tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32545511981467416302024-03-14T12:02:45.022-04:00Travels with OttoI'm Nancy Fasoldt. Travels with Otto documents my journeys, most often with my husband, Al, and our Standard Poodle, Marlee. Otto is what we called our first RV. The name is now synonymous with adventure in my mind, so no need to change it. Come along. Pretend someone left the gate open.Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.comBlogger426125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-44945031172290006082020-03-16T19:25:00.001-04:002020-03-16T19:26:48.163-04:00The magical threads of "Harry Potter"<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/AVvXsEhP_AkRF3eVQMb_4lnR7tUs4Y3xJtksT887bYgYQcsCUceh7D5XwcmCqQoA3PtU_Xc2MrQ9y1T2e_g_L3SrV4RUDeRJEDE3eKhCyTo2HK0AE9UDZCsg_Dw-toxn33DNHK7D17Pd-JMKm5qx/s1600/harry+potter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1014" data-original-width="1600" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_AkRF3eVQMb_4lnR7tUs4Y3xJtksT887bYgYQcsCUceh7D5XwcmCqQoA3PtU_Xc2MrQ9y1T2e_g_L3SrV4RUDeRJEDE3eKhCyTo2HK0AE9UDZCsg_Dw-toxn33DNHK7D17Pd-JMKm5qx/s400/harry+potter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy Joe and Donna</td></tr>
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Like magic, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Potter" target="_blank">"Harry Potter"</a> transforms a hotel breakfast room peopled by strangers into a coffee clatch of best friends.<br />
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And all because I ask the the desk clerk (a spritely young woman — she hides her wand well — with impossibly short hair, a dimpley smile and a passion for books) if she had read the J.K. Rowling series.</div>
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Oh my, the response.</div>
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First, it's Donna, over by the wall, who swings around and says, “Oh, YES! I pre-ordered each one and just counted down the days for them to arrive.”</div>
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Her own kids didn’t catch the fever. But her niece and nephew did. She now doles out her precious copies to them at age appropriate times.</div>
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Sammy Joe, sitting at the next table over from me, grins: “My grandson and I learned to read using "Harry Potter".”</div>
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What?</div>
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He repeats: “I learned to read, with my grandson, and "Harry Potter".”</div>
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I catch my breath. Because I believe there is no more powerful prose than that which opens a lifetime of adventure.</div>
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The conversation continues and it’s just so magical.</div>
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But then I realize I never heard from my dimply sprite. I look around and she’s gone back to work, all the while sprinkling her fairy dust behind her.</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-88937025685745693802020-02-25T08:37:00.000-05:002020-02-25T08:37:23.714-05:00Women of Faith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OqXytOFa8OXR_IydEVUWgbxZryTDUOhbgWS5SuY0fMIHPS5383Bna9FKnjKBwGaBSnuaKRGxgwi5AyKviqyWaDnU5YV5W2W_kk1GPbBw7M9hajBAXh1vPGxmYEbT2EqiIn9T6UMSlARe/s1600/green.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="879" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OqXytOFa8OXR_IydEVUWgbxZryTDUOhbgWS5SuY0fMIHPS5383Bna9FKnjKBwGaBSnuaKRGxgwi5AyKviqyWaDnU5YV5W2W_kk1GPbBw7M9hajBAXh1vPGxmYEbT2EqiIn9T6UMSlARe/s400/green.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<b style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">“A clutch of women’s the most tender, most tough place on Earth.” Excerpt From “Where the Crawdads Sing,” by Delia Owens.</b><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">I am living that quote today.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">I am at a women</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">’</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">s retreat at South Padre Island Baptist church, my home church for the winter.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> I’m a bit down, frustrated by a myriad of life’s little whammies. (Nothing serious at all, just too many of them at once.)</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">So I square my shoulders (because I AM STRONG!) and seek a table to join. I find one, with green ribbons, white lilies and a big happy balloon. And sit</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">down, all the while pulling on a</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> mask of contentment (remember, hurting inside), and introduce myself.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">T</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">hanks to a know-all God, I find myself at a table peopled with people like me, church kitchen ladies. They are my doppelgängers.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">They love serving coffee as much as serving God. Their hearty laughs define their outgoing natures.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">And they immediately see through my pretense. With genuine love and concern, they gang up on me, drill down into my soul and</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">help me wrestle free from my worries all the while holding my heart.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">Then we do it for each other, one by one, so each of us sheds a bit of the day’ worries.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">We are just like the author said, a tough and tender clutch of women. No place else like it on Earth.</span>Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-28938197829466869562020-02-21T10:53:00.002-05:002020-02-21T10:54:16.346-05:00Lovely mission in trouble<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/AVvXsEjhSci7gDuwLUcU06gQVEvDGv7ngNJwzA8HvogTC8pI9i7Ym0qkiIvn1mlNDhr_gUT9J562m9kW9k1itg5gGaMscS_D_EsVx6NUuuY-pzrvgfMgkkabF-uDsJ8UOt3VgwigzkrOxI77bPt_/s1600/la+lomita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="868" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSci7gDuwLUcU06gQVEvDGv7ngNJwzA8HvogTC8pI9i7Ym0qkiIvn1mlNDhr_gUT9J562m9kW9k1itg5gGaMscS_D_EsVx6NUuuY-pzrvgfMgkkabF-uDsJ8UOt3VgwigzkrOxI77bPt_/s400/la+lomita.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Lomita, the church that gave Mission, Texas, its name</td></tr>
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Be still. Listen. </div>
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I’m standing outside La Lomita, a simple 12-by-40-foot chapel in Mission, Texas, that's ministered to people for 155 years.</div>
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It stands on a small rise overlooking the Rio Grand. (Its name means "Little Hill" in Spanish.) If the trees weren’t there, I could see Reynosa, Mexico. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAc9GhGyTjAS87U6um-ZH7v0zKgD1mEKUc8XVy3fTqURPzLeLdIomFG9DqJVJTX_Zw26ULeDx-o3ZyX0gkBRzqq6lU68aU40xhnICJD_tpVJ1KtBgLLzKchUMkKIGGFe0t30HmV5RcUA2/s1600/little+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAc9GhGyTjAS87U6um-ZH7v0zKgD1mEKUc8XVy3fTqURPzLeLdIomFG9DqJVJTX_Zw26ULeDx-o3ZyX0gkBRzqq6lU68aU40xhnICJD_tpVJ1KtBgLLzKchUMkKIGGFe0t30HmV5RcUA2/s320/little+bear.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a cute little girl</td></tr>
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It’s a quiet little whitewashed sandstone structure <a href="https://ost.edu/la-lomita-mission-made-mission-texas/" target="_blank">steeped in history</a>. </div>
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And then I step inside. And I see and feel an explosion of life. And love. Weekly worshippers keep fluffy pillows in the pews and fresh notebooks and pens on a prayer table. (I write my name and a little note.)</div>
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A garden of fresh-cut flowers, newspaper items, pictures and rosaries crowd the altar. What personality! A little rosary-draped bear appears to giggle shyly, showing off her youthfulness. A flower pot grins at me, inspiring me to grin back.</div>
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This historic place of worship is the namesake of the town of Mission.</div>
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And I didn’t know until I started my research for this little blog that<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Lomita_Chapel" target="_blank"> it is in trouble</a>.</div>
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The U.S. government wants to build its border wall here because of the hill it sits on and the sights it can see. </div>
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Since 2018, the Catholic Church has fought the effort. So have the people in the community who feel this little chapel knits intricately into their history.</div>
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I never felt the turmoil while I was there. The walls spoke only of peace and love. And I was still when inside. And I listened. It spoke only of worship and the congregation who love it. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43q7xKUvIcTVg93OrI8G4tJa03Jlobee50blR8q12vWxS3S65PgvdBeOlKkQapt_OyarbFgzJMKn5wdcmfniVrDN6zR2jNcSdla48G7umORhOmyoScCsxqEvXjUFNnCSjXCiIkcMsj-ds/s1600/altar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43q7xKUvIcTVg93OrI8G4tJa03Jlobee50blR8q12vWxS3S65PgvdBeOlKkQapt_OyarbFgzJMKn5wdcmfniVrDN6zR2jNcSdla48G7umORhOmyoScCsxqEvXjUFNnCSjXCiIkcMsj-ds/s400/altar.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh flowers show a dedication to this chapel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIen8RE4FuS3CFgVFFMXThqkaiWrMku0qxVjTXTPS09lBS2pdJ5egNvSQamOrcxXPOFU-hhASR8ewsLSgmADdADxdT9hUhIWyCz6Olb0fdj8Q_fYq02ou5ge34SqregZAhnYs3H2c89jg/s1600/grotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIen8RE4FuS3CFgVFFMXThqkaiWrMku0qxVjTXTPS09lBS2pdJ5egNvSQamOrcxXPOFU-hhASR8ewsLSgmADdADxdT9hUhIWyCz6Olb0fdj8Q_fYq02ou5ge34SqregZAhnYs3H2c89jg/s320/grotto.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Lourdes Grotto</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl8bPzOXXieCfeGz95zMSqv6e0rcJNoiTbekHjomat_KXQR6zwDJwCdr0VbMgk9VILZi050zgzpSJO_3uxLbmE-gZ8DaFnM3-zNJQWV6G9EoWAAk1eXHmyKFMbgcjdt5gfniwrGVqMy1c/s1600/pews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl8bPzOXXieCfeGz95zMSqv6e0rcJNoiTbekHjomat_KXQR6zwDJwCdr0VbMgk9VILZi050zgzpSJO_3uxLbmE-gZ8DaFnM3-zNJQWV6G9EoWAAk1eXHmyKFMbgcjdt5gfniwrGVqMy1c/s320/pews.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost all pews have pillows</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGmrm4dZhecuPxrOJ42NBP3e_VQ6zn0BnemtitI6AI0NVrzz9f67zub67-Fs4Kzy5j5wvlPlvQyUgnbPTFXQYDXhSrMctn5DX3rwKNbpZ40yyQKBwLOMtFAcaEuW4FZW_D3ul9a3p2rHk/s1600/prayers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGmrm4dZhecuPxrOJ42NBP3e_VQ6zn0BnemtitI6AI0NVrzz9f67zub67-Fs4Kzy5j5wvlPlvQyUgnbPTFXQYDXhSrMctn5DX3rwKNbpZ40yyQKBwLOMtFAcaEuW4FZW_D3ul9a3p2rHk/s320/prayers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notebooks spill over the prayer table</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGub4QWU7z1Nri-LyLJ29fFjQ003u-dYgZnE_dtHPzEFTDWJYR9vbyslh7vSD5TIcD5-xjRLq2vdx8l7-hwp6IwrkFxpl1QLF859xkfXxZ9T-ATDQXpbTrt74_9EHvAHDswDVp8_Dts0C/s1600/smile+pot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="925" data-original-width="1600" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGub4QWU7z1Nri-LyLJ29fFjQ003u-dYgZnE_dtHPzEFTDWJYR9vbyslh7vSD5TIcD5-xjRLq2vdx8l7-hwp6IwrkFxpl1QLF859xkfXxZ9T-ATDQXpbTrt74_9EHvAHDswDVp8_Dts0C/s400/smile+pot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely flowers distract from crumbling walls</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-33889471721781691572020-02-20T12:35:00.000-05:002020-02-20T12:35:04.235-05:00Lovin' that Can-Do attitude<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/AVvXsEioCOiMu0rt7aVc9XnfXZwI9AcQePUEr12WFyy3z9_86LRFnIBoub88eWgv4umpPRZWqJC9ISh9j4JYzCEOiPz_EqjH6eH-0Gf29uWh7bhAC7Ip4Envx7Svf1FbdmMMyg2a7-sHDPZyqTKF/s1600/20200207_112412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCOiMu0rt7aVc9XnfXZwI9AcQePUEr12WFyy3z9_86LRFnIBoub88eWgv4umpPRZWqJC9ISh9j4JYzCEOiPz_EqjH6eH-0Gf29uWh7bhAC7Ip4Envx7Svf1FbdmMMyg2a7-sHDPZyqTKF/s400/20200207_112412.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist Connie Lovell is such an inspiration.</td></tr>
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Litter-inspired art challenges the way I look at art. And I learned today, life. </div>
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While walking to the beach, I see a great big blue something rising from a truck trailer parked at Andy Bowie beach on South Padre Island, Texas.</div>
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As I get closer, this blue behemoth takes on form. It's a dolphin (christened Dolly), frozen in a happy moment, leaping above lively, sparkling waves. As I get even closer, I see she’s born from a jumble of trash, litter, stuff people toss out on the beach and overboard boats. It’s all artistically juggled, magically creating Dolly.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXDGN9r3JII24ipcxDqgmNjv4Lt5vGFofW8JJ8t-J4CpWRaMIIdnihAjs9pU8HeTJZUn7l10OB2zruJaLMWbl0SiQQdclepR400fwS-woDgz5jU5WaBIbSA1BYqg-L89t3Dbd3pk3Swf2/s1600/Dolly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXDGN9r3JII24ipcxDqgmNjv4Lt5vGFofW8JJ8t-J4CpWRaMIIdnihAjs9pU8HeTJZUn7l10OB2zruJaLMWbl0SiQQdclepR400fwS-woDgz5jU5WaBIbSA1BYqg-L89t3Dbd3pk3Swf2/s400/Dolly.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolly. Photo by Al Fasoldt </td></tr>
