tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85109917193896104172024-02-07T19:46:52.574-08:00Atticus Lives"...before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience." –Atticus Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird-catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-22174494754369036272010-07-24T11:15:00.000-07:002010-07-24T11:59:58.415-07:00My Work of Art<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TS2-jinHqq-udGKeuQB3jU70rr_JI8z_lxfISIGINIWCGFZXB2SCkbXDVGqf5CR9dw-FuONQQja7quzbGovpBq5Fw0fA1LzkVQxKeDB7x8ZJEexaefuHYf12QvTOfiO24PMVOyGyNmx7/s1600/100_2647.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TS2-jinHqq-udGKeuQB3jU70rr_JI8z_lxfISIGINIWCGFZXB2SCkbXDVGqf5CR9dw-FuONQQja7quzbGovpBq5Fw0fA1LzkVQxKeDB7x8ZJEexaefuHYf12QvTOfiO24PMVOyGyNmx7/s400/100_2647.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497538232304724546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In the last year Angela has started doing flowers for weddings and such and I have beheld arrangements that stop my breath, or stop my steps as I study each bud and petal and marvel at her genius in flower design. This year I've luxuriated in blooms.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Angela is on vacation now and the house is bereft of flowers. I took to my yard in need of a flower fix. I picked a few "Double Delight" roses and placed them in the glass bottles I've saved for fifteen years, as their shape and hue delighted me. These glasses are a permanent fixture in my kitchen window, mostly empty, but often filled with a few flowers or leaves of the seasons.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So, today I placed the roses in their places above my sink, looking out through my window. Joy crept through my veins as a truth rang out. These humble arrangements throughout the years have given me greater joy than even the most marvelous of compositions. They have brightened my spirit, enlivened my senses, and soothed my sometimes heavy soul. Countless times I have come to my window, either purposely or by chore, and I am caught by a joy though simple, is pure and lasting.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Angela is the "Monet" of flower art, and I am a child with her tempura paint, and though I delight in the artist, I am content with my painting.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-53959080865107586662010-04-19T11:21:00.000-07:002010-04-19T12:34:43.697-07:00My Favorite Quote<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RTenutCZsL7Ie7iwxvxu30lbXOQID7-5JG6FnrUVq1KRWWqDCjZwV5l1ybPEKoj8jUbFuZ9_7GzL0NpRyYevjCIcFbhH1txxOWOJQ0FW7rGgw6nSDW0w_E2BRCUnIY0T5pwXCYSS6M9I/s1600/DSC_9964.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RTenutCZsL7Ie7iwxvxu30lbXOQID7-5JG6FnrUVq1KRWWqDCjZwV5l1ybPEKoj8jUbFuZ9_7GzL0NpRyYevjCIcFbhH1txxOWOJQ0FW7rGgw6nSDW0w_E2BRCUnIY0T5pwXCYSS6M9I/s400/DSC_9964.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461917657581847986" border="0" /></a>
<br /></div><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///J:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CCATHER%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;">I ran across this quotation one day years ago and my heart recognized the truth. This is my favorite quote of all time and because I keep losing it and then having to search for months, I am putting down on a blog so I'll always have it when I need it. I hope it will find another heart for it's home by my pasteing it here on these pages.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;"> I love you all.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;">Catherine</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: verdana;">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">try to love the questions themselves . . .Do not . . . seek the</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">answers, which cannot be given you because you would not</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">the questions now. Perhaps; you will . . .gradually, without</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">RAINER MARIA RILKE</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">Letters to a young poet</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;">Norton 1934, 1935.
<br /></p><span style="font-size:9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-87591227173541736902010-03-14T10:40:00.000-07:002010-03-14T11:05:40.676-07:00We Are Not Birds Of Prey!<a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIxJHWwjgA7JIMGzo4fF_UfzJuCdB8zkrMuIOOJ7lI-XthILW1sJ542iZNB_P1auhi_KbJCw76tKbImtD3lRohBbhaWhSPWcUMsnbypZBPYY_ISDHvG9Og6bguFuIStQmY9adf3i5iSee/s1600-h/birds_of_prey_7.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 375px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIxJHWwjgA7JIMGzo4fF_UfzJuCdB8zkrMuIOOJ7lI-XthILW1sJ542iZNB_P1auhi_KbJCw76tKbImtD3lRohBbhaWhSPWcUMsnbypZBPYY_ISDHvG9Og6bguFuIStQmY9adf3i5iSee/s400/birds_of_prey_7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448546369269596466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />It happened! The best parental lecture I've ever heard or witnessed, happened in my home Sunday morning. I hear all you nay sayers out there thinking, "couldn't match the lecture of '04.......ya da ya da.....," whatever, I know what I heard and I can't deny it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'll lay out the setting for you: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> James and Chase bored</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> James and Chase invent new game - "Battlefield"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> James winning battle every time, duh, he's 3 years older</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Chase no longer happy and attacks with full strength, (note: although he uses teeth, kicking, slugging, etc., for some reason doesn't pull out the scratching this time.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> James unfortunately doesn't use any of the above, but scratching - hence - he's the one that is in trouble. (note: burdens of a first child, to be addressed in different blog.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now to THE moment - Angela sees scratches and calls the boys in for the umpteenth lecture on how fighting isn't okay! But this time she pulls a real zinger out of her repertoire,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >"BOYS - WE ARE NOT BIRDS OF PREY!!!!!!! WE DO NOT USE TALONS!!!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Unfortunately I can not give you the rest of the story. My twisted mind immediately took off for the computer, although I haven't written a blog in over a year, I knew in that moment inspiration had come at last.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-66301049941327501612009-12-09T19:35:00.000-08:002009-12-09T19:45:40.207-08:00"Paralyzed With Awesomeness"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik41ZGnmLR9McXht2s0CUmlQNug36kZ51UvRjvDiZ4MVuvTFdsGoVSfi3WjWMg0UK1-iZt-F2h3kDXFttwcrUyOXlfxQZjXK4R3B6bYXohJ1a8mwrtPSn5_JxA3NPJUtT2Iv4aUWl4S1S_/s1600-h/2009+Pumkins+and+Halloween+213.