florence came through, the news stories of the flooding in Whiteville caused us to worry about him. We called him several times but got no answer. We left messages. Today he called us back. He lost everything he owned in the flood. His home, his old pickup that was no longer working, and even the small used car he had bought by saving up money from selling dough bowls. He was home when the flooding occurred. His power was out, and he hadn’t heard the threat of floods or he would have left with at least his car. The “house” had filled with two feet of water. He knew he needed to leave and when he stepped off his porch, he was in water up to his neck. He took his one-man boat to the nearest road and got a ride to a shelter. After the flood waters receded, he came back home to find most everything inside ruined, including his refrigerator. He said he salvaged his mattress by drying it out in the sun for the next few days. When we talked to him tonight, he was waiting for his niece to pick him up to get a few groceries. He bought some lumber yesterday to rebuild his floor.<br />
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The bad thing is that he will get no government assistance because he doesn’t own the property, he only has a lifetime estate from the owner to live there. James has fallen through the cracks. When Henry talked to him on Friday, he said, “I’m blessed. So many people had it much worse than me. They lost their lives, or they lost their children. I’m still here and I don’t know why.”<br />
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His biggest blessing, he says, is that he knows God and knows He’ll be with him through thick and thin. He always has. And here I am thinking that this poor guy has gone through a lifetime of hardships and how could he possibly not throw up his hands and say, I quit. But no, he’s blessed, not materially or physically, but with spiritual blessings that exceed all understanding. That’s James.<br />
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I’ve thought about setting up a “Go fund me” page for him or a fund through a church for donations. I’ll try to figure it out in the days ahead and let other people be blessed by helping the man who is always “blessed” no matter what his circumstances.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dEQNGqg65AF8lU3JocSdT8dPv5xn-4qh-qfGDtxFDXbE1t3TwTE8gb0xJd1w7B1-zrzqqfitI75_Ld4snPM37cgUksBZ7vYI0HvqDrVcLsVcvRnXAWTIZssCcC6cX0fJXPAXUnabN8Q/s1600/DSCN6329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="835" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dEQNGqg65AF8lU3JocSdT8dPv5xn-4qh-qfGDtxFDXbE1t3TwTE8gb0xJd1w7B1-zrzqqfitI75_Ld4snPM37cgUksBZ7vYI0HvqDrVcLsVcvRnXAWTIZssCcC6cX0fJXPAXUnabN8Q/s320/DSCN6329.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many small bowls I've purchased from him over the years.</td></tr>
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UPDATE: I just talked with James, telling him we are trying to get some help for him. His most pressing need right now is transportation. He is hard at work at this very moment replacing his floors to make his house livable. They were made of particle board and were caving in from the flood. He is living in it as he is working on it. He will need a refrigerator and some kind of small old truck that runs. He wanted me to know that he didn't call us just to ask for help. "I'll get by," he said. "The Lord will take care of me." I said, "James, sometimes the Lord takes care of you by using other people." His answer, "I never thought about that.<br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-8258838277513870402018-07-02T20:17:00.001-04:002018-07-02T20:17:49.606-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I love living in the South where blackberries and muscadines grow wild. I have fond memories (and some not so fond) of going blackberry picking when I was growi<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">ng up in rural North Carolina and the wonderful jams and jellies my mama made with them. My nephew (who is about my same age) and I were each given a gallon bucket with instructions not to come back until the buckets were full.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowYYPMb6eJ2S03yu8Pa52daChabJ1PSxtQKrWJauI1O7hq2ll9zYN1EW4Sf8RFW1qOqJr_mMJhelBbFEr-tKj_rEDnLt7X5fy2zLPfXMSpka6sHiJ0mREQ47CS3WMnVjHecxSmFCx-x8/s1600/blackberries-in-a-bucket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="866" data-original-width="1300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowYYPMb6eJ2S03yu8Pa52daChabJ1PSxtQKrWJauI1O7hq2ll9zYN1EW4Sf8RFW1qOqJr_mMJhelBbFEr-tKj_rEDnLt7X5fy2zLPfXMSpka6sHiJ0mREQ47CS3WMnVjHecxSmFCx-x8/s200/blackberries-in-a-bucket.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh picked blackberries</td></tr>
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The first half of the bucket was pretty easy to fill with all the blackberries on the perimeter of the bushes. But the second half involved maneuvering your hands through the thick thorns without losing too much blood. The tangled briar patches of berries were often overgrown with weeds and were a natural habitat for snakes to hide out. Couple the prickly thorns and the threat of snakes and you can just picture the two of us dipping in and out of those blackberry bushes like we thought they were going to devour us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nM4joFPAblpi-0Zzn7ApFL4IvIa7-XQ_1mWCCMy4M9NsDyJOk6PVK9D8HOFy1WQbefd9FZjwvawvOikqgl6XfQyC6_mvYpT3xvExaE1c3waCBBVaDvTgkTc5iwMJmzmHWj3u_5S54mw/s1600/blackberryBushSnake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nM4joFPAblpi-0Zzn7ApFL4IvIa7-XQ_1mWCCMy4M9NsDyJOk6PVK9D8HOFy1WQbefd9FZjwvawvOikqgl6XfQyC6_mvYpT3xvExaE1c3waCBBVaDvTgkTc5iwMJmzmHWj3u_5S54mw/s200/blackberryBushSnake.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Common Garter snake (ick!)</td></tr>
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Trying to fill a blackberry bucket in those conditions brings out the worst in you. You start eyeing the other person's bucket with envy, even sneaking a berry or two into your own when they're not looking. Then there was the arguing and the spills and trying to get that elusive fat blackberry just inches away from your reach, a delicate balancing act that sometimes sent you teetering head first into the brambly bush.</div>
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Finally, with buckets filled, we were fast friends again, tromping down the path and across the creek, through the pasture with cows that we knew were going to charge us at any moment. What a dangerous mission we had been on! Then we would march into the kitchen holding our buckets up for Mama to see and beam with pride when she pretended surprise that we had picked so many. But the best part was eating leftover breakfast biscuits with the hot jam that came from the jar that was not quite full enough to put a lid on and seal. Mama would shoo us outside along with the flies we attracted with our sweaty bodies and our sticky jam-coated fingers. We would sit under the shade trees reliving our adventures and the stories would become bigger with the telling. The cows in the pasture became bulls, the garter snakes became poisonous vipers.</div>