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She’s beautiful. Mesmerizing. Intricate.</div>
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But the real story for me is the artist, Connie Lovell, 64, a tireless devotee of clean beaches and life. She began making these sculptures four years ago — age 60. She simultaneously built a successful Clean up The Beach campaign while upcycling thousands of pounds of tossed-out plastic into major art installations.</div>
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My life lesson? Age is no barrier to start something new. Attitude is.</div>
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Four years ago, at age 60, she hated the trash littering the Texas beaches so much, she didn’t complain. She sought a solution. And became that solution.</div>
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Her age was no barrier. She just got up and did.</div>
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Bravo, Connie.</div>
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To find out more about Connie and her creations — Humberto the Great Blue Heron, Miguel the MahiMahi, Josie the Green Sea Turtle, Rusty the Red Snapper, Chloe the Clown Fish, Calli the BlueCrab. There are more — visit her personal <a href="https://www.abispi.com/connielovell" target="_blank">website</a> and the one for her <a href="https://washeduptexas.org/" target="_blank">project</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/AVvXsEiieRPI3DXNxYLtZGvkKa1Jr62sguyfolCWW8BQKW3ydVfImi2-LPBEqYEXIQlfYmJg_f32WpnHlkPY3AxIuUPpGCOEiW1HY-GmaiaFHQew5TA0RBY1Joi1r0WHPLifndwlWWuoI1CzgpQc/s1600/Rusty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieRPI3DXNxYLtZGvkKa1Jr62sguyfolCWW8BQKW3ydVfImi2-LPBEqYEXIQlfYmJg_f32WpnHlkPY3AxIuUPpGCOEiW1HY-GmaiaFHQew5TA0RBY1Joi1r0WHPLifndwlWWuoI1CzgpQc/s400/Rusty.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excellent photographer Al Fasoldt and Rusty the Red Snapper</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/AVvXsEj7lKdAivCtUrEx0VkNEiTtqzRGYxvN7G9O02wLWpxk1IB1NUHHDiWqjCdNMG-GCSEXblmNXIKcVsTQ2Gx6mo_PlidX5cgiTIj8Z6nkFJFPuHY-J65hKBauXZWAJpAXTta7LDNcxdJGGZVy/s1600/20200207_112250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lKdAivCtUrEx0VkNEiTtqzRGYxvN7G9O02wLWpxk1IB1NUHHDiWqjCdNMG-GCSEXblmNXIKcVsTQ2Gx6mo_PlidX5cgiTIj8Z6nkFJFPuHY-J65hKBauXZWAJpAXTta7LDNcxdJGGZVy/s400/20200207_112250.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolly's tongue is a pink flipflop. Her teeth a transformed laundry basket.</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/AVvXsEizNdyqCPCFTlmM5HppSgU9QatVIzB5_o07Sjslj1y3uVVv0FRoT_qdhFAqcFBrcuSSzC94qPvkStnDMXWRuN57o72BdOAl0QlTq-PxMeOL3QZRjfkbmA6c8UIPk08qLe2VmNFO_ecquCJj/s1600/20200207_113409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNdyqCPCFTlmM5HppSgU9QatVIzB5_o07Sjslj1y3uVVv0FRoT_qdhFAqcFBrcuSSzC94qPvkStnDMXWRuN57o72BdOAl0QlTq-PxMeOL3QZRjfkbmA6c8UIPk08qLe2VmNFO_ecquCJj/s400/20200207_113409.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I can help.<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-43315427636853590102018-09-16T13:26:00.000-04:002018-09-16T13:27:27.788-04:00Caught Myself in a Bias<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/AVvXsEiV9vA0bGPklIoLL6oFPIUIhA6-Mibb_KF-hrCXkl62hs3FVupp7BnmUinRn6v7ENESOnS5rIpSVsF5UvWcVULJCXA8vt-9wCFtcOf8E1SODiryW0mbPBwdlxoUMUm1YiSMFwlcLc4kRU3u/s1600/bikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9vA0bGPklIoLL6oFPIUIhA6-Mibb_KF-hrCXkl62hs3FVupp7BnmUinRn6v7ENESOnS5rIpSVsF5UvWcVULJCXA8vt-9wCFtcOf8E1SODiryW0mbPBwdlxoUMUm1YiSMFwlcLc4kRU3u/s400/bikes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes outside Vermont Apple Pie</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 14px;">I try hard to avoid preconceived notions. Bias. Unintentional prejudices. Sometimes, though, I'm caught offguard by one of my own. </span></span><br />
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We’re eating breakfast in a sweet, delicate little mom-and-pop restaurant called Vermont Apple Pie in the even sweeter little town of Proctorsville, VT. The tiny dining room is upstairs, and the only server can’t see downstairs into the waiting room. So now and then, he calls down the steps, “Anyone waiting?”</div>
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This time, a boy-voice (maybe a teen, or young 20-something) responds, “Yes. Me and my mom. And a big group of bikers, maybe six of them.”</div>
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Bikers. Oh my. This is a small dining room.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kZdG2mzleFvUh4nkZKNGd11Zz3BHxtAx70lSFkA9hB1N8XJzkrHcKaLJga4p6KcyFB91X4obW0dLQZrHi8SHNlZYL3QESSy22SkzrRUblD4l81Wv1g63E5oHH50r0ZHVfRad0kx8No1l/s1600/dining+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kZdG2mzleFvUh4nkZKNGd11Zz3BHxtAx70lSFkA9hB1N8XJzkrHcKaLJga4p6KcyFB91X4obW0dLQZrHi8SHNlZYL3QESSy22SkzrRUblD4l81Wv1g63E5oHH50r0ZHVfRad0kx8No1l/s320/dining+room.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby in half the dining room</td></tr>
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So our waiter calls into the kitchen for help and a woman (his wife?) scurries out to fix up the table for six bikers. </div>
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I watch. And wonder how six burly men and their bulky leathers will fit around this delicate country table. Especially when each end of the table has been turned into a place setting.</div>
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I just keep eating. And watching.</div>
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“OK,” the server calls down the steps. “Table for six is ready.”</div>
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I wait for the thundering herd.</div>
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I get no thunder. No burly men. The bikers are six tiny women. The biggest thing on them is a smile.</div>
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Even in their bulky leathers, they fit nicely, with lots of room to spare. And lots of stories to tell.</div>
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They all just met, through a Vermont bike touring company called <a href="http://www.motovermont.com/" target="_blank">MotoVermont</a>. Two are from Washington State. Two from California. One from New York (outside Albany) and one from Connecticut. All are enjoying this guided motorcycle tour of New England.</div>
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The tour guide hands me her card. Just in case. One day. Well, maybe.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzxHI5f0xammV5nFT8UVMb_Ck5A9O_pcM95rfRWcfgfdvyMNtwRt7il3sTUKQEB7yr5vtxUJFVAkWCItpnJbQ6fT0EKPHuTmp0zTSn6DD3PG-m6JuRvt1kKV7RvtrxhGGgVPR-IQh1Pzo/s1600/bikers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzxHI5f0xammV5nFT8UVMb_Ck5A9O_pcM95rfRWcfgfdvyMNtwRt7il3sTUKQEB7yr5vtxUJFVAkWCItpnJbQ6fT0EKPHuTmp0zTSn6DD3PG-m6JuRvt1kKV7RvtrxhGGgVPR-IQh1Pzo/s400/bikers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tour guide in pink</td></tr>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-24647948865346414212018-05-17T21:16:00.001-04:002018-05-17T21:16:16.065-04:00Why I LIKE IKE<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/AVvXsEhppcxXg4djbfbOUP03wrj912knMjpKRFbdNykElcuqxPrVqGrUYMVTWxxI254aygHFhAUjRPKonZs7IyXr7tNw7C4HCFl1ZAOk88MHJD-80a5K6CcoYVUPXYEgPaqEm-BDGExnHRIRCe3T/s1600/Like+Ike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="750" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhppcxXg4djbfbOUP03wrj912knMjpKRFbdNykElcuqxPrVqGrUYMVTWxxI254aygHFhAUjRPKonZs7IyXr7tNw7C4HCFl1ZAOk88MHJD-80a5K6CcoYVUPXYEgPaqEm-BDGExnHRIRCe3T/s400/Like+Ike.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; caret-color: rgb(119, 119, 119); color: #777777; font-family: proxima-nova; text-align: start;">President Dwight Eisenhower wearing "I Like Ike" glasses</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">And at the end the day, I like Ike, too.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">We are at the <a href="https://www.dwightdeisenhower.com/262/Museum" target="_blank">Eisenhower Museum and Library,</a> a small campus of buildings in Abilene, Kansas, a town so small its letters on</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">a map need magnifying.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">We came here for the presidential memorial. We bought a pass to it last month. But I looked everywhere this morning and couldn’t find it. So I was</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">hoping they had a database with my name in it.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">But nope. There is no way to prove we’d already bought tickets.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">The 60-something man selling tickets leaned back, crossed his arms high on his chest and stared at me through spectacles a bit too small for his face. “I believe</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">you,” he said shortly. “Want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because Ike was an honest man. A good, honest man.”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">He stamps two tickets and shoos us off to a guided tour of Eisenhower’s Abilene home (starting in two minutes), then yells to our backs as we hustle out: “WHEN</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">THE TOUR IS OVER, COME BACK FOR THE FILM.”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">What a nice man.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">The lady giving the tour of the family home is nice. The library staff is nice. </span><br />
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<br />And by the end of my visit today, I’ve come to understand Eisenhower was nice, too. Not in a white-washed way. He was a likable man the world embraced. An honest man. I already knew his military excellence, his connections with the U.S.Interstate system and NASA.<br /><br />What I didn’t know was even his distractors appreciated how decent a man he was.<br /><br />The museum peddles this decency. <br /><br />As well as his wisdom:<br /><br />""Teachers … are developing our most precious national resource: our children, our future citizens."<br /><br />His considerate leadership.<br /><br />"I believe that the United States … does have the job of working toward that time when there is no discrimination made on such inconsequential reason as race, color, or religion.”<br /><br /> His foresight:<br />On the concentration camps he visited at the end of WWII: "I made the visit deliberately, in order to be in position to give first-hand evidence of these things if ever, in the future, there develops a tendency to charge these allegations merely to 'propaganda’."<br /><br />Good golly. He was a man who modeled decency. Who was married to a woman who could be everyone’s best friend.<div>
<br />So I like Ike, too. </div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-32336609444270536552018-04-25T14:34:00.000-04:002018-04-25T14:34:41.310-04:00DON'T JUDGE A BOOK ....<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNLUiA3oy-GnW3yv_JQ5JY3YcTXYXYP8UqfiALdJex1kliBTy6POl9qN6gfeKL1XE6fognZ-sp-f7nRfgDQ6qeQL3zRA7B3E9mTR2DQzaSDC8oemVs9Tll5ryKYTEWgRsRZUisUMlLSx_/s1600/20180413_114803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNLUiA3oy-GnW3yv_JQ5JY3YcTXYXYP8UqfiALdJex1kliBTy6POl9qN6gfeKL1XE6fognZ-sp-f7nRfgDQ6qeQL3zRA7B3E9mTR2DQzaSDC8oemVs9Tll5ryKYTEWgRsRZUisUMlLSx_/s400/20180413_114803.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A meteor struck Earth 50,000 years ago and left behind this crater</td></tr>
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Ever hear of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteor_Crater" target="_blank">Meteor Crater</a> in northern Arizona? </div>
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Me neither. </div>
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The name alone sounds like a cheapy roadside attraction, right up there with the <a href="http://www.catsupbottle.com/" target="_blank">world’s largest catsup bottle</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salvation_Mountain" target="_blank">Salvation Mountain</a> and the <a href="https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/9792" target="_blank">biggest ball of paint</a>. </div>
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But when my brother-in-law suggested we visit, well, it was on our way, so we did and I am floored.</div>
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This roadside attraction is perhaps one of the best in the country. </div>
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It’s a big hole in the ground, yes. But the Barringer family who owns it has invested millions into explaining what it it, how it got here and why we should care.</div>
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And because of their dedication, the info center attached to it, called The Discovery Center, attracts the very generation it needs to survive: the tech-savvy generation.</div>