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik41ZGnmLR9McXht2s0CUmlQNug36kZ51UvRjvDiZ4MVuvTFdsGoVSfi3WjWMg0UK1-iZt-F2h3kDXFttwcrUyOXlfxQZjXK4R3B6bYXohJ1a8mwrtPSn5_JxA3NPJUtT2Iv4aUWl4S1S_/s400/2009+Pumkins+and+Halloween+213.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413446779855887090" border="0" /></a>A favorite saying at our house, originated by James, of course, but usually used by Chase, goes something like this..."Hey, Grammy come'ere quick, you GOT to see this, you'll be "Paralyzed With Awesomeness." So I started thinking shouldn't everyone in their life have many many moments when they are totally "Paralyzed With Awesomeness?"<br />Sadly at that particular moment I couldn't think of anything. Pretty ungrateful for a 50ish woman. But then....Haloween happened and Weston came down from Utah with his parents, and the three kids got ready for tricks or treats, and I saw them there sitting on the couch. Ninja Warrior, Cuddly Bear, and (my favorite costume ever) Pollen Jock. And indeed, I was Paralyzed With Awesomeness.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-27506777003880834502009-01-10T17:03:00.000-08:002009-01-12T20:11:36.861-08:00My First Uluru Moment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_-3LLF7AlVlM_zSJ2L7q_MWwEherOBtNzqMT76317_kp3upM0GmKt0NCXus3HPzM9dUVc2PBLBv2jkAR5KR0IROlmZgO4K0ey30tWBsVr6l8Vz6vrfYY6xB_E_oFg-ea5eoPp3YgjBaC/s1600-h/864071-Uluru-aka-Ayers-Rock-aka-Puli-2%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289835777317080194" style="WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_-3LLF7AlVlM_zSJ2L7q_MWwEherOBtNzqMT76317_kp3upM0GmKt0NCXus3HPzM9dUVc2PBLBv2jkAR5KR0IROlmZgO4K0ey30tWBsVr6l8Vz6vrfYY6xB_E_oFg-ea5eoPp3YgjBaC/s400/864071-Uluru-aka-Ayers-Rock-aka-Puli-2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For Christmas Roy got a giant book with different wonders of the world. As he was flipping throught the pages he uttered, "Ayers Rock, (pronunciation with a long A). James as he was pausing in his passing of presents looked over Bompa's shoulder and amazed me for now and for all times with, "I believe Bompa, it is pronounced "Iyers Rock also known as.....", he then lowers his voice when he notices people have stopped in their unwrapping and are looking at him quizzically. Ben encourages him, "What, James, also known as what?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">AND I KID YOU NOT!!!!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He then opens his mouth and utters..."Uluru." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Then he's off to the next present. Meanwhile we all look around a little bewildered, until somebody, I can't remember who, gets up and goes to research on their own. A few minutes later we quietly, without embarassing James, pass around our new found knowledge. (Apparently not so new to James)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Uluru,(pronounced oo-la-roo), is in fact a giant rock, 5 miles around and who knows how high somewhere in the middle of Australia. It is called "Ayers Rock", (yes, the "a" pronounced as a long "i") and the Aborigines call it Uluru.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whenever anything happens in the rest of my life, where I learn something absolutely unheard of yet amazing....I will call it an, "Uluru Moment."</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thank you James, you never fail to amaze and entertain me. I love you, you little Uluru, you.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-517938561356507572009-01-10T16:40:00.000-08:002009-01-12T20:10:48.794-08:00Do You Have It In You?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBm2VDhGsWoHQzMf9wyh4jk5m1heKCxoHClCqeoAYx040QZBZ4OJhw99Q1B0Fa3XUnAH6l0jFdw9KBgiPAt9_ItYvdg-UH8xOyeIGLTPyofyNkWYEH55qNUh_MRFUJoY3ByJSJon2V-BP/s1600-h/wiz%2520of%2520oz%25208x10%2520canvas%2520wicked%2520witch%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289840633306273826" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 323px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBm2VDhGsWoHQzMf9wyh4jk5m1heKCxoHClCqeoAYx040QZBZ4OJhw99Q1B0Fa3XUnAH6l0jFdw9KBgiPAt9_ItYvdg-UH8xOyeIGLTPyofyNkWYEH55qNUh_MRFUJoY3ByJSJon2V-BP/s400/wiz%2520of%2520oz%25208x10%2520canvas%2520wicked%2520witch%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We recently watched "The Wizard of Oz" with the grandboys, and Chase has really taken a fascination to the whole thing. Last night he went into my room put on some red sandals, Roy's cowboy hat and came out with,"I'm the Wicked Witch, now I need a broom." But when Angela found a facsimile of a broom, Chase looked resigned and shook his head, "No, mom...I can't be the Wicked Witch, I just don't have that laugh in my body."</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Perhaps it says something freudian about my character, but I DO have a wicked witch laugh in my body. It has been coming out since I was a little girl, scaring my animals and friends, then later when I had children....some were mesmerized but shaken and would ask for it again and again; and some flat out, would shut any book with a witch in it, afraid I might let loose. Angie told Chase to ask Grammy if she had a wicked witch laugh...the result...his eyes widened as he shrunk in size and has not asked me again.</span></div></div></div></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-38877830733524869452008-09-17T17:17:00.000-07:002008-09-17T17:40:18.948-07:00Big Bess<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN1JEys2sOD07FrG_FgC7pxbKZ-2i9uCmN1twbVU8pId5YOvbkNvUdbxPhpjYEN8g7aTYsh14cHyWBH8wrgQWS_eWfNHZ-6NekNIhrQ3gFonSlw8weBZWrKk4W70TnoTmQ7ny5UmUKSuLI/s1600-h/img_4047+(2).jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247149042599656546" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN1JEys2sOD07FrG_FgC7pxbKZ-2i9uCmN1twbVU8pId5YOvbkNvUdbxPhpjYEN8g7aTYsh14cHyWBH8wrgQWS_eWfNHZ-6NekNIhrQ3gFonSlw8weBZWrKk4W70TnoTmQ7ny5UmUKSuLI/s400/img_4047+(2).jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Look at my new PINK beach cruiser!!!! I am <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sooooo</span> excited, I got a bicycle and I haven't ridden a bicycle in about eight years. It even has a basket! Because it's a girl bike, I can ride it in my skirts/jumpers and I feel just like the Wicked Witch of the West, carrying away "that little dog <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ToTo</span>", I can even hear the music...as I pedal away.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The one problem - the last time I rode a bike I crashed spectacularly - body flying over the handle bars - landing head and chest first with such speed the I hit and bounced a few times before I stopped. It was ugly. I replay it often in my head, and not only was it ugly, it was pitiful.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I really haven't ridden a bike much, even when I was a little girl. What caused the accident was when I tried to move from the road to the sidewalk, I sort of leaned a little to the right, (kind of like changing lanes) only this doesn't work for bikes, I found out belatedly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know you are thinking, "What kind of idiot is this?" Yeah...well...I don't have a real answer for that one. Many people including my husband have often wondered what transpires in the mysterious realms of my mind.