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But the lingering taste of fresh blackberry jam was almost enough to drown out the misery of what naturally came next - chigger bites. Those pesky little creatures also love to hang out in the blackberry bushes and you don't realize you've been bitten by the bug until the incessant itching starts. But when you're ten years old and chasing lightning bugs, June bugs and dragonflies, you hardly notice.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh blackberry jam</td></tr>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-72730504946363730002018-06-28T10:20:00.001-04:002018-06-28T11:28:00.667-04:00It'll Be Okay<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I sometimes take the challenge when I'm given a poetry or short story prompt from one of my favorite writing magazines, <a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-442">The Writer's Digest</a>. I did so today when my brain screamed that it needed a break from editing. The prompt was to write a poem with EX in the title. It could be an EX-husband, an EXtra special occasion or even EXtracting juice from a coconut, haha. Once upon a time before my days of short stories and full-length novels, I wrote poetry, but it's been a long time. Back in the day capitalization and punctuation rules for poetry and prose were pretty much the same. I love poetry that rhymes and there are so many different rhyming schemes. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (<a href="https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-road-not-taken/">see link</a>) is in the ABAAB scheme. That and the ABAB traditional rhyme scheme are the ones most of you will remember from basic high school English. I also love the unconventional rhyming schemes that poets like <a href="https://www.poemhunter.com/ogden-nash/poems/">Odgen Nash</a> used. I still find his light and humorous poetry delightful! But sometimes punctuation, capitalization, and rhyming get in the way of our thought expressions so these days almost anything goes. With that in mind, I'm claiming poetic license on my scrambled thoughts in this poem. The challenge, an EX word. I immediately thought of those EXamination rooms where many of us have waited to get good or bad news. It can be a stressful experience. After you've read my poem, I challenge you to write one of your own using EX in the title. It's good mental exercise!<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Examination Room</b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-43c3efc8-46b7-3b9e-eeb4-eed81c767c33" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Another scan, another probe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">the caller said--just routine</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Routine for who my thoughts replied</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It’s me, not you</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We’ll fit you in Thursday next,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">six days from now okay?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">My thoughts screamed, no not okay</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but answered, yes that’s fine</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It’s nothing, I heard from friends,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">we’ve been through this before</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But that was you, not me my thoughts replied</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">No worries, I said instead</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">A mammogram an ultrasound</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and then a curtain pulled</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to wait with my own thoughts</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">those wretched thoughts of doom</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">A knock, a smile, a chart in hand</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">She lingered by the door</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Good news, a false alarm</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We’ll see you in a year</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">For some, the news is not so good</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">so I’ve learned to never say</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It’s nothing, you’ll be okay</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’ll give a hug instead</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By: Glenda Manus</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-67081685245271230742017-10-07T17:30:00.000-04:002018-03-29T17:48:40.213-04:00Seven Wings to Glory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't normally review books in my blog posts, but every now and then, a book will come along whose characters are so richly-developed that they capture you from the beginning, so this time I felt I needed to share it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Kathleen Rodgers’ first book, <b><u>Johnnie Come Lately</u></b>, Johnnie Kitchen’s life unfolds on the pages, flaws and all. But Mrs. Rodgers weaves the story so well, that instead of judging her, I found Johnnie’s openness and honesty so endearing, it made me love her just as she was.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> In <b><u>Seven Wings to Glory</u></b>, I once again found myself under the spell of Mrs. Rodgers’ excellent writing skills. This story deals with the topic of racial issues in the past and present of the little town of Portion, Texas. Johnnie’s troubled mother is back in town. Will Johnnie get past the feelings of abandonment and deceit from her childhood and learn to love her mother again, or will she let those feelings simmer and come to a boil like the crockpot of pinto beans on her kitchen counter? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And how will she handle the racial hatred that threatens her own family’s safety?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think my favorite part of Seven Wings to Glory is the way Mrs. Rodgers portrays Johnnie as a military mom. Her love for her children is intrinsic and unwavering, and as her son goes off to a war zone, she lives in constant fear of a black car appearing in her driveway bearing bad news. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The characters were so real; the story line so authentic, I found myself frantically worried that, (1) Victoria, Johnnie’s mother was going to try yet another suicide attempt, (2) that her friend Whit was going to be targeted for her skin color, and (3) that her kitchen window would be bearing the load of a gold star rather than the blue one presented to her upon her son Cade’s deployment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Please have a box of tissues handy when you read this; not that the book is filled with sadness only, but that it is filled with all the trials and joys that go along with our humanness and our ability to laugh and cry over them at the same time. Thank you, Kathleen Rodgers, for bringing about all these emotions in us that verify that we’ve just read an outstanding book!</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-12601627342230106052017-07-26T10:16:00.000-04:002017-07-26T10:17:32.447-04:00Tender Hearts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Have you ever had one of those "being in the right place at the right time" moments? I experienced one of those today when I met someone who left her footprints indelibly stamped across my heart. She is a soon-to-be sixteen-year-old girl and I saw her at the hair salon while I waited my turn for my hairdresser. She was dressed in a chic black and white sundress with shoes that matched. Her blonde hair was shiny clean and in a mid-length stylish cut. Fingernails and toenails were polished a vibrant pink to go along with her pink-tinted lip gloss, and her pink purse was hiked upon her shoulder. My first thought was that she should be walking down a runway working for a modeling agency; she was that striking. She gave me a big smile when I walked in so I initiated a conversation with her, telling her how pretty she looked. An animated conversation ensued and I was impressed at how easily she talked to an older woman. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>She's a little nervous about starting high school this year because it's a different school and she worries about making new friends. She tells me about her gymnastics classes but laments that she'd rather be taking piano lessons. It's her passion, she says. But it's apparent she has more than one passion; another is theater. In a recent school play, she played Maria, Julie Andrews' role in The Sound of Music. I shared with her that my granddaughter is also involved in school plays but works behind the scenes. She was familiar with that role and said, "Oh yes! A play can't go on without the set designers and lighting crew. I love the behind-the-scenes people." Is there anything she doesn't love, I wondered. Her goal is to be a Broadway actress, she says, and I told her that with her personality, talent, and enthusiasm she could be anything she wanted to be. I asked her name because I want to make sure to watch for it on a Broadway billboard someday. She laughed and said that her name is Brady.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>I asked if she was waiting for a haircut and she said, no, she was waiting for her best friend who was getting her hair trimmed. I asked if her best friend was her age and she told me no, it was her teacher; the one who had taught her all three years of middle school. She then shared with me that she'd cried when she graduated from middle school this year and she was really going to miss her teacher and her friends. I was sitting there marveling at what a wonderful teacher she must have that would take time during her summer vacation to spend with one of her students. It takes a special kind of teacher to do that, but most teachers in that field are indeed special people.</i></span></span><i style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> You see, Brady is a high-functioning Down syndrome child. She is also the most delightful young lady I've ever met. </i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></i> <i style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I learned a valuable lesson in the twenty minutes I chatted with Brady and I'll share what I learned. Don't ever hide behind your phone in a waiting room texting messages and reading Facebook posts. Don't read a magazine when there are interesting people all around you to talk to. You may miss an opportunity to meet someone like Brady who will make you realize that the world is a better place because of the person you just met! And you may, like me, walk out of that waiting room with a much more tender heart than when you walked in.</i><br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-50024162259350792592017-07-02T16:22:00.001-04:002017-07-02T16:23:46.648-04:00New Book Release for September!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Agatha, owner of Park Place’s newest Bed and Breakfast is enjoying a refreshing glass of sweet tea and a plate of cookies with one of her guests this afternoon. It’s hotter than the 4th of July, but a wisp of a breeze is stirring under the shade of the large oak tree where they sit and enjoy each other’s company. Agatha is quite the character in my soon-to-be-released book, Miss Marple’s B & B. Her husband Charlie, dead going on two years now seems to be playing games from the grave. The old adage of “you can’t take it with you” doesn’t seem to hold true in this tale of the missing fortune. Regretfully when Charlie dies, his fortune disappears and Agatha is left nearly penniless with nothing to fall back on except the beautiful Victorian home that’s been in her family for four generations. Turning it into an Inn may be the best decision Agatha has made in her entire life. In fact, it may be the only decision she’s made in her entire life since she’s led a fairytale existence going straight from a controlling family into a marriage with an older man who has made sure she has the best things in life. Join Agatha for tea. She’ll soon reveal her story of how a leap of faith brings about a change so profound it will change her life forever. "The rest of the story" is due to be released in September. Watch for it!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">But for now, she wishes all of you a Happy Independence Day weekend!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">Glenda Manus, Author</span></span><br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-1837057101302276832017-05-21T00:42:00.003-04:002017-05-22T13:20:45.838-04:00Getting inside the head of your characters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">When I’m in the beginning stages of writing a book, I work really hard to get inside the heads and into the homes of my characters. When I’m doing mundane things like washing dishes, making the bed, or going outside to water my flowers, I use those quiet moments to get to know them. I’ll say to myself, now what would Agatha be doing right now, this very minute? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">She lives in a large Victorian house at the end of West Main Street in Park Place. I’ve sketched the floorplan of her home. I’ve walked with her through the library, the living room and up the massive stairway that leads to the four bedrooms she’s going to be letting out to the guests of the Bed and Breakfast she’s just opened. I’ve watched her read books by the light of the lamp beside her bed, and I’ve enjoyed hot tea with her guests while they sit beside the fireplace and chat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">I’ve created a front porch with rockers and painted her porch ceiling blue. I’ve marveled at the turret tower with the circular walls on the left side of the house that reaches toward the clouds, and I’ve looked from the outside in as the upstairs guests gather there in the little circular drawing room to look out upon Main Street as the shoppers pass by during the day and ooh and ahh over the Christmas lights as they’re turned on at dusk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"> Agatha’s front porch is surrounded by boxwoods and there’s a walkway leading to the sidewalk, with street lamps on each side. She has lots of shade trees, a separate 2-car garage, and an old carriage house on the right side of the house. You can look down from one of the second-floor bedrooms and see her English Garden and the exquisite statues and water fountain imported from Italy that anchor it. Beyond that, you can see the blueberry orchard where she gathers the berries to make her jams and jellies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">When I go outside in my own backyard, I see the lush green of Spring, but I have no trouble getting into Agatha’s shoes and following her into her own English Garden right smack in the middle of winter. I know that her husband, the avid gardener, died two years ago and the garden is in a state of disrepair. Winter tufts of brown grass and a small mulberry seedling are growing up between the flagstone squares, trying not to disturb the serene setting. The pump on the fountain quit working shortly after Charlie died and the water that’s left in the bowl by a recent rain is colored a murky brown from the leaves that have fallen from the trees. Agatha breathes a heavy sigh as she looks at what has become of Charlie’s garden. She can only do so much, she thinks, still a little angry at him for dying. Then a new thought enters her mind. A gardener, when Spring comes she will hire a gardener! Why had she not thought of that before?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">And where does my character go from there? I make it up as I go along, but wait, I just had another thought. Agatha is only sixty years old. She’s not dead yet! As she thinks about the gardener she will hire, she decides he must be easy on the eyes. Be careful, Agatha. Don't go there. We're writing a nice clean book.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">See how quickly our imaginations can lead us off track? But the amazing thing is that we can merge our minds with our characters and a book is written. I still don't understand how. And we know we had to be a little bit crazy in the first place to have ever wanted to write a book because, by the end of the story, we've begun to act a whole lot like our character, good or bad!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-84562750161869805202017-05-09T11:07:00.000-04:002017-05-09T11:39:12.576-04:00Mountains, Molehills and Miracles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sitting out on the beach always inspires me to write, which is why in my beach bag of necessities, I always carry a pen and notebook. If I’m having a problem with writer’s block, the beach atmosphere suddenly clears it. If I’m seeking answers to a difficult situation, I usually find that the salt air and fresh sunshine make those difficulties seem less significant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On our most recent trip there, I had the beach all to myself; not a soul was in sight, so it was inspiration without distraction, a rare thing indeed! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">With every swell of a wave, then the subsequent crash that follows, I’m reminded of the mountains out of molehills I’ve made during my lifetime, and of the insignificance of those baby mountains that usually work themselves out with or without my interference. But God’s interference can work out even the worst of my molehills. How do we seek God’s interference? It’s a simple word with big consequences: prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I believe that God has a plan for us, but Jesus’ words also give me a promise. A promise that He can change His plan if I sincerely petition Him to do so, not always in the exact way we ask, but who I am to say what's best? We've all experienced miracles in one way or another. I have experienced a few myself and they’ve always been the result of prayer. I’m trying to learn, through faith, to expect mountains of goodness and not to resign myself to molehills of pettiness. It's not always easy; those molehills can drag me down in an instant, without warning....until I remember to whom I belong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;">“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-39964047084957577962016-11-10T13:23:00.000-05:002016-11-10T13:23:14.565-05:00Writing though Grief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'll admit to it. I'm grieving for a country I've always been proud to be a part of. Being patriotic is part of who I am. It was instilled in me by my parents, especially my father who made sure we were all schooled daily on national and international current events. He would sit down nightly and read the day's newspaper, sometimes reading it aloud and sometimes just conveying his feelings on a subject that he'd read. Much like my mother, who would read and comment on the Bible research she was studying while preparing for the Sunday School class she taught. Our home education was steeped in God and Country.<div>
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I grew up Methodist and there was nothing luke-warm about our Sunday morning sermons. I attended other denominations when I spent weekends with cousins or other friends and got the same dose of worship and praise in their churches. We were all in this together, some just a little more structured than others. I also remember the day that Jesus reached down personally and touched my heart, making it His forever.</div>
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Daddy was all about the little people. Being a farmer, he knew what it was like to have good years and bad. He knew what it was about to be on the receiving end and what it was like to be on the giving end. I was also born privileged, but not in the way people speak of privilege now; privileged that in spite of being born and raised in the rural South, there was no racial hatred taught in our home, and for that, I'll be forever grateful.</div>
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I was also taught to respect the office of the President of the United States of America, somewhere along the line shortened to POTUS, which sounds like a rather disrespectful term if you ask me. But if you didn't like a president, you just sucked it up and waited for the next four years, but you still were taught to respect the president. The only time I remember my father truly grieving over a presidential election was when Richard Nixon was voted in for a second term, and we all know how that played out. He was sick for days. I know he would be sick if he were alive today. Instead though, he is basking in God's everlasting sunshine in a place that knows no physical or emotional pain.</div>