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There are 24 exhibits inside the sprawling center, many of which employ various forms of whiz-bang technology to keep you interested, to bring you inside the project, to help you understand.</div>
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And then the walk to the crater is an absolute WOW. A paved path goes up and down to several viewing platforms. With signage to ignite your curiosity. And telescopes, too. If the wind dies down, you’ll get a guided tour by a geologist.</div>
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So, if you are ever in the neighborhood GO. It’s about 37 miles east of Flagstaff. If you can, go out of your way.</div>
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This is a must-see slice of history bundled with science even the kids will enjoy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Touch-screen technology encourages visitors to linger </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; text-align: start;">24 exhibits entice you to explore</span></td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-69990370049426563802018-04-24T13:57:00.000-04:002018-04-24T13:57:53.746-04:00PETRIFIED WOOD AND DINOSAURS<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp1x-aL3mtsKcsD2wRvuOoxIFvI3KEYnwturTqgWc4vAvg3TKZN8QBU-0uu0msztYSB1_7Dgiz314qzcSZ3fSr3Ub7ZAkOC6A2b9McMEMWSp8qv3CofBTMuTpjwuN4o2N94ZL1EnyaNaG/s1600/dinos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp1x-aL3mtsKcsD2wRvuOoxIFvI3KEYnwturTqgWc4vAvg3TKZN8QBU-0uu0msztYSB1_7Dgiz314qzcSZ3fSr3Ub7ZAkOC6A2b9McMEMWSp8qv3CofBTMuTpjwuN4o2N94ZL1EnyaNaG/s400/dinos.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These guys lived 225 million years ago in what is now Petrified Forest</td></tr>
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I am so easily wowed.</div>
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I’m walking where dinosaurs walked. Not the big guys. <a href="https://www.nps.gov/pefo/learn/nature/dinosaurs.htm" target="_blank">The human-sized guys</a>. And I’m touching felled trees they might have touched. Wow.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZjT9BMis0NdW6AGY5pAuLHcsEoh3XQyyR7bkVLVdz4chYYb50vImvg3us2vT-oL4pL_1aBKAp9xeX_-LSm___swnchz6k0Egqq85_V5zDKdKTas3VCelelMZK7obNCvRBfjl1c1l__tL/s1600/mywalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZjT9BMis0NdW6AGY5pAuLHcsEoh3XQyyR7bkVLVdz4chYYb50vImvg3us2vT-oL4pL_1aBKAp9xeX_-LSm___swnchz6k0Egqq85_V5zDKdKTas3VCelelMZK7obNCvRBfjl1c1l__tL/s320/mywalk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm on the Crystal Forest trail</td></tr>
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We’re in Arizona, driving through <a href="https://www.nps.gov/pefo/index.htm" target="_blank">Petrified Forest National Park</a> on our way to see the Painted Desert.</div>
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It’s a 30-mile ride through quite an unusual countryside: a s<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">emi-desert shrubby plains area that butts up against a subdued relative of the badlands. </span></span>No trees. Yet it’s littered with large hewn logs.</div>
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There are so many, I imagine this is where Paul Bunyan whacked up thousands of trees on his journey to Storyland.</div>
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But 225 million years ago, this area was a lush river basin near the equator, home to dinosaurs, not Paul, and the 200-foot tall coniferous trees today’s logs came from. They look like Paul was here because of gravity. And science. See, petrified wood is heavy. And for millions of years, it is hidden inside the Earth covered by earth. When the wind and the rain expose the logs, gravity versus weight causes them to break apart, like a piece chalk you drop to the ground. In 90-degree angles.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEBYM-om4O0XDuACWTZmFXB7y0kkgBrsj57jUVdma-Dz0ddnD2_ukJYZX8Cuxf_yLpJqBKsSZVV7Os9SVRO0VJu5frhVeBppLhUK_6cxwe_2p_mjqd4WFk_Ly0j762PaYoOPc0l5Z_RnU/s1600/wood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEBYM-om4O0XDuACWTZmFXB7y0kkgBrsj57jUVdma-Dz0ddnD2_ukJYZX8Cuxf_yLpJqBKsSZVV7Os9SVRO0VJu5frhVeBppLhUK_6cxwe_2p_mjqd4WFk_Ly0j762PaYoOPc0l5Z_RnU/s320/wood.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colorful quartz</td></tr>
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The mile-long trail I’m hiking winds through the Crystal Forest which is littered with the logs. The colorful layers of quartz in the petrified wood twinkle in the morning sun. <a href="https://www.nps.gov/pefo/learn/nature/petrified-wood.htm)" target="_blank">(Go here for the science.) </a> </div>
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It’s a simple hike I’m taking back through time. And I am totally wowed.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEpV9au_Dz7xry5jNsJvDagxmeQi03V17kuWUo4hV541EGA0dSL9k8kjZaYhfoWMOS_l2J8Gd0P0TTwBkI5sc22N6FBH7aze046aZ83AWFByAUAkEfIRHQ9okN6vuL9E7K-9Y1bm86v7e/s1600/painted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="1600" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEpV9au_Dz7xry5jNsJvDagxmeQi03V17kuWUo4hV541EGA0dSL9k8kjZaYhfoWMOS_l2J8Gd0P0TTwBkI5sc22N6FBH7aze046aZ83AWFByAUAkEfIRHQ9okN6vuL9E7K-9Y1bm86v7e/s400/painted.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panorama of The Painted Desert</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-61487845289850506862018-04-13T20:11:00.000-04:002018-04-13T20:12:22.804-04:00NEVER DOUBT THE POWER OF GOD OR WOMEN<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztQCaCXKS6f1vDKliEiGvdOFPJgWx3JxBeykhz-o80Z3knGezfPnhCJwgXzedEyajhBoDqnvyRdgnmtvXV0iwT8vhIYx9eL_Cz99ukIvz9M9Hr6Bq5icB6He6FmIc3yLcYKd_mNlGdrXV/s1600/damaris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="945" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztQCaCXKS6f1vDKliEiGvdOFPJgWx3JxBeykhz-o80Z3knGezfPnhCJwgXzedEyajhBoDqnvyRdgnmtvXV0iwT8vhIYx9eL_Cz99ukIvz9M9Hr6Bq5icB6He6FmIc3yLcYKd_mNlGdrXV/s400/damaris.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damaris owns the Western Motel and RV Park<br />
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I’ve learned to never underestimate senior women. To never doubt their strength. Especially ones I meet in New Mexico, the birthplace of the atomic bomb.</div>
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We’re staying in a tiny RV park behind the Western Motel in <a href="http://magdalena-nm.com/" target="_blank">Magdalena, NM.</a> It’s owned by a spritely woman named Damaris. (The name is in the Bible only once, she said. <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+17%3A34&version=NIV" target="_blank">Acts 17. Last chapter.) </a></div>
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She’s 62 and non-stop, this woman. She runs the motel and RV lot by herself. I see her toting plumbing supplies, supervising repair of a water leak, directing two men doing odd jobs on her lot. </div>
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I later learn these men are simple men who can’t hold jobs. So Damaris gives them worth. Lets them putter. She tends to them, out of faith. Like she does the community’s children with vacation Bible school every summer.</div>
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She’s a seriously faith-filled woman. Who invites me to church. So I go.</div>
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Inside the back door of the <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x8721a85593d326dd:0xab0a5b2be131714!2m22!2m2!1i80!2i80!3m1!2i20!16m16!1b1!2m2!1m1!1e1!2m2!1m1!1e3!2m2!1m1!1e5!2m2!1m1!1e4!2m2!1m1!1e6!3m1!7e115!4shttps://lh5.googleusercontent.com/p/AF1QipNYHkOfRVeAeL5FG7emUj3gRcZSbzk-bRfpa3zT%3Dw240-h160-k-no!5sMagdalena+Community+Church+-+Google+Search&imagekey=!1e10!2sAF1QipNYHkOfRVeAeL5FG7emUj3gRcZSbzk-bRfpa3zT&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj__s-BybfaAhULBnwKHfPBDwAQoioIZTAK" target="_blank">Magdalena Community Church</a> I see five other older women and two older men engaged in conversation. It’s social hour. So I grab a bottle of water (we're in the desert) and sit down next to a woman named Marcia, who's in her 70s and enjoys creating non-denominational rosaries. She shows me one and explains each bead in detail. </div>
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She, too, is a faith-filled woman.</div>
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We soon usher ourselves into the sanctuary and I notice it is just us. The social-hour gang. No others have come to worship. Where’s the pastor? </div>
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Soon, Marcia lights the altar candle then sits at the piano and leads us in hymns. She then toddles to the lectern and leads us in prayer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6runvB83XnzvRIYPz0vGiJ_o4y7kV3pC_30VDIAVruiS-MpbV1-TtSiZAxtzUp6eQ_FnmnMIaVrCNG0mD-IdWOpaQTJnGfYBNKUoVtQzA8UaIHueKX1PVJhjnNZ8hql8Dyooj8Zxrr85w/s1600/pastor+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6runvB83XnzvRIYPz0vGiJ_o4y7kV3pC_30VDIAVruiS-MpbV1-TtSiZAxtzUp6eQ_FnmnMIaVrCNG0mD-IdWOpaQTJnGfYBNKUoVtQzA8UaIHueKX1PVJhjnNZ8hql8Dyooj8Zxrr85w/s320/pastor+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marcia wears many hats at church.</td></tr>
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Then, Marcia, the rosary-making, prayerful pianist, presents the sermon, engaging us in a powerful message on Doubting Thomas. </div>
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I later learn Marcia is also a retired nuclear physicist. Damaris is a political scientist. Another 60-someting woman I met is a physical therapist.</div>
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As I said, I’ll never underestimate the power of an older woman. Or the lengths to which faith takes us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh798Xu0_Rn_YOepMSIqPSyY154Iulus04UEvyLH2f17H3CIqdY88wa3nNTQkVLk5FwvpYQtWUoC9PLup8fNtaZS1EBOPojvWdJ-LOHlr0OGJe_eE9wNBnM05Pfcb8ejhz287lflgFL9YVu/s1600/inside+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh798Xu0_Rn_YOepMSIqPSyY154Iulus04UEvyLH2f17H3CIqdY88wa3nNTQkVLk5FwvpYQtWUoC9PLup8fNtaZS1EBOPojvWdJ-LOHlr0OGJe_eE9wNBnM05Pfcb8ejhz287lflgFL9YVu/s400/inside+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These people keep the church vibrant in Magdalena, NM. The lap quilts come in handy on cold windy days.</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-11932431961006705032018-04-12T20:01:00.000-04:002018-04-12T20:01:13.930-04:00REIGNITING A PASSION FOR SMOKEY<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBG0hjBDNnFpU-BHrJDbTFAbUta5og-DurH0iSCAcM6DhihHxlwF9wRGRU3DVbLR6FoicQmrPJgDP2uWK02cILAAiG8X9RHhyphenhyphenbHNczo5a-5b8qSzYOhFbcLmpTger2I1qofUct_-0-ST28/s1600/onlyyou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1081" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBG0hjBDNnFpU-BHrJDbTFAbUta5og-DurH0iSCAcM6DhihHxlwF9wRGRU3DVbLR6FoicQmrPJgDP2uWK02cILAAiG8X9RHhyphenhyphenbHNczo5a-5b8qSzYOhFbcLmpTger2I1qofUct_-0-ST28/s400/onlyyou.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Few people can't identify this icon of forest management.</td></tr>
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Someone needs to rescue <a href="https://smokeybear.com/en" target="_blank">Smokey the Bear. </a> Again.</div>
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Someone with political clout. With money. And a vision for fun, education and young people. Not just the kiddies. Pre-teens. Teens. Even 20somethings. </div>
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I’m visiting Capitan, NM, a middle-of-New Mexico place where Smokey was born in 1950, rescued and eventually buried. But there’s so much more to this 75-year-old story. Unfortunately, it unfolds yawningly inside in a museum designed for baby boomers. </div>
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The small <a href="http://www.emnrd.state.nm.us/SFD/SmokeyBear/SmokeyBearPark.html" target="_blank">Smokey Bear Historical Park</a> houses a ton of historic fire-prevention posters (some I recognize), pictures of Hollywood icons from back in the day (I LOVE seeing Timmy and Lassie!) and a video of the now aged game warden talking about how he tended to the baby bear’s badly burned feet and bottom, then got him rebranded as the living embodiment of Smokey. </div>
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One room, for kids I guess, has baskets of crayons and coloring pages.</div>
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There’s not much here to do.</div>
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The extraordinary legend of Smokey is fading. Even the town has given up. It cancelled its annual Smokey Bear Appreciation event this year. Couldn’t get enough volunteers.</div>
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But Smokey is ageless and tireless. He’s still featured in fire prevention pubic service announcements. His likeness is still at national parks and wild places warning about the day’s forest-fire threat.</div>
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Smokey needs his own phoenix. </div>
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What can be done? Some thoughts:</div>
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<li> Introduce a virtual reality room. (Beg Disney to pitch in. <a href="http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Smokey_the_Bear" target="_blank">The two have history</a>.)</li>