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So....new pink bike....new enthusiasm...first ride around the block...</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You guessed it, I didn't even make it around the block before I crashed (this time an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">embarrassing</span> crash in front of the road workers, but no bodily harm)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is where my hero comes in. BEN! Yes, my son, with great patience, and enthusiasm coached me for the next hour on how to ride a bike. Within the safety of our little "Willows Neighborhood" I cruised and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">recruised</span> the streets until, even the road workers could see that I had, if not mastered, at least become competent on this PINK cruiser. I LOVE IT!!!! No kidding, I am <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sooooo</span> jazzed, excited, giddy and over the moon for "Big Bess" - my new PINK bike. And for my hero - Big Ben.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-24544698962552207242008-09-02T17:15:00.000-07:002008-09-02T17:46:00.954-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPN4mGCJ-qggCEwrZeWiXzRw3RS50YsyMf0qlopS3Bs9JXv-GBsobplDXACJwrtPEnH3KlL08Xw_TtL0b6LoRbnbiEMOPTTNCpkAo8whurHMhdVRJP_mMAdu4luNBoxeTG0vm7IbOeUjLK/s1600-h/9780060001568.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241583585704365362" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPN4mGCJ-qggCEwrZeWiXzRw3RS50YsyMf0qlopS3Bs9JXv-GBsobplDXACJwrtPEnH3KlL08Xw_TtL0b6LoRbnbiEMOPTTNCpkAo8whurHMhdVRJP_mMAdu4luNBoxeTG0vm7IbOeUjLK/s400/9780060001568.jpg" border="0" /></a> The flies that circle in my house are not as cute as the fly on the above pencil, and hence the violence which befalls them will not be as shocking if you try and picture those nasty, black, germ filled buzzing insects that fly into your food or eye. And we all know where those sticky, prickly feet have recently been; does fecal matter come to mind? (a new phrase used by my second son to annoy me)<br />"<strong>Hand me a Towel!"</strong>, I scream, when I see that sickening menace. As if by instinct, I grab the closest towel, or piece of cloth that I can put my hands on and then I take to flailing about with uncontrolled passion. The cloth smacks the kitchen counter and knocks down the mixmaster, the loaf of bread, and assorted utensils.<br />Unsuccessful - <em>Curses!</em><br />I next whomp the window sill, knocking down my beloved shells, beloved crystals, and beloved Tiffany glass rendering. You see, even my treasured collections are not safe when the almost insane frenzy of murder overtakes me.<br />Unsuccessful - <em>Rats!</em><br />Don't worry, no loss of worldly goods will stop me on my quest for...<br />at this point Roy pins my arms to my side and eventually calms me as he persuades me that he has a better record than me, and so I resignedly pass the towel.<br />The fly is killed, time passes, and the next day I hear-<br /><strong>"Hand me a towel!"</strong>, Chase, my 3 yr. old grandson bellows. Oooooooh what joy consumes my bosom knowing that important traditions are being passed along.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-45027397342411700862008-08-01T17:15:00.000-07:002008-08-01T17:34:09.729-07:00An Elated Grammy Kate!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZSXOxboDIudsBCgYhfPBQxSlLIIdIqiSAZTgzdmbmfcCknVQkHdyG0P1B1U0PnQ-dVjrGeZYgKcl5yHTm-4s_lnr3EEmXadsjFFwKGG3NPdvNIJT_XQzByffHfC3er8KTfJyxVeIZPs/s1600-h/P1050661.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229709330818828722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZSXOxboDIudsBCgYhfPBQxSlLIIdIqiSAZTgzdmbmfcCknVQkHdyG0P1B1U0PnQ-dVjrGeZYgKcl5yHTm-4s_lnr3EEmXadsjFFwKGG3NPdvNIJT_XQzByffHfC3er8KTfJyxVeIZPs/s400/P1050661.JPG" border="0" /></a> Weston Joshua Earl is here on earth. He came two weeks early, weighing 6lbs. 4oz., and he looks just like his proud papa. He has a strong spirit of peace and something else I can't put my mind around, but when you hold him in the night when everythings quiet, the strength of feeling is almost palpable in the room. Getting to know this little lad will be a joy!<br /><br />Emily and Josh are thrilled and Emily has a hard time unwrapping her arms around her treasure, although she is generous in sharing, I can tell she feels empty when he's not tucked up against her - probably cause for 9 months he's been tucked and smushed and it's natural for both of them.<br /><br />I'll e-mail a site where everyone can look at more photos - cause of course, he's gorgeous.<br /><br />Thank you for everyone who has been so kind and sweet to my Emily, I feel so blessed to know others care and look after her.<br />Love All of You!catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-49730942005749027342008-06-18T17:17:00.001-07:002008-06-18T17:23:12.702-07:00A Sorrowful ObsessionI have a need to make things better. Consequently, I often act impulsively to fix, or heal, and live to regret it. I "take on" a needy family, befriending them only to learn down the line that their problems are too complicated to ever resolve, but have unwittingly created their unhealthy dependence on me.<br /><br />I once jumped out of the car to rescue a beaten prostitute, hauling her into my van not knowing her pimp was tailing us and more importantly, that she was mentally unstable, as she stripped to show us her weapons of nails and broken glass. Another time I jumped out of the car on a freezing winter day to give my coat to a coatless pre-teen on her way to school, only to scare her to death as she thought I was trying to kidnap her. (the fact that she spoke no English didn't help)<br /><br />So, you are probably getting the picture. Dogs are another object of my sorry obsession. Every dog we have ever owned has been in need of rescuing because no one else was crazy enough to take on the load of problems. Poopie (we did not name him), a 11 year old beagle with serious mental problems. Jimmy, neglected from birth, the vet advised us to take him back. Muffin, who was sooo mentally slow, we ended up giving him to the crazy neighbors next door, which was a punishment no living thing deserved.<br /><br />There are countless others, but the last and saddest attempt at being a savior involved my beloved dog, Captain Tanyon. Captain Tanyon was 9 months old and terrified of everything and everybody. He crawled in on his belly and quivered out of reach. Instead of choosing one of the six, healthy, socialized and happy puppies crawling all over me, I took home Tanyon. I was advised by two experts to return him. No matter what I did, they feared he would turn into a fearful/aggressive dog. I was convinced my love could conquer all. I did not conquer anything, but my heart. I loved this dog, as I have rarely loved anything other than my children and grandchildren. Tanyon, in turn, adored me. Other than Roy, he tolerated everyone else and took a immediate dislike to Ben. The whole relationship was so unhealthy that everyone, even an amateur psychologist could point out the potential disaster. Everyone, except me.