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I am a Christian writer, and for this entire process of election, I'm ashamed that I've remained quiet about my feelings on Donald Trump. The few times I've alluded to my feelings in written word, I've done so gracefully as not to offend other Christians out there who somehow think this vile man is the answer to the world's problems. I stood by in shock as I watched people defend this man's actions, some of the most un-Christian like actions I've ever witnessed in not only a presidential candidate, but in a person in general. One who believes in the idolatry of money; of pride and ego; of self-aggrandizement. I heard the issues brought up, and I too have struggled with some of the issues, but still I could not even look at this man and not get a sense of revulsion that made me literally sick to my stomach. It was an emotion straight from my heart and soul; a place where the Holy Spirit resides in me.</div>
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We've studied Isaiah recently and all I keep thinking about and wondering, is God hardening hearts so that we as a nation are not seeing things clearly? We are told in scripture that he hardens the hearts of unbelievers (look what he did to Pharaoh), but what about believers? And if so, whose hearts have been hardened? I feel mine has been softened as I've prayed and gained clarity in the months leading up to the election, but does the other side feel the same? And as a Christian, why are my gut feelings so much different from those of other Christians. It's so troubling to me - maybe something I will never understand.</div>
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I hope and pray that our next president, (excuse me if I can't yet say his name) will not be like King Ahaz of Isaiah's day - too stubborn to listen to the advice of God's prophet and too quick to side with the wrong rulers. If so, we are all in trouble.</div>
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I do know that I need my space right now. I need time to grieve. I hope and pray that my friends and family who voted differently will understand if I can't see or talk to them right now. I thought I could move on faster than this, but it has taken its toll.</div>
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As I finish writing this as a healing process, I want to encourage my friends who are also grieving for our nation. God is sovereign. He is the ultimate ruler. I don't think he is rejoicing in our choice of leaders, but He has given us hope. There is the hope found in Isaiah, a Messianic hope where we can imagine all of creation is healed and restored, a place where we can live in peace.</div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-34138272181927198712016-11-09T21:15:00.003-05:002016-11-09T22:51:28.174-05:00The Saga of the Lost Phone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This blog has run the gambit. It has had many identities over the years, but for good reason. My interests have changed, therefore my writing has followed suit. It's been about retirement, sharing bits of wisdom, day trips to small Southern towns, tablescaping, flea market adventures and much more. Recently I changed it to reporting small happenings and gossip in the small town of Park Place, the place of my books, a fictional Van Wyck, but the lost phone saga is not fiction and I'm sure it will never be replicated. Here it is.<br />
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My youngest daughter, a fellow democrat, is on vacation with some friends in Mexico waiting for the wall to be built so she won't have to come back home. Just kidding, but probably more serious than we know. But of course, she wants her family to join her, one of which I'm feeding and carpooling while she's gone.</div>
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Gen is fourteen, going on fifteen. I'm also carpooling the children of a neighbor, who is also in said Mexico waiting for the same wall. One of them is Gregory, Genevieve's age. Monday, on the way home from picking them up at school, I told Gen that she had a physical therapy appointment and when she acted like she doubted it, I whipped out my phone to show her the email message from her mom, like, uh, grandmas make these things up. I was driving and that's the last time I saw my phone. Having not charged it the night before, I only had about 20% charge left, and everybody knows when it says that, it means it's going to leave you high and dry.</div>
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After I delivered Gregory home, I brought Gen back to my house for a few minutes before we left for the appointment. When we got back in the car, I noticed I didn't have my phone. We tried ringing it inside and outside the house, but no luck. It had to be in the house or the car, right? So we went on to the appointment. I would find it when I got home.</div>
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Searched everywhere, called it time and again. It was ringing but we couldn't hear it. So at this point, I decided I would be smart like my smart phone is supposed to be, so I logged into my iTunes account and asked it to Locate my Phone. The message it gave told me it wasn't charged. So much for smart. I've worried about that six-hundred dollar phone more than you should ever worry about a material thing, but I do love my phone! It's also new. </div>
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Meanwhile I got out my old iPhone and charged it up, thinking I may have to resurrect it and switch back to it. Last night I decided to give the Locate My Phone feature one more try. Yay! It looked like it was working this time and zeroing in on a spot on the corner of Steele Hill and VW Road on the map right before my eyes. My house, it must be here! Then I heard a ping and was so happy until I looked around and found the pinging coming from my old phone that I had just charged. The read-out said "found phone" and that phone wasn't even lost! I went back to the Apple site and tried to pull up my new phone, but it only shows that I own the old phone. I may or may not have remembered to register the new phone on Apple when I got it. Ouch. But I had the box it came in! Yay! It had the serial number on it, so I tried to register it thinking there still might be hope and it would still have a charge since I hadn't used it. I think positive, usually. But aack! Once again, no luck. After the serial number, it wanted an agreement number from the agreement papers where I bought it. Oh, did I ever tell you how unorganized I am? Probably not and I couldn't find it.</div>