<li> Hire contemporary cinematographers to retool videos. (Maybe start a Go Fund Me page.)</li>
<li> Turn the two-acre outdoor park into a learnland/playland, with a geocache at Smokey’s gravesite and a phone-based scavenger hunt.</li>
<li> And please. Get rid of the crayons. Or update it to include adult coloring kiosks.</li>
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I’ll share these thoughts with the Smokey Bear Hometown Association members. They’re the ones who cancelled the annual appreciation event. They say they're focusing instead on next year’s 75th anniversary birthday bash for the much-loved environmental icon. </div>
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Would’t it be nice if the party partnered with a makeover reveal?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtur6b9DvXDklnhOgpmyiQkyp3rFQ6woCKfP3K8nP5enV8SIvkoJmUvnbsIyg38-KKxPqv6DCbOZNBuNG0MVeTudM9fJNhD7cFSC0-32z0XqI08qJqV7BX9O-jpxpV3DDzw_jR8E5DzxX/s1600/dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="839" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtur6b9DvXDklnhOgpmyiQkyp3rFQ6woCKfP3K8nP5enV8SIvkoJmUvnbsIyg38-KKxPqv6DCbOZNBuNG0MVeTudM9fJNhD7cFSC0-32z0XqI08qJqV7BX9O-jpxpV3DDzw_jR8E5DzxX/s400/dream.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An early Smokey poster. He's dreaming of his own rescue.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCm2YZj2Zn35ycTD1kllHigMzGt6b516rizgqRA7yONcwLkTZTA56O0vq5RVSIS2KO6cZFem_Nz38lICpmGlIgw0sIxB9TxA2w-y5wqKwgnEcu_ABOY89MU8AEDpbtZEX4OzMPy5LAIzb/s1600/museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1067" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCm2YZj2Zn35ycTD1kllHigMzGt6b516rizgqRA7yONcwLkTZTA56O0vq5RVSIS2KO6cZFem_Nz38lICpmGlIgw0sIxB9TxA2w-y5wqKwgnEcu_ABOY89MU8AEDpbtZEX4OzMPy5LAIzb/s400/museum.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside, the museum looks lovely. Lots to read.</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-80972715658213773172018-04-08T12:43:00.000-04:002018-04-08T12:43:59.383-04:00SCIENCE FICTION LOVERS TAKE NOTE<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/AVvXsEiy4-kNnb6u-km2lRUUm4704TuvuISRDfPYu_XQv58PlqMNaqQvGOyXYRNoEUE2lTImGc1hNPWVmmEQusUToTu6BKlKGLoQKLZqthMp44ozwPEYlev2oTNgfMUYQZ4lEiYw_zTilFGKwA63/s1600/20180407_133057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="1600" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4-kNnb6u-km2lRUUm4704TuvuISRDfPYu_XQv58PlqMNaqQvGOyXYRNoEUE2lTImGc1hNPWVmmEQusUToTu6BKlKGLoQKLZqthMp44ozwPEYlev2oTNgfMUYQZ4lEiYw_zTilFGKwA63/s400/20180407_133057.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The guy with the cowboy hat is Allen, taking pictures<br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"><a href="http://www.vla.nrao.edu/" target="_blank">The VLA. The Very Large Array</a>. A noted astronomical observatory. A science fiction lover’s dream. </span><br />
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It’s a collection of 27 giant dish antennas, each with a dish face 82 feet in diameter. They are trained in unison skyward from the Plains of San Augustin, an ancient seabed 7,000 feet above sea level in New Mexico near nowhere.<br />
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They look into the universe and map it, one moon-sized piece at a time.</div>
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And we’re here. For an open house tour. Looking at them.</div>
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I read this: "Since the first observation in 1975, the Very Large Array has scanned the skies to learn cosmic secrets invisible to even the most powerful telescope. The VLA shows us the chaos caused by black holes, maps ice on the scorched planet Mercury, watches suns from inside their dusty gas cocoons, and even found a hole in the Universe billion light years around."<br />
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And it thrilled movie lovers in 1997 when <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contact_(1997_American_film)" target="_blank">“Contact” </a>used the field of antennas as a backdrop for a message from space. All from the amazing mind of Carl Sagan.</div>
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Like I said. Science fiction. One truth at a time. My nerdy techno hubby Al Fasoldt thrills to be here.<br />
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-21338128594271158442018-03-11T12:12:00.001-04:002018-03-11T12:39:20.501-04:00MISSED MOMENTS<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I don’t take my camera to the beach. Which means I miss a lot of really really neat photos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This week alone:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-size: medium;">Three trios of beach walkers carry parade-style American and military flags. You know, the big flags, attached to 6-foot white poles nestled in belted cups. The flag bearers wear military rucksacks across their chests.</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> I ask what’s up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Turns out, these men and women routinely canvas the beach, looking for veterans. The rucksacks are filled with heavy stuff to represent the burden veterans with PTSD bear. They hope to bring comfort to the men and women they reach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I want to hug them.</span></div>
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<li><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Two jumpers parachute in. They land perfectly, roll up their chutes and soak up the sun.</span></li>
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<li><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Someone or a group someones created a 20-foot trail of fruit and flowers near the surf. It looks like a Hindu or Buddhist funeral offering. Whoever created this ribbon of loveliness chose unblemished bananas, mangoes, apples, oranges, pears, tulips and chrysanthemums. I feel the emotion.</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So the next time I go to the beach, I take my camera. To capture that emotional moment. That powerful event. That once-in-a lifetime sighting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>OK. Here it is. In time for Spring Break, which draws 100,000 high school and college kids to town.</span></div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-85171042602730043252018-03-05T12:39:00.001-05:002018-03-05T12:39:07.167-05:00A GROCERY STORY BLESSING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3fDhsuWYqVZV9Uwp5AHul4kI12nykTTmInIHb3X2FnpOsGWAwAB01E5G5Urwlt-1dIrUqNAcqpRiAq0spNc82YU1vVT_c0pCFpQD3l0Cjm9X1HzM4LZs8nFvKYbgn3eUrpsxsgAA8djb/s1600/roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3fDhsuWYqVZV9Uwp5AHul4kI12nykTTmInIHb3X2FnpOsGWAwAB01E5G5Urwlt-1dIrUqNAcqpRiAq0spNc82YU1vVT_c0pCFpQD3l0Cjm9X1HzM4LZs8nFvKYbgn3eUrpsxsgAA8djb/s1600/roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="862" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3fDhsuWYqVZV9Uwp5AHul4kI12nykTTmInIHb3X2FnpOsGWAwAB01E5G5Urwlt-1dIrUqNAcqpRiAq0spNc82YU1vVT_c0pCFpQD3l0Cjm9X1HzM4LZs8nFvKYbgn3eUrpsxsgAA8djb/s200/roses.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I'm calling this a God Story.<br />
<br />Yesterday, we decided to tithe more than usual to a little church down here on South Padre Island, Texas, because we’d been remiss in meeting our 10 percent. I was feeling bad about that, because I felt I was denying Jesus his share of the wealth He provides for us.<br />
<br />Now, this little church annoys me seriously. The pastor has said some very prejudicial things from the pulpit (like saying all Palestinians are terrorists … SO very wrong). But …<br />
<br />Worshipping inside this little church has reminded me that no human understands the Bible exactly. No human preaches God’s heart perfectly. I need to be in the Word for God to talk to me. And I also need to hear His Word in order to hear Him.<br />
<br />So we tithed.<br />
<br />Then we went to the grocery store, Where I spent a ton of money because I am making sloppy joes <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/rachael-ray/super-sloppy-joes-recipe4-1949927" target="_blank">(great recipe)</a> to feed 25 people Monday night at a kid’s program the church sponsors in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the area.<br />
<br />I had a vase with three long-stem red roses in my buggy because Allen insisted on buying me flowers (then tired of shopping and left to wait in the truck). But at check-out, as I watched the cash register tick higher and higher, I asked the cashier to put the flowers back. “Too much,” I told him.<br />He handed the flowers to another man, (both about 24 years old); they exchanged words in Spanish and the other guy trotted off with the beautiful symbol of my husband’s love for me. (Just the thought still makes me smile.)<br />
<br />Soon, the other man returned, carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses and handed them to me. “I can’t …,” I said. He waved me off. “They are free.”<br />
<br />Free.<br />
<br />I stared with disbelief at this lovely young man handing me roses. As I took them, he bounded off, and I realized, and I truly believe, he was a vessel of God’s love for me. And acknowledgement of sorts that God loves me and was thanking me for my gift to Him.<br />
<br />There. That’s my God story. And the picture shows my roses. From God.<br />
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-59307133622049275172018-01-27T12:05:00.000-05:002018-01-27T12:05:33.465-05:00IN THE COMPANY OF STARS<div dir="auto" style="-webkit-line-break: after-white-space; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; word-wrap: break-word;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">Twice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">First, I’m hanging out with Hedwig. Really. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">Well, I’m hanging out with one of the snowy owls used to portray Harry Potter’s companion owl. She wasn’t in the films. She did the promotional circuit for the immensely famous books about deliciously magical people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">And so I consider this a magical moment and even though there are more than 12 other magnificent raptors on perches in this small room (more later) I can’t stop staring at Hedwig. I remember reading when Hagrid gave her to Harry. And when she flew to France to deliver Hermione’s birthday present. <a href="http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hedwig" target="_blank">Potter fans can be reminded of all things Hedwig here</a>. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonathon Woods uses an audience volunteer to feed the eagle</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">Star struck No. 2: I’m hanging with Jonathon and Susan Woods, who are here with their birds, in this small room at the South Padre Island (Texas) <a href="http://www.spibirding.com/" target="_blank">Birding and Nature Center</a>. I paid $5 to voluntarily wedge myself into this small room packed with about 100 people because I am such a fan of <a href="http://www.raptorproject.com/" target="_blank">The Raptor Project</a>. It’s the same wild bird presentation Allen and I scrambled to see at the New York State Fair for years. In fact, 18 years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">They aren’t at the fair anymore, they said. Been gone four or five years. Politics. Shame. Because the Woods are living encyclopedias of birds of prey. They manage to rehabilitate injured birds and set them free or, if the disability is too great, take them on this road show. To educate people like me. And I love it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These birds are not stuffed, just flexing</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">So this sardine-packed room has about 12 magnificent raptors in it and we are close enough to all of them to see their eyes blink. There’s a vulture, a caracara (known locally as a Mexican Bald Eagle) a real bald eagle, a golden eagle, many falcons and big and little owls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">And of course, there’s Hedwig. She sits through the 45 minute show watching us as intently as we watch her. Whenever Jonathon is near her, he tussles her feathers, kisses her head. She coos. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">So you see, it IS Hedwig.</span></div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-91968411336675942582018-01-23T21:52:00.000-05:002018-01-23T21:52:14.786-05:00A SEA TURTLE SUPERSTAR<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/AVvXsEi0GoidyIHiYRU74ds2sXQuHoLKn8fCXOoa_qb3TkiIqXSMm8DOkNxUubV4V0jRN7D2JQPOHNoAgb6g8EHP6hF7pBt2-D4SEYnmebDo2QDNQubxp8-4uoN7spqiWMfN8a9eZWWmMZ4fnMA4/s1600/donna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GoidyIHiYRU74ds2sXQuHoLKn8fCXOoa_qb3TkiIqXSMm8DOkNxUubV4V0jRN7D2JQPOHNoAgb6g8EHP6hF7pBt2-D4SEYnmebDo2QDNQubxp8-4uoN7spqiWMfN8a9eZWWmMZ4fnMA4/s400/donna.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donna</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I know the day’s supposed to be about the turtles.</span></div>