<br /><br />Long story - short...Tanyon turned on my grandson James, biting him twice. We returned Tanyon to the breeder and my heart has seemed empty every since. As Tanyon foamed at the mouth, in terror, sensing what was moments away, I felt my obsession had done more harm than good for all involved, especially this dog as he looked at me with pleading eyes to save him once more, only this time I couldn't. There is a lesson to be learned here, but I'm too bruised to learn it quite yet.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213380329936621618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOshrJKEip9A6lYhpFblk5dzRvU8SGJCjKacbsfpRbd3e5iqtF7H29AvSIDzVgfSDwMKCfXNbOYmfPfyUXRmNxhwGeELxdSp2Db2i-GbVlZoeo5dEuA0OSC16N6GVl1B4EO1rJy2V5G-t/s400/Yosemite+012.jpg" border="0" />catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-38101671465215915302008-05-20T15:12:00.000-07:002008-05-20T15:35:02.835-07:00water balloons and bubbles<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know it's been a long time, but here goes...</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEQmCGH0Bs7QQFO9C8Uqkrae4rh6as4CPae-mgxdpmr09rMqnKbkc8u3irx4En2Sek9n0i23ni57Y54-oK6a3InYMy6znU7o0GlltBJ6t3pOeiDlLPh3OVN1VA-oQbGnENw-PA0Lyhdl2/s1600-h/P1020272.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202586632555437218" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEQmCGH0Bs7QQFO9C8Uqkrae4rh6as4CPae-mgxdpmr09rMqnKbkc8u3irx4En2Sek9n0i23ni57Y54-oK6a3InYMy6znU7o0GlltBJ6t3pOeiDlLPh3OVN1VA-oQbGnENw-PA0Lyhdl2/s400/P1020272.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEQmCGH0Bs7QQFO9C8Uqkrae4rh6as4CPae-mgxdpmr09rMqnKbkc8u3irx4En2Sek9n0i23ni57Y54-oK6a3InYMy6znU7o0GlltBJ6t3pOeiDlLPh3OVN1VA-oQbGnENw-PA0Lyhdl2/s1600-h/P1020272.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEQmCGH0Bs7QQFO9C8Uqkrae4rh6as4CPae-mgxdpmr09rMqnKbkc8u3irx4En2Sek9n0i23ni57Y54-oK6a3InYMy6znU7o0GlltBJ6t3pOeiDlLPh3OVN1VA-oQbGnENw-PA0Lyhdl2/s1600-h/P1020272.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEQmCGH0Bs7QQFO9C8Uqkrae4rh6as4CPae-mgxdpmr09rMqnKbkc8u3irx4En2Sek9n0i23ni57Y54-oK6a3InYMy6znU7o0GlltBJ6t3pOeiDlLPh3OVN1VA-oQbGnENw-PA0Lyhdl2/s1600-h/P1020272.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Summer officially begins for me when Chase </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">demands, "Time for water balloons, Grammy?", actually it started at 2yrs with, "Ga,Ga, boons, Grammy?" and, at 3yrs, is now, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Gwater</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bawoons</span>, Gram?"<br />Also blowing bubbles is high on the summer, have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">tos</span>. This year Angie got a fancy balloon gun that was loads of fun. Jumping on the trampoline with a sprinkler squirting underneath saved us on our first 100 degree days.<br /><br /><br /><br />Whole days can be spent in the backyard with a small trickle of water, a bucket to catch it, and hundreds of water balloons filled-then broken, filled-then broken, filled-then broken. But this year our starting day began with a slight deviation from the norm. After tens of balloons met their demise throughout the yard, Chase suddenly took a liking to a baby orange balloon. He cradled it and then paced around the yard searching, until he found just the right spot, under the base of a fern. He gently placed the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">gwater</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bawoon</span>, with a..."you wait right there, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">kay</span>?" Then with his head and arms leaning against the cherry tree, he started counting...."1, 2, 3, 7, 12, 5, 6...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">weddy</span> or not, you be caught!" Amazingly, Chase searched everywhere in the backyard, until at last he found the orange <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">gwater</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">bawoon</span> right under the fern..."Oh, there you are," he exclaims with a giggle . The giggle at the end is what sealed this experience as one of my favorites.<br /><br />So.....what are you up to this summer?</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-60470585074790116772008-03-29T17:34:00.000-07:002008-04-02T14:37:41.418-07:00Meet Eve<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After waiting over 30 years, since I owned my first home, I finally planted an <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Acer</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Palmatum</span>,</em> or, Japanese Maple</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuSqMfqAgUr8Es3Kl-6y5D0Ni8bD3vqzhKCadiKCejn69rQfwBtSBQygKl-0xYAdolWLuR1eZQ1dGnX4MAlmZkH-5iiHL-sbCGSogcj0ZJQJEvuDaapNJbO5X4Oz6byYnrxquwT8k0coX/s1600-h/Copy+of+100_2023.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183326838435353650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuSqMfqAgUr8Es3Kl-6y5D0Ni8bD3vqzhKCadiKCejn69rQfwBtSBQygKl-0xYAdolWLuR1eZQ1dGnX4MAlmZkH-5iiHL-sbCGSogcj0ZJQJEvuDaapNJbO5X4Oz6byYnrxquwT8k0coX/s400/Copy+of+100_2023.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Around the corner from my home is a beautiful maple tree, that in the spring puts forth a "born again" green, lacy leaf that delights me. I pick one every spring and put it in between glass, mount it, and proudly display this essence of spring in a frame. After several years of this rite of spring, my children asked me, "Mom, why do you keep displaying a marijuana leaf in our front room?" How would I know? I've never even seen marijuana, unlike my experienced children. Yet, even though they protest, I still continued displaying my beautiful spring leaf. And now I have one of my very own, NO, not a marijuana plant----a maple tree.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You'll think me extremely silly, but I even got teary eyed when it was finally planted. I'm somewhat romantic and sentimental about nature, and this toddler tree will mature into a majestic and mystical specimen, just "ripe for the imagination", as Anne of Green Gables would say. In fact, Anne would probably christen this tree something like..."Flora of Emerald Isle"...but, I've decided to call her "Eve." Kathy, the tree expert, explained to us that this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">particular</span> specie of tree is the mother of all the hundreds of varieties of Japanese Maples. Every new specie is a graft from this type of maple. Wow, my tree is the mother of all the maples, I shall call her Eve.<br /></span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-57188120185555293822008-03-28T14:44:00.000-07:002008-03-28T15:44:18.171-07:00James and his phrases.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZRuUf81hZq_uyrjNRUeGMsu1cXSygEnUXTmg5ad0sYL2tFhTSr8F3LxBPCaM9DmcnSMRiI26oXSDkgIEYYQFy-RoDyErCd9X3DmFGPPxwJ-F3RPrZYW6j7Z6tc1TnUqnudlT88-U83x5/s1600-h/100_2020.