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So-o-o, this morning I went to Comporium where I purchased the phone and just knew they would have a copy of the agreement number. Wrong! But I don't think she was looking hard. She had a very hard time following along with my story, and she had a neat desk, looked very organized and looked at me sort of condescending, like I was supposed to know to keep those sorts of things.</div>
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I came home all blue, rejected and dejected from Comporium. When I pulled in the driveway, Henry walked out of the house to meet me. My phone had been found! He was excited too, because of the six-hundred dollars I'm sure. Where, I asked, feeling a little elated for the first time in two days, actually three days if you count Monday.</div>
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It was at the high school and had been turned in by a boy who found it in his book bag.</div>
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My thoughts went to Gregory! But how?</div>
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Can't you just see this in slow motion. </div>
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Genevieve in front seat, Gregory in back seat.</div>
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Book bag on floor. </div>
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Gregory opens book bag to get out his own phone, leaves it open. </div>
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Genevieve has my phone, reads email and lays phone on console.</div>
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Brakes applied.</div>
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Out of all the places phone could go, it tumbles into book bag.</div>
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Gregory closes book bag and gets out of car.</div>
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Book bag is left by back door away from hearing ears as we try calling it.</div>
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It stays in dark book bag overnight and all next day because there was no school because of election day; then overnight again.</div>
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Gregory takes book bag to school this morning, opens it. Hey, what's this phone doing in here?</div>
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Takes to office. Smart lady in office charges it and calls the last number called.</div>
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Voila! I have my phone back. I did feel slightly unpopular when I checked my messages. Not a single one.</div>
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I can sometimes go days without using my phone, but with my daughter in Mexico waiting for the wall to be built and thinking that Gen would need me to put on my superwoman cape to run to her rescue at sometime or another, I went a little crazy with the lost phone. Can you tell?<br />
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But the really, really fun part is when I picked up Gregory today at school. I told him I'd found my phone. He said, where did you find it? I said, here at the high school. Some boy found it in his book bag. He turned to me with a look of shock on his face and said in his cute little British accent, "that was me!" Kids! You gotta love 'em!<br />
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At least this was a short story and not a book.</div>
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The end.</div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-85818349084477182592016-08-03T22:13:00.001-04:002016-08-03T22:13:04.250-04:00Gossip on Main Street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once again, you can be privy to the happenings and rumors in the fictitious little town of Park Place, South Carolina as I write my new book. Here's today's Park Place Gazette. The Wednesday Edition is giving you a few teasers from my next book!<br />
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Hmm... Strange things are happening in Park Place. Everyone's talking about the stranger seen behind May's Flower Shop during the worst thunder and lightning storm of the season, but the next day they've forgotten all about it when the town's first murder in decades has been committed in the same alleyway behind the shop's dumpster. Who could it be? Rumors are flying and no one in Park Place will feel safe until Police Chief, Jess Hamilton finds the killer.<br />
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Someone in town is having a baby, but we're not telling who!<br />
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Who's the mysterious nun who's working with the homeless shelter at the catholic church? She's awfully interested in the murder victim, but you'll have to read The Sweet Tea Quilting Bee to find out why!<br />
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Stay tuned.....</div>
Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-26735329597388901152016-07-20T00:15:00.002-04:002016-07-20T00:21:15.350-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Once again, we'll get a little glimpse of what life is like in Park Place, the fictional town that's written about in the Southern Grace Trilogies. The Park Place Gazette will give small town news as it happens! Read all about it! A fictional newspaper for a fictional town!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>THE PARK PLACE GAZETTE</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tuesday, July 20, 2016</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Special Edition</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>Local News</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Park Place General Hospital to get a new wing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The family of the late Dr. John S. Beverly has once again shown their benevolence by donating the funds to build a new wing on the west end of Park Place General Hospital. Jackson R. Beverly, the grandson of the late Dr. Beverly is carrying on the family tradition that the late Dr. Beverly started in 1976 when he donated his old plantation home and property to be used to open The Beverly Hill's Children's Home and Orphanage. The new wing of the hospital will be built as an oncology center with state-of-the-art equipment for diagnosing and treating cancer patients. Park Place residents will no longer have to make the trip to Charlotte for treatment. Construction starts in September, 2016 and an estimated completion date of June, 2017. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56llV7DlTUpAlW3SzZe1kOTPzQj00FdjGQWWu8YV1wQ-5wYGoffwKw8DyZS2ORzRc0mCsSoKRqibyR41xvwLTNccj3fDlVPhxBtElnrGMCwHoX3URAO0cnyJldAjo7Trt6HVbwfPafL0/s1600/hospital-main-entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56llV7DlTUpAlW3SzZe1kOTPzQj00FdjGQWWu8YV1wQ-5wYGoffwKw8DyZS2ORzRc0mCsSoKRqibyR41xvwLTNccj3fDlVPhxBtElnrGMCwHoX3URAO0cnyJldAjo7Trt6HVbwfPafL0/s320/hospital-main-entrance.