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In fact, that’s why I am here, at the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, at the south end of South Padre Island, huddled with hundreds of others behind yellow police tape, just waiting for the release of the rescued turtles.</div>
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(To find out why they need to be released, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/animalkindstories/videos/531033790588139/" target="_blank">watch this video</a>.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb9eixLq4m9UBhAj4YwnYNDo6VgN8pRMy7hNcEPfaW5Zi1Qa0jGbYldlA9DJsRTq8kvXFka_fgD56Bw3af-Bqd5FJx9HELA9udRwvFpSDjko49QMprYHp2GOAAvj145k0Lu2CgTYIdx5E/s1600/turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb9eixLq4m9UBhAj4YwnYNDo6VgN8pRMy7hNcEPfaW5Zi1Qa0jGbYldlA9DJsRTq8kvXFka_fgD56Bw3af-Bqd5FJx9HELA9udRwvFpSDjko49QMprYHp2GOAAvj145k0Lu2CgTYIdx5E/s320/turtle.jpg" width="240" /></a>But what captures my attention and soon my heart is Donna. She’s a Jennifer Aniston look-alike (well, nearly) and she’s kneeling in the sand a few people up from me. I learn, because of her sheer excitement, that Donna is a rescuer.</div>
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She found one of these cold-stunned turtles while she and her boyfriend were exploring Boca Chica, an expanse of beach not to far from here and right next to Mexico. It’s a stretch of land destined to become very, very famous because Elon Musk is building his Space X launch pad there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFTn56pDq0uoyDRJencZuj_owMpJ6ojcMlZGzS0xm808kfVHzc1vKUrCMP7Cevlz0Xk1QhXv65BjbqLlODaxFRnivJk0VHjrDTLKridFti2LoHxKKDVMM8VrcZAcvllAcHjmqa-dNokg2/s1600/two+turtles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="578" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFTn56pDq0uoyDRJencZuj_owMpJ6ojcMlZGzS0xm808kfVHzc1vKUrCMP7Cevlz0Xk1QhXv65BjbqLlODaxFRnivJk0VHjrDTLKridFti2LoHxKKDVMM8VrcZAcvllAcHjmqa-dNokg2/s320/two+turtles.jpg" width="196" /></a>But for now, it’s still wild, and it attracts adventurers like Donna and her boyfriend, who were walking down the beach toward the border with Mexico, to the place with the Rio Grand spills into the Gulf of Mexico. They moved along the sand, huddled against the wind and the chill, looking for beautiful seashells as they go.</div>
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What they saw instead was a lifeless, 100-pound lump of giant sea turtle stranded on the sand, not moving. She touched its head and its eyelids fluttered, so she knew it was alive. But not for long. They needed to help.</div>
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So she and her boyfriend hefted the giant up the beach and into the backseat of her car. Then drove about 45 miles to the Sea Turtle Rescue on South Padre Island, where volunteers warmed it up and, a few days later, released it back into the Gulf. (Yay!)</div>
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So now Donna is part of the family, part of the turtle safety net. She comes to all the turtle releases. She's giddy with renewed joy each time. Ands glows with excitement as volunteers carry the turtles back to the sea. For me, it’s fun to see. For her, it’s a homecoming.</div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-44315730490370474772018-01-20T17:56:00.000-05:002018-01-20T17:56:44.305-05:00PAYING HOMAGE TO SATURDAY<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little winter escape on South Padre Island, Texas</td></tr>
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During the winter, I live in a quiet campground (just 16 trailers) usually populated by others like me, happily retired seniors who walk their dogs three times a day and mingle in the middle to chat.</div>
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This winter, though, two youngsters live among us, a 30-something burly construction worker and his wife, who work nearby on a natural gas pipeline. They work Monday through Friday. And they play on Saturday. They play hard, with loud music, loud car vacuums, loud whatnot. </div>
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They create an energy to Saturday I’d long forgotten about, an energy that sets it apart from the work week. Because Monday through Friday is quiet and regimented. It’s a work week. Its form and function destine it to work.</div>
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But Saturday is Fun Day. Anything can happen because it’s off the clock. They tinker with their trucks, tend their dogs, vacuum the trailer, sip beers and listen to music. Loud music. Sometimes head-banging music. But never for long. (Who knew there's a funky rock version of "Margaritaville"? Heard it today. Hmmmm.)</div>
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I’ll not complain. It’s OK for them to thump my world a little bit on Saturday because heck, I’m retired. Every day is my Saturday, so I have seven to their one. They can have their one however they want it, I say, listening to a rambling wild guitar riff I don’t actually like much at all. </div>
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And because that riff is never ending, maybe I’ll go walk the beach. </div>
Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-6804841891283359172018-01-18T11:56:00.001-05:002018-01-18T11:56:57.260-05:00NEVER UNDERESTIMATE MILLENNIALS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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They look like such ordinary kids. 20-somethings (well, one has tipped into his 30s). Out to tour the country (theirs and ours) before adulting (I’m getting used to this word.).</div>
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Nice kids from Canada. Friendly. They are camped next to us on South Padre Island, Texas, and plan to head home soon to Victoria (on Vancouver Island) after spending nearly a year on the road. </div>
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We invite them to dinner. Because they are so nice. And maybe, I think, a few new adults in their life might make the segue to adulting transparent. </div>
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Oh. So. Naive.</div>
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Meet Justin and Tenile. He is from Yellowknife, Northwest Territory, and she is from South Africa. While she was in film editing school then running her own film editing business, he was driving the ice roads up North, lumberjacking the jungles of Central America and volunteering to fight fires in Canada. My head is spinning. Really? </div>
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They met, married and partnered in her business, which they now do daily from their trailer, while on the road, exploring their country and ours.</div>
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They took to traveling because their life changed. They lost their home (literally … the owner plans to tear it down). So instead of trying to find another place to set down roots, they bought a trailer and started the traveling gig.</div>
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And now they are heading home because their life has changed again. They’ll soon be parents and they prefer Canada’s free health care system over the bloated one we have here.</div>
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Phew. Amazing. Wow.</div>
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OK. These not-so-ordinary kids don’t need lessons in adulting. They got it.</div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-67795817088543958862018-01-05T22:59:00.000-05:002018-01-05T22:59:48.669-05:00A CREATIVE SPACE FOR CREATIVE PEOPLE<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">I’m cold (35 degrees). </span><br />
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And I’m in Texas. Near the Mexican border. We come here in winter to get away from winter.</div>
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I stop complaining when I think about my grandson Porter, who is living in his truck up north in Austin (24 degrees). He won’t be in that truck long. He has the promise of living in a little house, called the Pink House (he says he’ll find a more appropriate name), in a most unique community.</div>
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He lives in <a href="http://www.dailytexanonline.com/life-and-arts/2014/01/28/musician-community-hostel-earphoria-seeks-a-home-in-austin" target="_blank">Earphoria</a>, a commune-type hostel for musicians (Porter plays guitar) and music lovers. It gives musicians (and music lovers) from all over the world an inexpensive place to stay with their music. </div>
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We visited at Christmas (feeling blessed) and walked around the acre of living space with Porter as guide. There’s the community kitchen, the laundry spot, an airstream, a few other trailers, the chicken coop, the green house, and, of course, the pink house.</div>
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We also visited the music house, a fully functioning recording studio with instruments inside. All the living spaces radiate from that music house. As do the people who live there.</div>
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I’ve posted pictures below. It’s cold here and it’s cold there and I love that Porter has the promise of the Pink House. And gets to keep his music with him.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi3zYU3En3uX0VYszEXtTuTHDRIvv4em-25i-y6S6pGUclW-BJ2faPqj8cWNv_f5y07hMs8_E4TpiQlecjPLqMJk38YEsxU2HtSGxfDWRosHlTqylAdQY36RM3Q4L2MxB8dvdWtuZJHgD/s1600/20171226_122251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi3zYU3En3uX0VYszEXtTuTHDRIvv4em-25i-y6S6pGUclW-BJ2faPqj8cWNv_f5y07hMs8_E4TpiQlecjPLqMJk38YEsxU2HtSGxfDWRosHlTqylAdQY36RM3Q4L2MxB8dvdWtuZJHgD/s320/20171226_122251.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The entrance to a special hostel in Austin</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pink house way at the back will be Porter's</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/AVvXsEgTuYWfFWnHTuNOfnDi09O8ybQ3Y8JHCam9PKnX9DsFBXwK5P428Y3nVzaYaeOTH102Qp21CMiwvdSqBK8HzexlW9BxKS0ENZtCnPbqsUuBa05Hb8tlT80uP2owRuinhdBWIS406uTdpAtV/s1600/20171226_114224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuYWfFWnHTuNOfnDi09O8ybQ3Y8JHCam9PKnX9DsFBXwK5P428Y3nVzaYaeOTH102Qp21CMiwvdSqBK8HzexlW9BxKS0ENZtCnPbqsUuBa05Hb8tlT80uP2owRuinhdBWIS406uTdpAtV/s320/20171226_114224.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A close up of the pink house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoyc91yBpZL0x0JWMlzVBYuWAwjlUFLzsUfNi7P4oldZ-ZL1yh14niWuOtv5lnWTSx_OAiXNXQ09AA39vsl4ZxFDqXe3ujul6bHg1dXJGNWjhgI2i5wpp6g9qS7v6tUzEyzmYkYiXYzTZ/s1600/20171226_114102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoyc91yBpZL0x0JWMlzVBYuWAwjlUFLzsUfNi7P4oldZ-ZL1yh14niWuOtv5lnWTSx_OAiXNXQ09AA39vsl4ZxFDqXe3ujul6bHg1dXJGNWjhgI2i5wpp6g9qS7v6tUzEyzmYkYiXYzTZ/s320/20171226_114102.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the hostel living spaces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgYn-_jjsQGENTeD0suM-jrGqspHJpcVzqXm_WqLTiLDVK2MQCugjh9qj4hhFKicMEBfQmw-y0Sd-AFKO1f8nmOQKEfo1I96ENAzBAegVU8nlphnZ7MMaATqYyYTuD68n6eWkI86U7tjAoe/s1600/20171226_113908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYn-_jjsQGENTeD0suM-jrGqspHJpcVzqXm_WqLTiLDVK2MQCugjh9qj4hhFKicMEBfQmw-y0Sd-AFKO1f8nmOQKEfo1I96ENAzBAegVU8nlphnZ7MMaATqYyYTuD68n6eWkI86U7tjAoe/s320/20171226_113908.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porter and his girlfriend Kiley built this patio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<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/AVvXsEhV0eTT1_pA0PaXqSGNxDlRFzUKCMnsLoJl04eWxPcOj61bssFARHldl757Rvbs87N6VMIiPEbEz288TouLUPf86c8swgI1pALENoqXETVfkM8D5vzXvgoi9qHwk7tJEIh2yvFg_897SRoR/s1600/20171226_114141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1600" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0eTT1_pA0PaXqSGNxDlRFzUKCMnsLoJl04eWxPcOj61bssFARHldl757Rvbs87N6VMIiPEbEz288TouLUPf86c8swgI1pALENoqXETVfkM8D5vzXvgoi9qHwk7tJEIh2yvFg_897SRoR/s320/20171226_114141.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A living space</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEi3QZCDxAZ7rkNRHwsl4Pp3RAi8qq7afY1O2GZYk6EOMPposTbOwxMk2zKSz3_rOrNuXO2O6hr8sbeq_BN7r_ML3mz1ry_Dg4bFBwcoH97ZfM23pdzTDOYjnZZM4OdXffjpSHHozqy5Oodx/s1600/20171226_114305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QZCDxAZ7rkNRHwsl4Pp3RAi8qq7afY1O2GZYk6EOMPposTbOwxMk2zKSz3_rOrNuXO2O6hr8sbeq_BN7r_ML3mz1ry_Dg4bFBwcoH97ZfM23pdzTDOYjnZZM4OdXffjpSHHozqy5Oodx/s320/20171226_114305.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A living space</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEhBrgW2SJ9jU6Gd65wuQYbHTCyw1KAwDQkfeK9aQXnYyfmgX33gZpfoWVxpVpsHaKGRtLSA66MrLQsnxW6suR0jbYQfnV6LcrWSTAncpuiN0urkm2urddeH4KhnDRinXLZpjoTA979wtrJ5/s1600/20171226_114404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrgW2SJ9jU6Gd65wuQYbHTCyw1KAwDQkfeK9aQXnYyfmgX33gZpfoWVxpVpsHaKGRtLSA66MrLQsnxW6suR0jbYQfnV6LcrWSTAncpuiN0urkm2urddeH4KhnDRinXLZpjoTA979wtrJ5/s320/20171226_114404.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Communal kitchen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiltVg2FYZYlA1rqZP9qDh7WF9QOh-bETTKA9Y_c-sMVIVd2UsK9j8JMuYucgEikXWI6mpsXpBkFgcOJ9J1h3_DlwDS2iktAqMRAjPBMyISwmxfxpi5r81IK3actbZAmWJnbImT-V5Thftw/s1600/20171226_114519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltVg2FYZYlA1rqZP9qDh7WF9QOh-bETTKA9Y_c-sMVIVd2UsK9j8JMuYucgEikXWI6mpsXpBkFgcOJ9J1h3_DlwDS2iktAqMRAjPBMyISwmxfxpi5r81IK3actbZAmWJnbImT-V5Thftw/s320/20171226_114519.