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182911764205933586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZRuUf81hZq_uyrjNRUeGMsu1cXSygEnUXTmg5ad0sYL2tFhTSr8F3LxBPCaM9DmcnSMRiI26oXSDkgIEYYQFy-RoDyErCd9X3DmFGPPxwJ-F3RPrZYW6j7Z6tc1TnUqnudlT88-U83x5/s400/100_2020.JPG" border="0" /></a> James is my wonderful and very Einsteinian grandson. One of the best parts of my day is hearing some of his unique phrases. For example: I'm driving down the road and he says with a sigh, "I live in <strong>dread</strong> of Thursdays." Did I mention that James is 6 yrs. old? Apparently Thursday is an early day and he dislikes getting up early. On another drive, when Grammy (me) was getting him to school late out came, " I <strong>absolutely loathe</strong> getting to school late, you know. "Yes, loathe, was the word he used.<br />He cracks me up. But today when I was walking through an empty and quiet house, I noticed a note written by James, on the floor, with no hint of what it was, or whom it was to.<br /><br />"<em>I READILY ADMIT</em>"<br /><br />was alone----on a page-----with the discarded pen underneath.<br />It was a little eerie, cause what 6 yr. old knows that phrase, and what would a six year old be "readily admitting?" Was he getting ready to beg his little brothers forgiveness for teasing him (who can't read/ so perhaps a bad theory)?<br />Or was he ready to admit to some dark secret he's been keeping for days and can only admit to by writing and leaving the note, anonymously, in a random spot? Yet, at the last minute, he can't make the full confession, hence - <em>WHAT?</em> <em>READILY ADMIT WHAT???</em> The suspense is torment.<em> </em><br /><br />Living with James, is anything but dull. If only I could transfer a few of his brain cells to me, I'd be tossing out phrases with the best of the phrase tossers. (phrase tossers? is that a legit term?)catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-28025086061618090402008-03-04T12:33:00.000-08:002008-03-06T22:17:25.305-08:00Who Are We Really?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizDU3TZlMYCAS_UNzAgrpoDZs_x9oWZCRWaVf27sGCeaCJFJfLfBbjR6TBoPDUWXM4jfAsKSrR66OHNkYJGNq7Vzk5RG3Wn4mAuI8cUW3Y0pHL97IIV_-Z3DgCgO1Bp_YzpEFs3zyeI_2/s1600-h/100_1932.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173987605150380578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizDU3TZlMYCAS_UNzAgrpoDZs_x9oWZCRWaVf27sGCeaCJFJfLfBbjR6TBoPDUWXM4jfAsKSrR66OHNkYJGNq7Vzk5RG3Wn4mAuI8cUW3Y0pHL97IIV_-Z3DgCgO1Bp_YzpEFs3zyeI_2/s400/100_1932.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> When I purchased this azalea plant<br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">every bloom was a deep fuschia, and it bloomed for two years as a fuschia azalea bush. Then one year I noticed a lighter pink bloom. "How exciting," I thought, "...what a fabulous plant." The following year - white blooms. "Now wait a minute. Is this a schizophrenic azalea bush?" </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every day I walk by this fascinating bush and enjoy that one plant displays three distinctly different colors, and I wonder at the cause. Is it the soil? Too acidic? Too alkaline? Or is it the root system? Or perhaps the cause is in the very DNA of the plant. (Assuming of course, that plants have DNA). As my mind tends to do, I started drawing life metaphors from the sight before me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It is always interesting when I visit Utah because most people know me as the "Cathy" they saw growing up, aka, the fuschia bloom. I'm now in a blinding white stage, but I realize I went through a light pink stage also. Also, many of the close friends in California are used to my light pink personality, and have failed to pick up the subtle clues that I am definitly more white these days. To defy all logic, my children look at me and see an orange bloom. My very own flesh and blood fail to see any pink, white or fuschia, and insist I'm through and through orange. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What I find to be my own personal truth, is although I may have been all three colors at one time or another, I'm ultimately a little of all of them, occasionally bursting forth with a major pink day, or surprising myself by the whiteness I displayed in a situation, where, dog-gone-it, I thought I'd given up that white mentality. Remember in Disney's Pocahontas, where she sings - You can't step in the same river twice, the rivers always changing, always flowing...Right On!...come to think of it most of my life philosophies can usually be summed up by Disney songs. (After raising 5 children I spent way more time with Disney than I did with Freud ) Ahhh...I digress...as to "The Tale of the Changing Blooms", who knows, maybe my children do know me best and next spring, sure enough, I'll walk out my front door and I'll behold a vibrant orange azalea.</span></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-43948546199207006282008-02-10T21:51:00.000-08:002008-02-11T16:41:55.189-08:00Having fun in Paris<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9kCTmrFAbCJ4T2nhqlW0rN779pXOh_MHv_4e4KiTePdkgDnBfYiyqHF5TFNf3XAQzBkkoFqZDXtycO4w0EJAsm1mKUnyzuVDlYtDAxmOrhzJfnhZy2P5DBkVljHmYAoLlREBHgHjjc2X/s1600-h/abbie+leapin.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165596642481902578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9kCTmrFAbCJ4T2nhqlW0rN779pXOh_MHv_4e4KiTePdkgDnBfYiyqHF5TFNf3XAQzBkkoFqZDXtycO4w0EJAsm1mKUnyzuVDlYtDAxmOrhzJfnhZy2P5DBkVljHmYAoLlREBHgHjjc2X/s400/abbie+leapin.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I can't think of anything more beautiful or joyful than my Abigail in "I'm full of life and I've just got to leap" mode. I wish all of you could see what a beautiful dancer she is. I feel soooo guilty that I never put her in dance classes, she has a gift. She moves with perfect feeling to music. And besides, she's got the best booty for shaking I've seen, since Beyonce. She's a little shy though, so if you see her, don't come right out and ask her to shake it for you. You are gonna have to warm her up with some good music; talk about nature, art, and poetry, then - bang - you'll have her doing anything you want - (of a pure and refined nature, of course)<br /><br />NOTE* This blog, is not meant for any young men looking to court said booty shaker.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-21411425988349274662008-02-01T15:55:00.000-08:002008-02-01T21:05:37.863-08:00My Ram in the Thicket<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl3Ssl2NuWqPo2zelcnNV7UxOriutDjyUAzpDv7F3WZndJpkasj3oGEV-XYJr6kxSD05LFw35YrdodHCBwgAgwPC-vuPb0SrFfTzNVGYegab7eZVmsR7sVVnjHEPQuR_e_dbQfRkt8D02/s1600-h/3249940.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162164969594053170" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl3Ssl2NuWqPo2zelcnNV7UxOriutDjyUAzpDv7F3WZndJpkasj3oGEV-XYJr6kxSD05LFw35YrdodHCBwgAgwPC-vuPb0SrFfTzNVGYegab7eZVmsR7sVVnjHEPQuR_e_dbQfRkt8D02/s400/3249940.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Recently Muslims in parts of the world,as part of a religious rite, slaughtered a ram in rembrance of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac to God's wishes. I saw a picture of a young muslim girl kissing her pet ram just before the slaughter and it brought back vivid memories of when I participated in a similar event.