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Place General Hospital</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>Sports Section</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Women's Softball Team Goes to State Finals</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Park Place's very own Diamond Diva's Softball Team will be traveling to Columbia on Friday to participate in the state finals for Women's Softball. A stand-out on the team, Penny Evans, spoke to this reporter last week. "We're out to win," she said right after practice on Thursday night. "We have the best pitcher in the league and every single one of our girls have hit the ball out of the park at least once this season. We're not settling for second best. We want victory!" The girls around her were cheering her own. Let's not forget to wish them luck this week.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nuz5jkpsOeKlcSsx3BAeFB3HLPD5htJYo-Xe5x_RGKPjiG6jcGh1luvlh3rryvEWBMXJeRV8PWtnsmjjzzaRRpdcPXQ3d8DzBYwbhThIvXOlAVL4ksA0BCiBYRJIoTgw-3mUqtNHOJ8/s1600/softballimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nuz5jkpsOeKlcSsx3BAeFB3HLPD5htJYo-Xe5x_RGKPjiG6jcGh1luvlh3rryvEWBMXJeRV8PWtnsmjjzzaRRpdcPXQ3d8DzBYwbhThIvXOlAVL4ksA0BCiBYRJIoTgw-3mUqtNHOJ8/s1600/softballimage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diamond Diva's Softball Team 2016</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Park Place High School Football</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Football anyone? Tryouts for the 2016-17 school year's football team at the high school will be held on July 29th from 8 - 11:30 am. Rising 10th, 11th and 12ths graders are eligible to try out. Practice sessions will start on August 10th. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKjY05XDWUXcsAvA1RvG7MBPGyIt-dLlNoZUpEOLvc9GLqWQp_38uH5ayf6uDBEN42VQNliFBnYExiFaN_RCP3sabslWyYSPe47i2VkbhJBAadT-eOL13p6ZkmD5_MA_6TgtU68JOISo/s1600/footballimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKjY05XDWUXcsAvA1RvG7MBPGyIt-dLlNoZUpEOLvc9GLqWQp_38uH5ayf6uDBEN42VQNliFBnYExiFaN_RCP3sabslWyYSPe47i2VkbhJBAadT-eOL13p6ZkmD5_MA_6TgtU68JOISo/s1600/footballimage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last year's senior Corey Kayfield at practice</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>About Town</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Park Place Presbyterian Church's Ladies Tuesday Morning Bible Study group completed their study of the Gospel of John on Tuesday morning followed by a delicious covered dish luncheon. Park Place has some of the finest cooks in the country. As a matter of fact, just to enjoy the occasional lunches makes this reporter want to join the group for their upcoming Bible Study on the Book of Isaiah starting on September 20th. They welcome new members, so join them in September!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLudf2RUm8kOnrhMk9u56Y-GVGDs3pmz80rDi1f6h40XviyZgO_CEgb8xwvGY4eqSAzkqe9aJTUjyizuCKnJu7SkrVoZ_ibFdMmgdl9v_GDBuSi3e6aDuaO3KcvdXTcqItagObHIFcd8/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLudf2RUm8kOnrhMk9u56Y-GVGDs3pmz80rDi1f6h40XviyZgO_CEgb8xwvGY4eqSAzkqe9aJTUjyizuCKnJu7SkrVoZ_ibFdMmgdl9v_GDBuSi3e6aDuaO3KcvdXTcqItagObHIFcd8/s320/food.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Place Presbyterian Bible Study Luncheon</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Matthew Eli Clark, son of Reverend Rock Clark and wife, Liz Clark, celebrated his first birthday last week with friends and family. Guests included Danny and Maura McCarthy, Holly and Sonny McCarthy and daughter Abby, and both sets of grandparents. We wish little Matthew a very happy birthday.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt9D46kjiDHyEecFqhYLhkteNVHCcPkse8l7xF93i32-bo0lTNjkx2h5W6CQCZ6hBCxjVQwBg3rni7hn3gTcMcPbrVJLuLTGhaVilmYZHD8JdCocoU_ORDIkDyt0iDAVH8bp5aojHivs/s1600/childbirthdayimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt9D46kjiDHyEecFqhYLhkteNVHCcPkse8l7xF93i32-bo0lTNjkx2h5W6CQCZ6hBCxjVQwBg3rni7hn3gTcMcPbrVJLuLTGhaVilmYZHD8JdCocoU_ORDIkDyt0iDAVH8bp5aojHivs/s320/childbirthdayimage.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matthew Eli Clark's 1st Birthay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> There's a new club in town! The Dixie Bee Quilter's Club was formed last month by antique shop owner, Valerie Owens and the meetings will be held in the antique store on Tuesday mornings from 9 - 11:30 a.m. Register early because the spots are filling up fast. For more information, call Valerie at 223-413-4000.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">That's it for this week's edition! See you next week for more news from Park Place!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Reporter: Glenda Manus</span></div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-25062012716468949032016-07-20T00:15:00.001-04:002016-07-20T00:20:52.747-04:00The Park Place Gazette - Week Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Once again, we'll get a little glimpse of what life is like in Park Place, the fictional town that's written about in the Southern Grace Trilogies. The Park Place Gazette will give small town news as it happens! Read all about it! A fictional newspaper for a fictional town!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>THE PARK PLACE GAZETTE</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tuesday, July 20, 2016</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Special Edition</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>Local News</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Park Place General Hospital to get a new wing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The family of the late Dr. John S. Beverly has once again shown their benevolence by donating the funds to build a new wing on the west end of Park Place General Hospital. Jackson R. Beverly, the grandson of the late Dr. Beverly is carrying on the family tradition that the late Dr. Beverly started in 1976 when he donated his old plantation home and property to be used to open The Beverly Hill's Children's Home and Orphanage. The new wing of the hospital will be built as an oncology center with state-of-the-art equipment for diagnosing and treating cancer patients. Park Place residents will no longer have to make the trip to Charlotte for treatment. Construction starts in September, 2016 and an estimated completion date of June, 2017. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56llV7DlTUpAlW3SzZe1kOTPzQj00FdjGQWWu8YV1wQ-5wYGoffwKw8DyZS2ORzRc0mCsSoKRqibyR41xvwLTNccj3fDlVPhxBtElnrGMCwHoX3URAO0cnyJldAjo7Trt6HVbwfPafL0/s1600/hospital-main-entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56llV7DlTUpAlW3SzZe1kOTPzQj00FdjGQWWu8YV1wQ-5wYGoffwKw8DyZS2ORzRc0mCsSoKRqibyR41xvwLTNccj3fDlVPhxBtElnrGMCwHoX3URAO0cnyJldAjo7Trt6HVbwfPafL0/s320/hospital-main-entrance.