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken coop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSPhGvfuK4a6E5LIi__GBVmAwOSI51C9nqmPcPgXNrXXLjMH-k6nroOr_hokvrNSJHbvTYebZGJsC3Rke6XGn-roUrmnRrVGGyWkPOS62Rp0EEm0Zt7wEu-btwYRc4-cHjwP11fV6KE76/s1600/20171226_114550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSPhGvfuK4a6E5LIi__GBVmAwOSI51C9nqmPcPgXNrXXLjMH-k6nroOr_hokvrNSJHbvTYebZGJsC3Rke6XGn-roUrmnRrVGGyWkPOS62Rp0EEm0Zt7wEu-btwYRc4-cHjwP11fV6KE76/s320/20171226_114550.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<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/AVvXsEjQjiQ4CHSUkXiCJmgtQo4siu02PKz1NRu4op9qtA6MtUsB6Ivl0FPP_daRl0nJCxHZWRILlU6PkCqLAJxbyD7vUqqk3d6cXRW5-fhXw03yv0UABhHbEum4NN2o4xOaTztRHWaj5OJ6FBPy/s1600/20171226_114720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjiQ4CHSUkXiCJmgtQo4siu02PKz1NRu4op9qtA6MtUsB6Ivl0FPP_daRl0nJCxHZWRILlU6PkCqLAJxbyD7vUqqk3d6cXRW5-fhXw03yv0UABhHbEum4NN2o4xOaTztRHWaj5OJ6FBPy/s320/20171226_114720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greenhouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEg4vE_6mV-0FTWfMbvMy0MJJzmz9WDANd4w5GAGcY3BqkEaEvfEfW8rnyaEs8s1Qt7WKGRDqUU6jts0Y0ZkITA1J0e4O9tAyxXd1st3m8omoTgbZDtwiXfywTMtk2GFQ4WXKDTf1DXNckux/s1600/20171226_114853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1600" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vE_6mV-0FTWfMbvMy0MJJzmz9WDANd4w5GAGcY3BqkEaEvfEfW8rnyaEs8s1Qt7WKGRDqUU6jts0Y0ZkITA1J0e4O9tAyxXd1st3m8omoTgbZDtwiXfywTMtk2GFQ4WXKDTf1DXNckux/s320/20171226_114853.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the music 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/AVvXsEj3QWfSOhjfV8thOzRtKjy-kIbGFgmAO5hMSrKNBuiYhkbL-t_TM2jKc2LysOvlob9zt2FLjd_8Zfh4ZFukOsQHsktT90a-o2paZHhkIFRB0_xPsmIVRalnKq2TFjuA6Em_OL560qKg0S8F/s1600/20171226_115033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QWfSOhjfV8thOzRtKjy-kIbGFgmAO5hMSrKNBuiYhkbL-t_TM2jKc2LysOvlob9zt2FLjd_8Zfh4ZFukOsQHsktT90a-o2paZHhkIFRB0_xPsmIVRalnKq2TFjuA6Em_OL560qKg0S8F/s320/20171226_115033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recording studio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></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/AVvXsEjChWB1JxBhiY4uICw53uaLw0IfDz5lZ1jmD-4Xifsk20qtLsWdy2x8t_b2SRMWIrwkwUTAOL9tIzA-Jyw30Da4XSGieusIqH2AxPaqivoWC-q59GNiABVJ_03lKJ4vguuFnkCjA2on3OPE/s1600/20171226_115101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChWB1JxBhiY4uICw53uaLw0IfDz5lZ1jmD-4Xifsk20qtLsWdy2x8t_b2SRMWIrwkwUTAOL9tIzA-Jyw30Da4XSGieusIqH2AxPaqivoWC-q59GNiABVJ_03lKJ4vguuFnkCjA2on3OPE/s320/20171226_115101.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiCNHczA4VIxTWiVSLfn3kLb1GqApnGlhhCmYe2Oo1XOMZ-T48rspxfljxJFUJxhITFc_pPrAYbBJyaJGVmPItx_cvCmmPcex1m7PkFXvsUSEWCpORCTsW6E6bjbknyTZkPprd9qobRePTI/s1600/20171226_115117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNHczA4VIxTWiVSLfn3kLb1GqApnGlhhCmYe2Oo1XOMZ-T48rspxfljxJFUJxhITFc_pPrAYbBJyaJGVmPItx_cvCmmPcex1m7PkFXvsUSEWCpORCTsW6E6bjbknyTZkPprd9qobRePTI/s320/20171226_115117.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cords</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_6WgFmrvDLHEuhTzhLtnYx6wRG8-Z0JMO6XGSCSz9ynBczN1X585yCw9Rrl4GS3MS4c7lFBlRv9MfntHu_6AUQHTmZlHqGE6lVRW0zFj4jBNCyRebIGjOIXWHuUfgQfOKxBl_9DFyXb7/s1600/20171226_115329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_6WgFmrvDLHEuhTzhLtnYx6wRG8-Z0JMO6XGSCSz9ynBczN1X585yCw9Rrl4GS3MS4c7lFBlRv9MfntHu_6AUQHTmZlHqGE6lVRW0zFj4jBNCyRebIGjOIXWHuUfgQfOKxBl_9DFyXb7/s320/20171226_115329.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<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/AVvXsEg1SOJJhhtASEN4R-axZhtheOHC045jetueROt5CAQZVXgaY5hhMDCC2f3g0LRdKBUTuPl2kSbjh4ZD3rEBTzYpR_KlTD-TYm__gjmmQ5gh5tAPawx5w1e9he-gfuwS9EGvnOC3isGauNDI/s1600/20171226_115430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SOJJhhtASEN4R-axZhtheOHC045jetueROt5CAQZVXgaY5hhMDCC2f3g0LRdKBUTuPl2kSbjh4ZD3rEBTzYpR_KlTD-TYm__gjmmQ5gh5tAPawx5w1e9he-gfuwS9EGvnOC3isGauNDI/s320/20171226_115430.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhXd1N-bUSqWx62Sgf3VS_RL_t9FpeYLF-b-ys6PdDp1aqsssWZgkb8zXQ8uDx0sGWByx3r5ERgGPxdKPaTaT5JRAHGJD2-Lu2_hXEKleEZTUo871lNuC7jLRC3rvNi1aRGUJnvY1dVRTcY/s1600/20171226_115458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXd1N-bUSqWx62Sgf3VS_RL_t9FpeYLF-b-ys6PdDp1aqsssWZgkb8zXQ8uDx0sGWByx3r5ERgGPxdKPaTaT5JRAHGJD2-Lu2_hXEKleEZTUo871lNuC7jLRC3rvNi1aRGUJnvY1dVRTcY/s320/20171226_115458.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The laundry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjc9-QOa88me7hEMc6ocBJubk2zAZAj6Le776GpU0uyU6MMdKVjaUSE_nFujyDOaQ8HqPDxQoEJSGzGYSeCztTsDBv9KZtKfDBSDwbJuT5EIAe75jdrN-Pg2ekIYgGT_fFDsh-iIb-mNy8T/s1600/20171226_115524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9-QOa88me7hEMc6ocBJubk2zAZAj6Le776GpU0uyU6MMdKVjaUSE_nFujyDOaQ8HqPDxQoEJSGzGYSeCztTsDBv9KZtKfDBSDwbJuT5EIAe75jdrN-Pg2ekIYgGT_fFDsh-iIb-mNy8T/s320/20171226_115524.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outdoor art</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEj3zt-QIi3GsBp7W-ZkP8hgWrbi26KIiJcOuNDpsIYhuP2SkYbp9c9PQZo4JC8XlTlIlYS1qpRqwi-6PwFpBAsu0Y059ubXm3Pg19VdIxg4LGqoP2UAvT_9ju4gYDeEXo0Vd3Fi1KW9mzk8/s1600/20171226_115518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3zt-QIi3GsBp7W-ZkP8hgWrbi26KIiJcOuNDpsIYhuP2SkYbp9c9PQZo4JC8XlTlIlYS1qpRqwi-6PwFpBAsu0Y059ubXm3Pg19VdIxg4LGqoP2UAvT_9ju4gYDeEXo0Vd3Fi1KW9mzk8/s320/20171226_115518.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain gear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Music corner inside the main house</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-34928074910502408512017-12-23T10:27:00.000-05:002017-12-23T10:27:12.429-05:00A HAPPY SPOT IN A WOBBLY JOURNEY<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/AVvXsEgV7NQKBYPumPHppa3RqABXGUWtKxXBfzt8bbBnBTa3CVF5BnTGaHBYh-Hho6va3Ku6XHOQJ5Jfha4YWvzVO2DbcmfpursJk5iXgATBldAZzG66ULSSmfkGyFhr7A3CGPtZ9sgX-_NTltRb/s1600/mural+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="1084" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7NQKBYPumPHppa3RqABXGUWtKxXBfzt8bbBnBTa3CVF5BnTGaHBYh-Hho6va3Ku6XHOQJ5Jfha4YWvzVO2DbcmfpursJk5iXgATBldAZzG66ULSSmfkGyFhr7A3CGPtZ9sgX-_NTltRb/s400/mural+%25282%2529.jpg" width="365" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my view of this lady. A link below offers more.</td></tr>
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<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">Little gifts. From God. That’s what sustains me along this journey of missed opportunities, failed plans and disappointing decisions.</span><br />
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We left home the day after Thanksgiving for our winter adventure with a calendar full of exciting things to do before Christmas: national parks in Mississippi and Louisiana, days and days of playtime with friends, a few zoos and a presidential library.</div>
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None of that happened.</div>
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None. </div>
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Instead, we’ve had to deal with replacing our trailer’s tires (one exploded!) a failed phone (brother-in-law came to the rescue), a refrigerator on the rocks (literally chunks of ice keep it cold) and illness (not ours, but theirs, and we wish them better health.)</div>
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Today, another failure. The historic <a href="http://shreveportwaterworks.org/waterworks-museum/" target="_blank">Water Works Museum in Shreveport, LA,</a> has no room for us (and our trailer) so we must move on. </div>
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OK. I am now pouting. I stick out my lower lip, rest my cheek on my fist and stare out the truck window, watching Shreveport and all its potential flash by. (Pitiful, I know.)</div>
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Then I see her. </div>
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Up ahead, to the right, a massive, graceful woman painted on the side of the building. As we move closer (we are on the highway) I see another side of the building. It's populated with images of other people, huge people, the biggest mural I’ve ever seen. And it is spectacular. Absolutely spectacular. Colorful. Lively. Enticing.</div>
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It lifts my spirits. I treasure seeing this.</div>
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All too soon, the beautiful woman and her entourage are behind us. But the joy of seeing them lingers. So I Google Shreveport murals. What did I just see?</div>
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Well, well. I was just gifted the largest mural IN THE NATION. </div>
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You can read all about it <a href="http://southernlagniappe.blogspot.com/2011/07/once-in-millenium-moon.html" target="_blank">here, and see lots of pictures</a>. My little uplifting gift from God.</div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-17678094625970828602017-12-13T14:53:00.001-05:002017-12-13T14:53:55.900-05:00SOMETHING ELSE MIGHT BE BETTER<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS9bF9yFFuziwqNm2Ud4Fcj5goGRHsOXb4OkJzFeoqI1EVcrOZV1Nzd-q_RGpVvZXRjZdMxxS-idQicHkbpJ-yyvlGUdGYolfo8FK_9ULc7d1yXD9goIJJdib-71hbmk7nBhKstSuYXcO/s1600/waltzing+waters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS9bF9yFFuziwqNm2Ud4Fcj5goGRHsOXb4OkJzFeoqI1EVcrOZV1Nzd-q_RGpVvZXRjZdMxxS-idQicHkbpJ-yyvlGUdGYolfo8FK_9ULc7d1yXD9goIJJdib-71hbmk7nBhKstSuYXcO/s640/waltzing+waters.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waltzing Waters: Amazing in concert<br /></td></tr>
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I don’t always get what I want. Thank goodness.</div>
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We are visiting the Edison Ford Estate in Ft. Myers, FL, on a special night to see the mansions decorated for Christmas. The massive estate preserves the winter homes and workshops of famous good friends Henry Ford and Thomas Edison and, as such, preserves a ton of history about the pair.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Vagabonds' chuck wagon</td></tr>
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The ticket guy says we don’t need the $30 guided tour tonight. For $20, he says, we see all the same things. I’m game.</div>
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We start with the museum — a marvelous, account of the men’s lives, including their extraordinary vacations with their other good friends, Harvey Firestone and John Burroughs. These men “camped” in style, with servants and even a president of the United States or two. (<a href="https://thehenryford.org/collections-and-research/digital-resources/popular-topics/the-vagabonds/">https://thehenryford.org/collections-and-research/digital-resources/popular-topics/the-vagabonds/</a>)</div>
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We leave the museum and head over to the mansions, where we are shut out. Not allowed in. Only the $30 tickets get inside. What? $20 can peer through the windows. Like peeping toms!</div>
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I am miffed. But peep we do.</div>
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And, it is just perfect.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edison mansion all lit up for Christmas</td></tr>
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All of the windows are open and we enjoy the same view as the $30 ticket holders without the bumping and elbowing of the crowd. We listen to the tour guide discuss menus for the holiday meals and talk about guests who may or may not arrive for the evening. </div>
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And we can leave the crowd behind when we want, and move on to the next exciting thing. Like the beautiful, colorful Waltzing Waters, a synchronized spraying of water fountains, where we find front-row seats. Under the stars. The waters dance to Christmas carols. It is lovely. </div>
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On the way to our truck, we pass a pack of $30s being led by a guide, who is talking fast, spewing facts but not stopping to enjoy the lighted gardens or watch the dancing waters.</div>
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So yes, sometimes, I don’t get what I want. Thank goodness.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gZNZXfNIwAToaaQDXUG7WyteDsKxIC0bA28xLZRfewAkhFokCmMoWLIajstvIxIu5kojKhylSt376ZQzmXmEwU_y3OsYbOWAJPEQlgYiSb4MFOSegum95pbbBQmfiXlkWS9P-zJa6wEc/s1600/Allen+lighted+arch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gZNZXfNIwAToaaQDXUG7WyteDsKxIC0bA28xLZRfewAkhFokCmMoWLIajstvIxIu5kojKhylSt376ZQzmXmEwU_y3OsYbOWAJPEQlgYiSb4MFOSegum95pbbBQmfiXlkWS9P-zJa6wEc/s320/Allen+lighted+arch.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allen, in lights</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivePfLInG3ppPoIU3u_q6QKm1O43QnSgHszgB7ntEuCjUoNz7VJk_VJ-Px5Nosp48mhm1OA-UMOm8n5yx9f-5GGevRP1IieDS90abcHZgXLUZnUFUmv4YtVgxPT2jkGqjVkiIj2Prw7eRO/s1600/20171212_185714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivePfLInG3ppPoIU3u_q6QKm1O43QnSgHszgB7ntEuCjUoNz7VJk_VJ-Px5Nosp48mhm1OA-UMOm8n5yx9f-5GGevRP1IieDS90abcHZgXLUZnUFUmv4YtVgxPT2jkGqjVkiIj2Prw7eRO/s320/20171212_185714.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the famous banyon tree is lighted for the holidays</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Room inside Edison mansion (taken through the window)</td></tr>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-28624199681000600452017-12-11T21:38:00.001-05:002017-12-11T21:38:52.245-05:00More than a meal<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">The food in a word: Remarkable. The waitress? Sublime.</span><br />