</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I was 16 I went to Southern Utah to "survive" for 30 days off the land, while hiking over 300 miles. Usually we were given a ration of 1/2 c. dry oatmeal, 2 tbl. brown sugar, and 1 cup of flour to eat for a week. But one particular week we ate completly off the land. We ate ant larvae, black snacks of some variety, a rattlesnack, and lots of greens, while hiking over 50 miles. When we reached our base camp, a ram was tied to a pole in a small haven surrounded by trees. We were informed that we would kill the ram, to experience a profound gratitude for the ram giving up his life, that we could eat. The deeper metaphors were left for us to discover on our own.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What I remember most vividly was that this ram KNEW what was going to happen. He started breathing so heavily that he labored to just take in a raspy breath. His entire body trembled with no control. His eyes darted from person to person.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The girl that volunteered to kill the ram, elected to use a knife to slit his throat. She was not strong enough and so after stabbing the knife in, was unable to slice to the other side. A man offered to help, but with no success. Finally one of the leaders loaded a gun to kill the ram, who had been crying with an eerily newborn baby sound. The shot sounded and it was finally over.</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What did I learn from this macabre experiment? Well, right then I learned that no matter how hungry I was I would not eat the meat. (I was the only one out of 35 to do so). I learned that we all share a spirit of life, witnessed by the rams behavior of pre-knowledge. I learned that if they were trying to teach me about God sacrificing his son, it did not work. I just felt horrible, with no greater principle to hold onto. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As the years have gone I can't say that I have progressed into any deeper metaphor. Did I equate God The Fathers sacrifice of His Son? Partly yes, but...the lesson seemed lacking and as much as I wanted to think of God's sacrifice, I just felt empty. Mostly, I just keep thinking whoever came up with this idea, must have thought it would profoundly affect young minds to a more spiritual bent. But what actually happened for me was a disgust that a group of humans could take part in such a needlessly painful way to slaughter a living animal. It was wrong. Wrongly conceived. Wrongly executed.</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think of that young muslim girl slaughtering her pet ram and I hope that with the sacred rites of her religion, her experience will have meaning that will strengthen her beliefs, instead of leaving her bereft and questioning.</span></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-42528772272308406492008-01-29T13:07:00.000-08:002008-01-29T14:18:16.221-08:00AnchorsRoy was made Bishop in our church last week. It was an amazing day with experiences too sacred to share on a blog site. My soul was full and my mind was on overload. When I was speaking I mentioned my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">inadequacies</span> and questioned my ability to be a strong support. But when Roy was at the pulpit speaking, he gave me a tribute that I want to remember into the eternities. I don't know if it was the words exactly, or the feeling I could feel teeming inside him that made it so memorable. But when he spoke it was like poetry. I will share what I remember, but I'm sorry that I've lost his phrasing and words that made the imagery so beautiful.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161018625642881570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s400/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIey0Gt3Xhzo9JisQGj5_iIfL5hl7lAXC7C871a6OJkNHRB5dY5vTTk285q6M1pIJuoYHnSEWg_UksC96rWrj1Isngwfbtvp76vap9P9xsG4GGPLP1RR3XaNRP42j0nBxK3BCtdaMw2cK3/s1600-h/OSBET-00001332-001~Boat-at-Anchor-in-Tropical-Lagoon-New-Caledonia-Posters.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />He said... "Catherine thinks of herself as an anchor that drags me down, but what she has never realized is that she has a depth, sensitivity, and knowledge of the gospel and life that one can only get if you have been to the depths and gained it there.<br /><br />I see her as my anchor, in the best of ways. I'm able to grow and stretch and learn because she anchors me. Without her I would have been crashed on the rocks long ago."<br /><br />Thank you, my dear and cherished partner. I will always treasure your image of an anchor. I love you.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-31137011244452645272008-01-09T12:41:00.000-08:002008-01-09T12:58:31.927-08:00Goodbyes Are HardMy Abbie's gone to London<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivY8tDJWLG0p4uw1ZEhcHcbNSlRm4iLIZFRI0IqPk-9wqRN6mzbxQrp3c5mMERJh6ScMxc5lT9AIkAZAk7_1dGVA94l-c6oT8mhemcxjmNT_KTRBD5pjSXawTt6TSC518reqUMzN8_02aB/s1600-h/100_1913.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153580161340985282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivY8tDJWLG0p4uw1ZEhcHcbNSlRm4iLIZFRI0IqPk-9wqRN6mzbxQrp3c5mMERJh6ScMxc5lT9AIkAZAk7_1dGVA94l-c6oT8mhemcxjmNT_KTRBD5pjSXawTt6TSC518reqUMzN8_02aB/s400/100_1913.JPG" border="0" /></a>.<br />I started going through all the art work of my children, trying to make space in my home after the holiday haul and I found this self-portrait of Abigail, when she was in kindergarten.<br /><br />She still has a beautiful and infectious smile. She still has a little left of her original very strawberry blond hair. Her eyes have morphed into a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">kaleidoscope</span> of greens, grays, and blues. And she still has a gorgeous and very huge nose (exactly like the portrait) <em>Just kidding, about the nose.</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftnsB7axoI9pis0T-Kgd09-jYQE1YpUk8e5o1RpQaq2M9vgM2UAmbPXBCl8SBQXyPGMFvNijjr7N22DlTZYDp4IhyphenhyphenCbr4ozgktC8dGSM7iCv0WQGCy0NqonJZV_BZtadaEIXlj6GQPSDz/s1600-h/100_1892.JPG"></a>And I'm wondering where all those 20 years went. After her four months in London she will go back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BYU</span> and finish her education, and I realized that these last four months, while she's been home earning money for her trip, have been an unexpected and probably not repeated gift. I already said goodbye when she went off to college and now this goodbye is even more painful, cause she's grown into such an engaging and loving adult.<br /><br />Goodbyes are hard, whether they are school, or a mission, or long distance moves, or even deaths. Sometimes it's hard to live in the present when our memories of treasured moments of the past entice us to linger and long for a repeat showing.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-22176524075484970962008-01-05T12:00:00.000-08:002008-01-05T12:16:59.548-08:00Pain<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlklU22LDLNIqXbiAg73gneSvrdZKenkE69kRShyphenhyphenFlzX9YWWV6QTuwNzumxl-lmTPc6vCpe_s5qATwEKVPCVxT-17AXvdw928krfI4o-QPyWZdicWDa4rPxirLEK2lM673t1e__CxWkvnY/s1600-h/kidney_stone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152085632981061538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlklU22LDLNIqXbiAg73gneSvrdZKenkE69kRShyphenhyphenFlzX9YWWV6QTuwNzumxl-lmTPc6vCpe_s5qATwEKVPCVxT-17AXvdw928krfI4o-QPyWZdicWDa4rPxirLEK2lM673t1e__CxWkvnY/s400/kidney_stone.jpg" border="0" /></a>Angela spent the night in the hospital in horrible pain all by herself. She even drove herself. I get a call at 7 am from the hospital. It's a kidney stone and it hasn't passed! She's got a few more days of misery until they will consider doing surgery, hoping it will pass on it's own.