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Place General Hospital</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>Sports Section</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Women's Softball Team Goes to State Finals</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Park Place's very own Diamond Diva's Softball Team will be traveling to Columbia on Friday to participate in the state finals for Women's Softball. A stand-out on the team, Penny Evans, spoke to this reporter last week. "We're out to win," she said right after practice on Thursday night. "We have the best pitcher in the league and every single one of our girls have hit the ball out of the park at least once this season. We're not settling for second best. We want victory!" The girls around her were cheering her own. Let's not forget to wish them luck this week.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nuz5jkpsOeKlcSsx3BAeFB3HLPD5htJYo-Xe5x_RGKPjiG6jcGh1luvlh3rryvEWBMXJeRV8PWtnsmjjzzaRRpdcPXQ3d8DzBYwbhThIvXOlAVL4ksA0BCiBYRJIoTgw-3mUqtNHOJ8/s1600/softballimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nuz5jkpsOeKlcSsx3BAeFB3HLPD5htJYo-Xe5x_RGKPjiG6jcGh1luvlh3rryvEWBMXJeRV8PWtnsmjjzzaRRpdcPXQ3d8DzBYwbhThIvXOlAVL4ksA0BCiBYRJIoTgw-3mUqtNHOJ8/s1600/softballimage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diamond Diva's Softball Team 2016</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Park Place High School Football</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Football anyone? Tryouts for the 2016-17 school year's football team at the high school will be held on July 29th from 8 - 11:30 am. Rising 10th, 11th and 12ths graders are eligible to try out. Practice sessions will start on August 10th. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKjY05XDWUXcsAvA1RvG7MBPGyIt-dLlNoZUpEOLvc9GLqWQp_38uH5ayf6uDBEN42VQNliFBnYExiFaN_RCP3sabslWyYSPe47i2VkbhJBAadT-eOL13p6ZkmD5_MA_6TgtU68JOISo/s1600/footballimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKjY05XDWUXcsAvA1RvG7MBPGyIt-dLlNoZUpEOLvc9GLqWQp_38uH5ayf6uDBEN42VQNliFBnYExiFaN_RCP3sabslWyYSPe47i2VkbhJBAadT-eOL13p6ZkmD5_MA_6TgtU68JOISo/s1600/footballimage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last year's senior Corey Kayfield at practice</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>About Town</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Park Place Presbyterian Church's Ladies Tuesday Morning Bible Study group completed their study of the Gospel of John on Tuesday morning followed by a delicious covered dish luncheon. Park Place has some of the finest cooks in the country. As a matter of fact, just to enjoy the occasional lunches makes this reporter want to join the group for their upcoming Bible Study on the Book of Isaiah starting on September 20th. They welcome new members, so join them in September!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLudf2RUm8kOnrhMk9u56Y-GVGDs3pmz80rDi1f6h40XviyZgO_CEgb8xwvGY4eqSAzkqe9aJTUjyizuCKnJu7SkrVoZ_ibFdMmgdl9v_GDBuSi3e6aDuaO3KcvdXTcqItagObHIFcd8/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLudf2RUm8kOnrhMk9u56Y-GVGDs3pmz80rDi1f6h40XviyZgO_CEgb8xwvGY4eqSAzkqe9aJTUjyizuCKnJu7SkrVoZ_ibFdMmgdl9v_GDBuSi3e6aDuaO3KcvdXTcqItagObHIFcd8/s320/food.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Place Presbyterian Bible Study Luncheon</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Matthew Eli Clark, son of Reverend Rock Clark and wife, Liz Clark, celebrated his first birthday last week with friends and family. Guests included Danny and Maura McCarthy, Holly and Sonny McCarthy and daughter Abby, and both sets of grandparents. We wish little Matthew a very happy birthday.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt9D46kjiDHyEecFqhYLhkteNVHCcPkse8l7xF93i32-bo0lTNjkx2h5W6CQCZ6hBCxjVQwBg3rni7hn3gTcMcPbrVJLuLTGhaVilmYZHD8JdCocoU_ORDIkDyt0iDAVH8bp5aojHivs/s1600/childbirthdayimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt9D46kjiDHyEecFqhYLhkteNVHCcPkse8l7xF93i32-bo0lTNjkx2h5W6CQCZ6hBCxjVQwBg3rni7hn3gTcMcPbrVJLuLTGhaVilmYZHD8JdCocoU_ORDIkDyt0iDAVH8bp5aojHivs/s320/childbirthdayimage.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matthew Eli Clark's 1st Birthay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> There's a new club in town! The Dixie Bee Quilter's Club was formed last month by antique shop owner, Valerie Owens and the meetings will be held in the antique store on Tuesday mornings from 9 - 11:30 a.m. Register early because the spots are filling up fast. For more information, call Valerie at 223-413-4000.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">That's it for this week's edition! See you next week for more news from Park Place!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Reporter: Glenda Manus</span></div>
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-67028490904067759782016-07-13T00:07:00.000-04:002016-07-13T16:24:48.752-04:00New Format - Newspaper Style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I was thinking, wouldn't it be nice if I could share some of the daily happenings in the lives of my characters. The town of Park Place and its population of characters live in my head as well in my books and I often imagine them living day-to-day much like we do where I live in Van Wyck. I'm sure they had a July Fourth celebration and the ladies of Park Place Presbyterian Church will be hosting their annual High Tea as a fundraiser again this summer.<br />
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The Park Place Garden Club is busy trying to choose the prettiest Yard of the Month. I've heard that Jenny Wilson and Betty Ann Williams are in the running and are planting a few more annuals to give their yards and gardens a burst of color before the judging begins.<br />
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Wanda Burns is busy writing her new book, and when asked about the publication date, she said, "I've been spending way too much time on Facebook. I've got to find a secluded place to write where I don't have access to the internet!" Last year she wrote from a gazebo by the sea. Perhaps this year she'll find a nice, quiet spot by a mountain stream.<br />
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There's a rumor going around about a crime that was committed in the alley behind the Banty Hen Antique Shop, but the crime is still under investigation since the new book is not due for a couple more months. This reporter doesn't want to give too much away!<br />
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Stay tuned! The Park Place Gazette will be in production soon!<br />
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Glenda Manus, reporter</div>
Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807358689849758829.post-9738618491819661962016-01-07T10:50:00.001-05:002016-01-07T10:54:55.537-05:00Character Feelings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Are there times when you can't think of a single word to evoke the emotions of a character you're writing about? This was a tip I recently found on The Writer's Circle Facebook page. I'm finding it helpful but just remember, it's always better to show, not tell.<br />
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Glendahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13894937401369741806noreply@blogger.com0