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That we happened upon this delightful eatery? By Chance. And our good fortune.</div>
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We stumble upon the cafe (Boca in Sarasota, FL) by chance because it’s between our parked truck and our destination: Penzey’s, a chain of herb-and-spice stores (also remarkable and sublime). </div>
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On our way to buy Vietnamese cinnamon, orange extract and za’atar, we stop to read the menu. And find things we’ve never heard of (“Cowgirl candy” — pickled sweet jalapeños) and cleverly named entrees (OMG Burger, served with parmesan and truffle fries … yum.) Both hook me as a customer; Allen, a finicky eater with simple tastes, takes the bait, too (surprisingly).</div>
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So we are seated inside a deep box of a room with activity everywhere, from a flame-fired brick oven to a huge chalkboard with the names of the farms supplying today’s fresh food. On the wall to my right is a huge perpendicular hanging garden of herbs and lettuce greens. On my left is a bar. And everywhere people, young and beautiful, and old and beautiful.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYnnc2_UmEe-lxMGkAzISwV-dO2iBOoiWHNppZXFGtjnf74TJiZpFoaIUKysy9pqJhIDejXReZLfusBLJUPkhUo33iyk56Trj_7OXcuucTuYTnxfmhWR2B9krORrQXyhF_6XMbpgMHXSl/s1600/20171211_143249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYnnc2_UmEe-lxMGkAzISwV-dO2iBOoiWHNppZXFGtjnf74TJiZpFoaIUKysy9pqJhIDejXReZLfusBLJUPkhUo33iyk56Trj_7OXcuucTuYTnxfmhWR2B9krORrQXyhF_6XMbpgMHXSl/s320/20171211_143249.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjF6fYQ-WSOywaELdqQORVo50wGSlnlU0R0XWdBzK1lYaCIOuL0kWHwEr9qJ9dy4uBktUrnUDa-uTJpMSqu7g0j1kQMJNMjw-6hg_kYbX4CJi8i5-N2PJXvqruLkDmC91ohXX-EkGhS02/s1600/20171211_143247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjF6fYQ-WSOywaELdqQORVo50wGSlnlU0R0XWdBzK1lYaCIOuL0kWHwEr9qJ9dy4uBktUrnUDa-uTJpMSqu7g0j1kQMJNMjw-6hg_kYbX4CJi8i5-N2PJXvqruLkDmC91ohXX-EkGhS02/s320/20171211_143247.jpg" width="240" /></a>Now here is our fortune: Meeting Chelsey. She’s our waitress and she understands immediately Allen’s preference for Wendy’s (she says it was hers, too, before coming to work here). And my need to avoid dairy (I get no avocado sauce with my ahi tuna because it’s made with cream.) </div>
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Don’t know how the conversation lands on pets. But it does and she enjoys showing us pictures of Chance, her 6-month-old pit/lab mix, who lived his early months with a homeless woman in car. Until Chelsey rescued him.</div>
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Now Chance colors Chelsey’s world. And she’s excited to let us know her boyfriend is just outside, with Chance, so we can meet the doggie.</div>
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And we do.</div>
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Sweet Chance. He still loves to ride in a car. Still loves people. But it it clear who makes his life colorful. </div>
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And that makes everyone smile. Sweet Chance and Chelsey. Meeting you was our good fortune.</div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-65814862200309546392017-03-16T00:09:00.001-04:002017-06-29T20:54:03.421-04:00A GALLERY TO SEA ON THE GULF<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We’re driving up the South Padre Island beach in southern Texas on a particularly gray day when suddenly our path is squeezed by a fallen tree. Stop. Wait. What’s on that tree?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21bjfIi-aQqWJ7IC05heNNtS2AWmspyi_qoohycuIKNeKMws7IZ5bRBFfNNjuxZZu1No_f6TMTcWgIcE220P8tKEYlEeY_Jr0hiPf7fWtI3SM1dYqiqgJnTBsJzQmH4gmmjdGxtJYZfyk/s1600/20170313_112313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span></a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21bjfIi-aQqWJ7IC05heNNtS2AWmspyi_qoohycuIKNeKMws7IZ5bRBFfNNjuxZZu1No_f6TMTcWgIcE220P8tKEYlEeY_Jr0hiPf7fWtI3SM1dYqiqgJnTBsJzQmH4gmmjdGxtJYZfyk/s1600/20170313_112313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21bjfIi-aQqWJ7IC05heNNtS2AWmspyi_qoohycuIKNeKMws7IZ5bRBFfNNjuxZZu1No_f6TMTcWgIcE220P8tKEYlEeY_Jr0hiPf7fWtI3SM1dYqiqgJnTBsJzQmH4gmmjdGxtJYZfyk/s400/20170313_112313.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I get out. And look.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUer-Q3Nvt0Zx6DJCP_RqPT2vbVw_s3GYE0i4G5Ba_BoFm4JthyphenhyphenHe3mnGWO2tZHtcXMoVLVWE2UYW-hOxlxa4nR_v7ORzwm7Ognx4sLON7ZFxfo8ToZ4hyqyZqqgbQ868rgO0gTZpVQU8B/s1600/20170313_112201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUer-Q3Nvt0Zx6DJCP_RqPT2vbVw_s3GYE0i4G5Ba_BoFm4JthyphenhyphenHe3mnGWO2tZHtcXMoVLVWE2UYW-hOxlxa4nR_v7ORzwm7Ognx4sLON7ZFxfo8ToZ4hyqyZqqgbQ868rgO0gTZpVQU8B/s320/20170313_112201.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I see a collection of children’s toy boats balanced down the limb toward the Gulf of Mexico. Wow. It’s amazing the wind and the waves have failed to claim these toys. I walk closer. And learn why. Each plastic boat is attached to the tree by a galvanized screw.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> It’s </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">intentional. It’s beach art. I feel blessed by beach art.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I climb back in the truck and we continue our journey (skirting the installation, of course, dipping our tires into the waves). Not far down the beach I see another piece of colorfully adorned driftwood. Stop!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq11ZY0Y8oA6YOGm0foPG_PcmbkZDQpCswnfEgZ7sxEiJysSJJV4lwF3QOAi4oFWSh9Mfg_nqq8cMop1esUvheoClSMK2WHLfmy2nonnkYjCPzsiYEsTGFY-An6Wb0hi4O7GZHYUX4WLY/s1600/truck+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq11ZY0Y8oA6YOGm0foPG_PcmbkZDQpCswnfEgZ7sxEiJysSJJV4lwF3QOAi4oFWSh9Mfg_nqq8cMop1esUvheoClSMK2WHLfmy2nonnkYjCPzsiYEsTGFY-An6Wb0hi4O7GZHYUX4WLY/s400/truck+beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I get out and walk closer. It’s the same concept — toys screwed to the tree — but the toys are different. They’re ravaged. It’s not just art. It’s art from objects found on the beach, left behind by tourists or washed ashore by waves (anything that topples overboard into the Gulf of Mexico eventually washes up on Padre Island. It’s just the way the currents go.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">SO I feel twice blessed. Take tons of close-ups and stand for a long shot. That's when I see them. In the distance. Behind the dunes. Other pieces of art. Jutting up from the sand. A gallery of beach art hidden behind the dunes. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 15px;">I walk closer to each one. Examine the media. Take pictures. Holler to Allen to come look.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> A missile, ready for launch. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqL_cMwgqzxCTiZGCH5dzqTeNAPZIAZocIEZegXp9Q-hSK0QgPr-J7S0OgQQ9_G9TED6HzRK8LPwwgmXO7f-8lHUA_krYSyrdRbT4TpKtvbaokNSwakZXWi2tRCwJrzTJi_mrIPPK9FGi/s1600/20170313_113350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqL_cMwgqzxCTiZGCH5dzqTeNAPZIAZocIEZegXp9Q-hSK0QgPr-J7S0OgQQ9_G9TED6HzRK8LPwwgmXO7f-8lHUA_krYSyrdRbT4TpKtvbaokNSwakZXWi2tRCwJrzTJi_mrIPPK9FGi/s320/20170313_113350.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's made from 5-gallon buckets and their lids.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRziQAIQHLlj6Fw1qzxXUhEDY31TeYPpRvqcLyjoggVKost8Jpi92Bgjo7plx4MToQa9_-N9vAB2yI3G18PiV-2z-q1R2Ghqm2coTiEDbGUNB122fJbY6uZ-H5AlmPHv39VJNbYV7_ZzD7/s1600/20170313_113425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRziQAIQHLlj6Fw1qzxXUhEDY31TeYPpRvqcLyjoggVKost8Jpi92Bgjo7plx4MToQa9_-N9vAB2yI3G18PiV-2z-q1R2Ghqm2coTiEDbGUNB122fJbY6uZ-H5AlmPHv39VJNbYV7_ZzD7/s320/20170313_113425.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A Christmas tree.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Its base decorated with lost cigarette lighters and toys.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20P30pMT59jG_zLBRZJbGkADmbraGdOnDfXQrNoYFSfYOzONSvTRUuJ1kCG6ZXkAALi9nCzDGkqEuU8b7CmP-1Y38Tigdv40glciBCmz1Jezn-smrjWN6o2jZWle0Rdyv5_E1WBifcprb/s1600/20170313_113605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20P30pMT59jG_zLBRZJbGkADmbraGdOnDfXQrNoYFSfYOzONSvTRUuJ1kCG6ZXkAALi9nCzDGkqEuU8b7CmP-1Y38Tigdv40glciBCmz1Jezn-smrjWN6o2jZWle0Rdyv5_E1WBifcprb/s320/20170313_113605.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Lost shoes form its boughs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjTerfTdpPGOFO6USqL_yXM8YF9SHZI9OSNnWfGb_aj4hyphenhyphenjxO0bw01Zmk0AHZirkn7E_xi1vY0QxWMYi3vNreD3n4GRZVCmW8pAdQFME644njnh1cYftiBM8-NXz5y1p9FXybQfz78yYj/s1600/20170313_113611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjTerfTdpPGOFO6USqL_yXM8YF9SHZI9OSNnWfGb_aj4hyphenhyphenjxO0bw01Zmk0AHZirkn7E_xi1vY0QxWMYi3vNreD3n4GRZVCmW8pAdQFME644njnh1cYftiBM8-NXz5y1p9FXybQfz78yYj/s400/20170313_113611.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKdhW5rYo_VjyzLDxX7IILHSwM97xT83-8sUj78KSWtC7Wd4ELWWzfyqzdcCsOafMbeBQPZYDoet-QFl7X0Nf24gdkjMjoaJMB_1ZHP4yw2oy7c7aJEqEzAemOvz-NylhyphenhyphenkehT4buU1W9/s1600/20170313_113627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKdhW5rYo_VjyzLDxX7IILHSwM97xT83-8sUj78KSWtC7Wd4ELWWzfyqzdcCsOafMbeBQPZYDoet-QFl7X0Nf24gdkjMjoaJMB_1ZHP4yw2oy7c7aJEqEzAemOvz-NylhyphenhyphenkehT4buU1W9/s320/20170313_113627.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I found this thingamajig. Looks like a failed torpedo, striped with spent lighters.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrqLWPMl74OOSeMUsNZmsbtBN8UYvwidnoNLPeZZGWIR1QSW4LxxV4JXGgH5-dCWFkW5DGO2YhXVf8CfZcDU9o3zpjfdBI-Sg2EpYCbtXUvJ4iZy2bShgKEv5C0k17JsPaspcC28tcCqZ/s1600/20170313_113134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrqLWPMl74OOSeMUsNZmsbtBN8UYvwidnoNLPeZZGWIR1QSW4LxxV4JXGgH5-dCWFkW5DGO2YhXVf8CfZcDU9o3zpjfdBI-Sg2EpYCbtXUvJ4iZy2bShgKEv5C0k17JsPaspcC28tcCqZ/s320/20170313_113134.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A little garden gives the sand a pop of color.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbniSxMSWFH16cVe0iQRWl1EgOPHVmtgpMjYw9zIk-CZhz-qx9RY6szAfkSn-7ZPmlDc5Kvg000AygV89qzhkpBviFfhA2P0Kh0ooK6M9iLgl6YQlOMJd6sEbYAlVrDQPRz5N9AvykULHw/s1600/20170313_113828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbniSxMSWFH16cVe0iQRWl1EgOPHVmtgpMjYw9zIk-CZhz-qx9RY6szAfkSn-7ZPmlDc5Kvg000AygV89qzhkpBviFfhA2P0Kh0ooK6M9iLgl6YQlOMJd6sEbYAlVrDQPRz5N9AvykULHw/s320/20170313_113828.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Soon, we hop back in the truck and continue our journey. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">STOP! More beach art. This one is spectacular. An abandoned diving bell decorated with beer cans, seashells and plastic toys. AND, a sense of humor and design. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYe93AHlojJhnMk0glK6OgFwvOSPf8I6CJVmL-mNL7l1F-TyJ9ZmmrvAoaFHkIMKyXaq6_DtdVvJwzCqdh4mNRlSempwY11fvjU0T2Vb4fGiX_1m71w53hwL4CMZIPlq-vpq4_qXQ5MTkF/s1600/20170313_115531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYe93AHlojJhnMk0glK6OgFwvOSPf8I6CJVmL-mNL7l1F-TyJ9ZmmrvAoaFHkIMKyXaq6_DtdVvJwzCqdh4mNRlSempwY11fvjU0T2Vb4fGiX_1m71w53hwL4CMZIPlq-vpq4_qXQ5MTkF/s400/20170313_115531.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfJDc_6qY7aoeN4jznko9uz0bWQCxZo_V6C-xrI7hicbbpZ-zus_Z4UmlaEnxr4iEyub33xkO7M5YGwA6XdMXDx95pj92TZ4TIWS_jV09YisHi-EGUONLqoCI9x3yKV9QFpFlzmtrYD4t/s1600/20170313_115631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfJDc_6qY7aoeN4jznko9uz0bWQCxZo_V6C-xrI7hicbbpZ-zus_Z4UmlaEnxr4iEyub33xkO7M5YGwA6XdMXDx95pj92TZ4TIWS_jV09YisHi-EGUONLqoCI9x3yKV9QFpFlzmtrYD4t/s320/20170313_115631.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2FvpzOoHu48IbjdmLA-b2kjGbjLydkZ_1JA6l5WU4ljMhB-KyFbyZELxdpl8NZsvZ5yLrn7kzjqU0lqVt3l5KxQtY-SLUlDEbzwSOT-BWdnfSMLzAGP6WKFSc3Xsdy84U833eEwkCGU_/s1600/20170313_115700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2FvpzOoHu48IbjdmLA-b2kjGbjLydkZ_1JA6l5WU4ljMhB-KyFbyZELxdpl8NZsvZ5yLrn7kzjqU0lqVt3l5KxQtY-SLUlDEbzwSOT-BWdnfSMLzAGP6WKFSc3Xsdy84U833eEwkCGU_/s320/20170313_115700.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And finally, we see this. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3-F-O9tl3RMz553SI_ZOY24umW-x4TDu1CFxQ5xBEd8YFeRAY_QlqjM2M9TcnAoXGgDOiPea5fu3OZm81yIXvbP8HnEfy6G_50IlTYNs9E2vaRNLC1sfNq-L3z4DLM1OF1gOSN8LLgse/s320/20170313_122416.jpg" width="320" /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Allen says it's not art. Because it lacks intent. I say art is in the eye. Snap the picture. Then we continue on our journey.</span></span><br />