<br />I had a kidney stone when I was first pregnant with Patrick. It was pain on a scale from 1 to 10 - a 10!!!!! (for those medically interested, it was a staghorn stone, the one in the above picture called agony - they can't pass on their own they have to be removed surgically) We don't know what kind of stone Angela has, yet.<br />But - my little baby - is in terrible pain and I can't do anything to help. When I went to pick her up she was trembling with pain and had a green face. She said, "There was a little baby in the other room all night, I'm just sooo glad it's me hurting, and I'm not here with one of my babies."<br />She also said, " I was hoping that at some point the pain gets so terrible you pass out." Yeah, like in the movies - at what point is the pain bad enough you get to experience oblivion?<br /><div><div> </div></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-2073875150465611472007-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:002007-12-23T14:11:50.843-08:00Families<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiLdZrExhgTh17N9BxLrqqoqO83fSRhTqv0oKPi6dh1ZhoGPNCah5TKWBV7Am7Vka2aIlBdIlcpDkN6X4qFItQ0Mz8-5FWJZ089QlTRLtrZxLp7WSxUPAdhXE92Tk-ZQMNCpVYQhAXTgE/s1600-h/lythes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147294326379433842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiLdZrExhgTh17N9BxLrqqoqO83fSRhTqv0oKPi6dh1ZhoGPNCah5TKWBV7Am7Vka2aIlBdIlcpDkN6X4qFItQ0Mz8-5FWJZ089QlTRLtrZxLp7WSxUPAdhXE92Tk-ZQMNCpVYQhAXTgE/s400/lythes.jpg" border="0" /></a>THERE IS NOTHING QUITE AS FUN AS WHEN THE FAMILY GETS TOGETHER!!!!!!! <div><br /><p>Sorry.....I couldn't help it, this picture is priceless. </p><br /><p>What I really wanted to express is how much over the years I've come to treasure my extended family. I remember just starting out in married life and everyone was wonderful and perfect. Then a few years latter, everyone had such weird quirks and ideas which could be irritating. Then several years after that, those strange traits were endearing and I realized I had as many or more strange traits as anyone. I used to become soooo frustrated when my mother would call me EVERYDAY. I was married and independent and a call to ask me daily what I was having for dinner seemed such an irritation. Now, I would give anything for that "irritation". Roy has wonderful brothers and sisters; I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and who we are in very large part is due to our parents. Ergo - our parents were wonderful. Our modern life somehow fosters the idea that if anything is inconvenient or less than perfect, from appliances to people, just get rid of it, make your life as easy and smooth as possible. But relationships are anything but easy, and the harder one works at a relationship the more valuable it will become. If we all foster patience, versus judging, our differences can be part of our strength. I've been too slow to really internalize these truths, and I'm sure I will still be challenged, but when the family gets together,<strong> you all look delicious to me</strong>, warts and all. I hope that big, old, giant wart on my nose won't keep you from loving me, cause I've discovered a real truth....you just can't have too much family.</p></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-78550751711841915472007-12-11T10:35:00.000-08:002007-12-11T12:14:33.064-08:00Ruby Kat Moon<div>When I was in Hawaii Pat told me a story about an employee that had a horrible divorce, and at that time was allowed to petition, without legal battles, what her name would hence forward be, and she chose....Ruby Kat Moon. She then moved to Hawaii with her young adult daughter, they both got a job working on Pat's boat, and she is a fantastic amalgam of personality. </div><br /><br /><div>I just couldn't stop thinking about that name. It just rolls deliciously off my tongue. It has "great scope for my imagination," and I tried for days to come up with a better "life's just been shot to hell, so I'm gonna start over with an edgy sort of vivacity," sort of name. Tingles of excitement just burst around my nerve centers when I say that name...Ruby Kat Moon, Ruby Kat Moon, Ruby Kat Moon. Without a doubt, there is a Ruby Kat Moon deep inside me. A Ruby Kat Moon would wear hats, without self consciousness. A Ruby Kat Moon could say truthful and outrageous things, without feeling guilty. A Ruby Kat Moon would twirl and sing in a meadow with abandon. A Ruby Kat Moon could....oooh.....the list just goes on and on. Do you have a Ruby Kat Moon soul? And what is his or her name?<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142811270623671314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDM86BDQODwgSRoT4a4f36X7iHYbEXDQpIFju2JBZu4F51gZp4A4w7L3UgqhVtSaDvTPq4VxLWW4nGtgYKfv4_TqGSay2trcepGsDed2wzt2KF-T8wtuoS8jNQfmlWGaYRLSHGPy9rWZz3/s320/AP-13-C~Art-Deco-Dancer-Posters.jpg" border="0" /></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-27515230370304122692007-12-05T15:24:00.000-08:002007-12-05T15:37:10.623-08:00Paradise with Pat and Jess<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUt19zKbbCZWQp7Flz2gMo2sljPLDc3_MQ44mjulYxnCjj0wG9GQTwa7c50HGbp9uLhq78X4koxw-ApAETY1JJ1Dhvv2cj_EBmnseTRPB6cvV9kFp-CRhdO6nM0DUjVaW3wM0GAH60nGH/s1600-h/hawaii+047.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140634409399366386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUt19zKbbCZWQp7Flz2gMo2sljPLDc3_MQ44mjulYxnCjj0wG9GQTwa7c50HGbp9uLhq78X4koxw-ApAETY1JJ1Dhvv2cj_EBmnseTRPB6cvV9kFp-CRhdO6nM0DUjVaW3wM0GAH60nGH/s320/hawaii+047.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> It's been too long since I've been back from the Big Island, but it is and will always remain for me a runner-up to what Heaven has to be.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIiU7iv5dZSfqmS94QvoZs98dRbRS3s_x4JnxH-1PPMTj5tmHzeFpiL3E0pI_Bi6kowqeIppCXcxl1AvTu-6o2g9ObLtcnSaC2HXAe9oihV3FNHzSGxnNZWnKQbLhZ0OjrgYgZ2R4uHLl/s1600-h/hawaii+064.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140634220420805346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIiU7iv5dZSfqmS94QvoZs98dRbRS3s_x4JnxH-1PPMTj5tmHzeFpiL3E0pI_Bi6kowqeIppCXcxl1AvTu-6o2g9ObLtcnSaC2HXAe9oihV3FNHzSGxnNZWnKQbLhZ0OjrgYgZ2R4uHLl/s320/hawaii+064.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Whether the lushness of the wet side or the ocean's colors, beauty and life of the dry side, I just can't get enough.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRiGIN-3G3g2kgmLoxrpzC4C_9Kl5mbw_PooIdf7rA-Kq4Fy64FZfeAKPo9sNe2xzG7kUtlpov8jyRtxRyK_1FO0fHoCHaOKrjUWzM3iZMl-T006m9af0vI8WJ2RoM-_dclmpNyIv20NW/s1600-h/hawaii+141.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140633898298258130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRiGIN-3G3g2kgmLoxrpzC4C_9Kl5mbw_PooIdf7rA-Kq4Fy64FZfeAKPo9sNe2xzG7kUtlpov8jyRtxRyK_1FO0fHoCHaOKrjUWzM3iZMl-T006m9af0vI8WJ2RoM-_dclmpNyIv20NW/s400/hawaii+141.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> And here is Patrick's own "A Bay" (Anaehoomalu) I just wish my cheap camera could have caught the real colors.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140635985652364050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uVYQqr9X0XRlaBBOnViiH3lMDAbCjieZqCDA6Ocvlxf5xruU1oMwRWKRdXVdb5Bogv6G5M3N_KpLok97hQj473balQ50F4xGTDqpOEfrlgtL3xaiuDDtx4-sVtbUeAgVKvkPMBfCgayv/s320/hawaii+095.jpg" border="0" />And my own Pat and Jess - the greatest treasure I will ever see or experience in this paradise.<br /></span><br /><div></div></div></div>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-50902491229909816272007-12-05T14:34:00.000-08:002007-12-05T15:24:15.607-08:00The Roots of Life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEF6RX4-nmJpHvHPXUdn-lylUT5YphABjCdaAjSjS7M-WmbbgrJbHKg81KTE91pKT-AdCvG8U2zt2dmtBKVHeTP-h7xRnusYbOmFL8oiDO_e5QHuiyMQRMOh8eHbWvEh8nIc8ud9F5pJu6/s1600-h/hawaii+046.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140621326928982706" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEF6RX4-nmJpHvHPXUdn-lylUT5YphABjCdaAjSjS7M-WmbbgrJbHKg81KTE91pKT-AdCvG8U2zt2dmtBKVHeTP-h7xRnusYbOmFL8oiDO_e5QHuiyMQRMOh8eHbWvEh8nIc8ud9F5pJu6/s320/hawaii+046.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I was in Hawaii visiting Patrick and Jessie, everywhere I turned nature seemed to be speaking to me in metaphors. Anyway, life lessons seemed to pop before my eyes whether I was visiting the rain forest, or the beach or the volcanoes. Perhaps I was just in a contemplative mode, but I wanted to come home and write them all down. This picture of the tree with it's hundreds of roots pushing through the bark and heading deep into the soil spoke forcefully to me of my own "roots". Is every energy source necessary for my growth reaching for fertile soil? Do I struggle past the inconveniences or hardships to breakthrough and reach the rich nutrients awaiting me? And am I firmly, determinedly, holding on? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Saying all this is probably redundant, for you probably got all that just by looking. But, wow, isn't that tree a sermon? Now, for this tree...</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WmSj699KSxXZAfUBYjuyTXXuT2SzUFS-qO7u8vllmfnJ-SoGfeJsLpXNVUeeFZeS1ChzFRue7Lv5kJCO3UDfBi-iYkJsL5M9VFFM5zWs1pRaAyhz2_ropWZaupRnwvZr3F-ZOl02oPfc/s1600-h/hawaii+017.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140621490137739970" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WmSj699KSxXZAfUBYjuyTXXuT2SzUFS-qO7u8vllmfnJ-SoGfeJsLpXNVUeeFZeS1ChzFRue7Lv5kJCO3UDfBi-iYkJsL5M9VFFM5zWs1pRaAyhz2_ropWZaupRnwvZr3F-ZOl02oPfc/s320/hawaii+017.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Further on in my walk in the botanical gardens I came to the older more mature version of the first tree. I certainly felt this trees age. I felt like my roots had been struggling for soooo long, but sometimes they dried along the way trying to reach the deep soil. Some of my roots were brittle from hard lessons, or life just not turning out the way I'd thought. But, other of my roots were still just as vital and were reaching down from tremendous odds to stay firmly planted.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I guess you could say the first tree was me at 25; strong, assured and sure of my course and outcome. The second tree is me at 50; seasoned, broken in places, but still struggling. A kind of enduring sort of beauty, not particularly beautiful, but admirable.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-44388837301383050992007-10-17T12:59:00.000-07:002007-10-17T14:45:20.288-07:00TransformationTransformation can happen when a few key elements come into play at the right time and in the right setting. Walking on a windy day, the threat of rain ( even a few drops make it better), rays of sun pushing their way earthward between moving clouds, AND...just the right music. Before you know it I'm transformed into an ageless sprite freed from reality, restrictions and despair, where possibilities abound and my body beats with the rhythm of music and nature, where unadulterated joy rushes along my nerves and suddenly, in the middle of the street, I've been known to dance. I've been known to reach my arms skyward, palms up, back arched, and twiiiiiiirl. A slow, all encompassing twirl, drinking in the elements. I've also been known to strut with a cocky sort of attitude, if the music has a strong beat and attitude.<br />An ode could be dedicated to the wind, or the sun rays or the moving clouds, but it's the "right" music that I'm thinking of now. A swelling of violins, or a syncopated piano rising from bass to a sentimental treble cleft.<br /><strong>Example</strong> - <em>swelling starts</em> -If could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by...<br />cause I'd walk a million miles...<em>violins crescendo</em> - if I could just see you.....tonight. <em>violins madly stringing... tada da da da duh.</em><br /><strong>Or something terribly drippy and sentimental -</strong><br />Don't dream too far, Don't lose sight of who you are, Don't remember that rush of joy,<br />He could be that boy....I'm not that girl.<br /><strong>Or, something with drawn out vowels</strong><br />Pretty lady on my mind got me gone (gauhn) again<br /><strong>Or, an unusual male voice </strong><br />John Mayer, Ben Harper....<br /><strong>Or, a strong beat with personality</strong><br />(<em>STRONG DOWN BEAT</em>/ REST) Come on over, Come on over baby<br />The next thing you know - I start strutting and life is goooood.catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8510991719389610417.post-4931344502744199012007-10-05T12:05:00.000-07:002007-10-05T12:40:20.369-07:00I brake for rats!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today I swerved to avoid hitting a rat in the street. It was sitting on it's hind haunches and eating smashed leftovers and I slowed, recognized it was a rat, and swerved. Here in Northern California, as in other areas, rats are disgusting, carriers of disease, and I swerved. What has happened to the little girl who used to put a stone on the body of a daddy long legs and proceed to pick off, one by one, the spiders legs, or the girl that used to burn to toast any handy bug that I could put under my magnifying glass? Do you know that I now go out of my way to carefully trap bugs in my house so I can release them in the backyard? President Spencer Kimball told of a song called, "Don't kill the little birdies," that changed how he forever saw any living species. We once had a mole in our front yard that was destroying the many dollars worth of landscaping that we had invested in. We tried everything, and finally Roy plugged up all the holes but one, then flooded the routes out, all the while waiting with a shovel to crack his skull. He finished the job, came in the house, took a shower and came out still shivering. It was a horrible experience that he even teared up over. And.....I'm glad he did. Cliched as it is, life becomes precious the older you get, and in animal years I'm ancient. I'm glad, I think, that I "brake for rats," although I don't think I'll put that on my bumper sticker.</span>catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08651406287846818584noreply@blogger.com9