<br />Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-19957041249928519282017-03-11T19:59:00.001-05:002017-03-11T19:59:40.275-05:00Things that make me laugh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmK_Ky8V_4s7J9PvPbKYskANNC6nd_fZjB7MJ3G_9aysRrA5MZWv7fdRBiL_90-NLoC9lwKtiS_-GhjvUHZvdLbQhyphenhyphennplK7Z3VCGnsRdNvjm9PeyY9vs2LmbStQWLoIVBCqwBVg2oH2hUv/s1600/crab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmK_Ky8V_4s7J9PvPbKYskANNC6nd_fZjB7MJ3G_9aysRrA5MZWv7fdRBiL_90-NLoC9lwKtiS_-GhjvUHZvdLbQhyphenhyphennplK7Z3VCGnsRdNvjm9PeyY9vs2LmbStQWLoIVBCqwBVg2oH2hUv/s320/crab.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 15px;">I laughed out loud.</span><br />
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It was a sudden, burst of a single HA. The kind that makes you look around, to see if anyone heard you.</div>
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Here’s the story.</div>
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The beach at South Padre Island is salted with wee bitty crabs about the size of a quarter. They skitter sideways, cleverly dodging trouble (birds, waves, human feet) by slipping down little holes in the sand.</div>
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As they grow, they move up into the dunes and build wider, deeper hideaway holes.</div>
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Today, I encountered one of those bigger crabs, about the size of a clamshell phone. Predictably, he skittered down the nearest big hole. </div>
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Here’s where I laughed.</div>
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He immediately shot up out of the hole, followed by the claw of an even bigger crab, about the size of an IHop pancake.</div>
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What to do? Where to go? In an instant, he recalculated his life-saving escape and skittered sideways away.</div>
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For the rest of my walk home, I thought of the life lessons those two crabs taught me. Feel free to add your own:</div>
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1. Always call first.</div>
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2. Sometime size does matter.</div>
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3. Don’t go where you are not wanted.</div>
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4. Don’t panic.</div>
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5. Don’t be an old crab. :)</div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-31034972024339733392016-12-09T00:39:00.001-05:002016-12-09T00:39:48.530-05:00Illegal immigrants: Hunt 'em, help 'em<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mgejCTXbR2cBqZLFD-bXdAdLoTf9g8DbwB7fJmO20n8zjUgKjsVXxiGo1p7FkeeBGPjivCMU3hASVkd3k5yEt8xJ0j-_0rJPZvrQQfvt2GnRft03gbf3ALiFhkzBlqn6wnGKQjAsaPu8/s1600/20161130_141722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mgejCTXbR2cBqZLFD-bXdAdLoTf9g8DbwB7fJmO20n8zjUgKjsVXxiGo1p7FkeeBGPjivCMU3hASVkd3k5yEt8xJ0j-_0rJPZvrQQfvt2GnRft03gbf3ALiFhkzBlqn6wnGKQjAsaPu8/s400/20161130_141722.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thick with cactus</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7mHbMJFBoZq-Atg5zmuWwXG4TGlJYv0tpQuXGquSzqNl2S_AMMCXrP-IEY9V7aHCOyFmG0tdwYmLzvBbsMR6hsaD8u9E_qeBsywTjNWRPXBUPx6KcO4G7CIs80cp6WVDatUzprai16uE/s320/20161130_141738.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Organ pipe cactus</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The world of illegal immigration is here. In <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gila_Bend,_Arizona" target="_blank">Gila Bend</a>, AZ, where we’ve been for about a week now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Just south of Gila Bend is <a href="https://www.nps.gov/orpi/index.htm" target="_blank">Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument</a>, which shares a border with Mexico. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I’m inside the visitor’s center and find signs encouraging me to protect myself against undocumented people trying to escape poverty (or maybe dealing drugs) by crossing the border illegally. Keep my bike locked up. Don’t engage. Report.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7mHbMJFBoZq-Atg5zmuWwXG4TGlJYv0tpQuXGquSzqNl2S_AMMCXrP-IEY9V7aHCOyFmG0tdwYmLzvBbsMR6hsaD8u9E_qeBsywTjNWRPXBUPx6KcO4G7CIs80cp6WVDatUzprai16uE/s1600/20161130_141738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And that’s what two hikers now inside the visitor’s center are do</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ing. They are reporting a “sighting,” a collection of evidence they believe “is unusual.” They behave very cloak-'n-dagger. They never blurt: "There is an illegal alien in our midst.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead they mention, casually, almost covertly, stumbling upon a cave with disturbed underbrush inside. A stash of water bottles. The aroma of recently a recently cooked meal. With chilies. A tumbling of rocks, as if som</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ething slid down the hill.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The park ranger makes serious note of the report and marks the cave location on a map. She thanks the visitors who leave.</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nWGz-jRbTgLlTwIC5uZo_WDszkuvIj6u4hfVZJjO0egU_iQu7O1ftIASeFKajWMDKAKaH5VMRxidCx40f8pwisEh2mTzTdnKjx0kPJKagdGzSdim6Xc-iB4rXSbeeO_0pr3IO2cOXp-d/s1600/20161206_152019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nWGz-jRbTgLlTwIC5uZo_WDszkuvIj6u4hfVZJjO0egU_iQu7O1ftIASeFKajWMDKAKaH5VMRxidCx40f8pwisEh2mTzTdnKjx0kPJKagdGzSdim6Xc-iB4rXSbeeO_0pr3IO2cOXp-d/s320/20161206_152019.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No. 1 Mexican restaurant in Gila Bend, AZ</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I tour the park, I find the Valley of Their Sighting. I look up into the hills. I seek out the cave. And I wonder who hid there. And I understand why they sought a hiding place to rest. And needed water. And ate. Organ Pipe sprawls dangerously for about 517 square miles of dense cactus-covered, parched terrain butting up against rocky, unfriendly mountains.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If they made it this far through the desert alive, they must still contend with an attentive border patrol and, apparently, tourists.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"> not easy. Or safe. To get a slice of my apple pie illegally.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And that’s what I’m thinking as I sit inside Sophia’s, a Mexican restaurant truckers rate No.1 in Gila Bend. At my table is a box, painted white, with black hand-lettering asking for money. Donations. To help people lost in the desert. To provide medical care. Rescue. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoGJ7QChFLONXoQ-e0vYPs4GqnNGwBy6OlmmRIKKTZQp6YTCsqalU8dcgIdX5qPc6z01zz8KGmPsGsmhCkRmDYrjouX4y4JGbFtJv_ohxIlJLnWlKXogp7EqVMArhAKh-b5T58F4xZlZs/s320/20161206_151418.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helping immigrants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoGJ7QChFLONXoQ-e0vYPs4GqnNGwBy6OlmmRIKKTZQp6YTCsqalU8dcgIdX5qPc6z01zz8KGmPsGsmhCkRmDYrjouX4y4JGbFtJv_ohxIlJLnWlKXogp7EqVMArhAKh-b5T58F4xZlZs/s1600/20161206_151418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It never says the immigrants to be helped are illegal. But it’s obvious. If the guy who slid down the hill, or hid in the cave or ate the chilies for lunch is sick or injured when found, these people will help. With medical supplies, I’m told, but no visa.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So down here, close to the border, signs ask me to snitch. Signs ask me to help. Welcome to the world of illegal immigration.</span></div>
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Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3254551198146741630.post-46096025593144425692016-11-28T13:14:00.000-05:002017-06-29T20:55:57.777-04:00Worried about the law in a Nevada ghost town<div dir="auto" style="-webkit-line-break: after-white-space; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; font-family: TrebuchetMS; font-size: 15px; word-wrap: break-word;">
I see cops.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7FxY3MJSq6ukhY1MikggYOEiFQwrbOVRPwxVRCtNhkWslcxjFmupXcMEHblh6PU-LXXsPThMhioEmw4qv6AZ6Ew5SC4yQCBhAnjdf1bDzJAD2g8gWK2o4BsZKgmCQQk445EnCyGOM0s6/s1600/gold+schmuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7FxY3MJSq6ukhY1MikggYOEiFQwrbOVRPwxVRCtNhkWslcxjFmupXcMEHblh6PU-LXXsPThMhioEmw4qv6AZ6Ew5SC4yQCBhAnjdf1bDzJAD2g8gWK2o4BsZKgmCQQk445EnCyGOM0s6/s320/gold+schmuck.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See us sticking out into the road?</td></tr>
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And I immediately think they plan to ticket us for parking out into the road.</div>
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Our fifth-wheel is a monster when it comes to parking on downtown city streets. And even though Goldfield, NV., population 204, isn’t a real city, it does have a downtown and we are hogging the street, trying to park to the side so I can walk down the sidewalk and take pictures (some below).</div>
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This is a ghost town, even though people still live here. It was born and went bust during the glory days of the gold rush. In its prime, there were more than 30,000 people here. A few left town millionaires. Stories place Wyatt Earp and his brother Virgil here.</div>
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But today it’s a collection of dusty and rusting artifacts of yesterday. I see art in that dust everywhere. A building covered in road signs. Cars decorated with found items, even other cars. A shadow of a phone-texting man cleverly placed to show him near the shadow of a real stop sign. </div>
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This town is worth so much more than the mere minutes I’ve been here, snapping a few dozen pictures or brokeness-turned-lovely, art out of ashes. But I’m worried about the cops. So I tun to race back to the fifth-wheel (puffing hard in this 6,000-foot altitude), to get it out of the street.</div>
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But I see no cops. They must have moved on. They must be used to tourists like us. Tourists who hog the street and take snapshots of the past.</div>
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But, wait. Cops? In a ghost town?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJstH03WpyY3BNOtOUIs4mySP0ZfZghMn_dRvz3yWQ4MZ15S86irP72sAh-PrVjWrh3x0YlBf3OJrhEl4dWesDhQuiQTKRrQowX6zs1p1idlC8JwWILQuiAX3acLq4zoJpuFJ_G4df08ja/s1600/gold+hoist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJstH03WpyY3BNOtOUIs4mySP0ZfZghMn_dRvz3yWQ4MZ15S86irP72sAh-PrVjWrh3x0YlBf3OJrhEl4dWesDhQuiQTKRrQowX6zs1p1idlC8JwWILQuiAX3acLq4zoJpuFJ_G4df08ja/s320/gold+hoist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where do they get the water in a desert?</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/AVvXsEjVXrxRmIiJyQgiLY63MIxUwfhDdEN44_tmX3B-4SdHFRa16U5DMd4fcBPPI5xn53rV4uZGOp87ijWqqzFWTXQyWpJdqRjXsrzl9hS23PV_zCz84vrLScjXHhYRZoIsfdQGBz6TbVQ-yqVA/s1600/gold+shadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXrxRmIiJyQgiLY63MIxUwfhDdEN44_tmX3B-4SdHFRa16U5DMd4fcBPPI5xn53rV4uZGOp87ijWqqzFWTXQyWpJdqRjXsrzl9hS23PV_zCz84vrLScjXHhYRZoIsfdQGBz6TbVQ-yqVA/s320/gold+shadow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clever shadow art.</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/AVvXsEgxC4d7npZUo6BzpU9PkaOqxPHxKnLUadHIsbPHXtz-A1mYeHg3xmuJFoKJxboD9yFgFHGmOw6SBuTG6EpD4FgvvEaCxoJrM_2FwYchgM3hLlkokqmBW6KoaDWhrvE3eCHA3sgLShHz1F5r/s1600/gold+store.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxC4d7npZUo6BzpU9PkaOqxPHxKnLUadHIsbPHXtz-A1mYeHg3xmuJFoKJxboD9yFgFHGmOw6SBuTG6EpD4FgvvEaCxoJrM_2FwYchgM3hLlkokqmBW6KoaDWhrvE3eCHA3sgLShHz1F5r/s320/gold+store.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could shop here all day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEh99-ifbwtTteCEfLSZZ0yeomxyal_OYUr5CJzTB3rDZLRMR8BQiuPG4Cg1RdM0Sc6marbDovvfJz1Bf3XFWM-JAxVWt64wuHB5m7PPgz1ihwf4e8q_27sQrWh7zS8PEpGhPi39U_Atrrsx/s1600/gold+town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99-ifbwtTteCEfLSZZ0yeomxyal_OYUr5CJzTB3rDZLRMR8BQiuPG4Cg1RdM0Sc6marbDovvfJz1Bf3XFWM-JAxVWt64wuHB5m7PPgz1ihwf4e8q_27sQrWh7zS8PEpGhPi39U_Atrrsx/s320/gold+town.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Less government.</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/AVvXsEimcpUQuc2IFX_vDiPNeB7Gbl3zlWU2wiZSpp_lxscq9FG-6pPrK-_glGOa9lGiMEe3CDxz677XLUGeT4anRO6SmyvsM6jMl1dwETgIx2u-go_TL6K-FmJIAfa6focT4TEwFR9NCpjTy4nB/s1600/gold+beetle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcpUQuc2IFX_vDiPNeB7Gbl3zlWU2wiZSpp_lxscq9FG-6pPrK-_glGOa9lGiMEe3CDxz677XLUGeT4anRO6SmyvsM6jMl1dwETgIx2u-go_TL6K-FmJIAfa6focT4TEwFR9NCpjTy4nB/s320/gold+beetle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beetles reign!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgdpFuCs5HA2o5pdAvfHcjvkwLbgQnapwq0Wi7l91HmKcuyRfo78CAbJSZtWrrPSx9IKZNEN-nxOx_SAyQeDaUz9NwIrcSXlnfVzUDq6V5HRN-3lFiM1dTfDDeTeZ2Poi0hIpry2IXTua0U/s1600/gold+cars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpFuCs5HA2o5pdAvfHcjvkwLbgQnapwq0Wi7l91HmKcuyRfo78CAbJSZtWrrPSx9IKZNEN-nxOx_SAyQeDaUz9NwIrcSXlnfVzUDq6V5HRN-3lFiM1dTfDDeTeZ2Poi0hIpry2IXTua0U/s320/gold+cars.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pure art.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Nancy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15225136536845023192noreply@blogger.com0