tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48989561329224275172024-02-02T13:03:28.847-05:00Steppin' ForwardRandom thoughts and observations and a few favorite photographsMarcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-68722120085027175512024-01-17T14:00:00.017-05:002024-01-18T14:07:34.799-05:00My Dream Super Bowl<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnkqTvEhuBSSHjDUMsiT9HDRBQVrNuRXyjyIayXjC0f_VDnixp_LENxKjyMMRGkneFl8m2Zo9Ix0gjmKseP0q6APWa0RmhQPra0fE0PMyy_YPqf7Odi-_gK2KwgxZ8G0R7QtVIvNq9j8BCKbwQvyTHZwyc3bHrY1c7hyijZR9EHgK5oOGZXfMjglCqQ/s633/tay%20and%20simone.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="633" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnkqTvEhuBSSHjDUMsiT9HDRBQVrNuRXyjyIayXjC0f_VDnixp_LENxKjyMMRGkneFl8m2Zo9Ix0gjmKseP0q6APWa0RmhQPra0fE0PMyy_YPqf7Odi-_gK2KwgxZ8G0R7QtVIvNq9j8BCKbwQvyTHZwyc3bHrY1c7hyijZR9EHgK5oOGZXfMjglCqQ/s320/tay%20and%20simone.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Apologies to anyone who's still got a team in the NFL playoffs picture, but I'm rooting for a Packers v Chiefs Super Bowl. The Super Bowl is less about football than show, anyway, right? This one could be the funnest one yet!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These two accomplished, beautiful women have lots of fans, for sure, but their haters spend even more time criticizing than their fans spend praising. (It's like their fans have a life, or something.)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can only imagine the massive sound of heads exploding all at once. Would be messy, but it'd be fun.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Apologies also to Jonathan Owens and Travis Kelce and to their respective teams: If they do make it to the Super Bowl, they'll have earned it. And I sincerely hope that their accomplishments won't be overshadowed by the mere presence of their famous SOs. It's ... happened so many times before ... š )</span></span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-75991416726255469892024-01-15T10:00:00.006-05:002024-01-18T14:10:49.655-05:00MLK<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQinTAh0ShbWtax3jXWeYTSDHvsizfBrq-x-l97noPqZAihlqRys-AFQpPaZAIUbvq06kHWwNu5mpirupJ_bOaH6I6YQiIqbezt9HczJQ4bi4-VTlMjbij7Eb5O_vi42ues2_1voHnI0NQm6H6bR7av68Rks8ecq4xJkgg4KXlBSiFdu2oBWzndPjLg/s600/MLK%20Quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQinTAh0ShbWtax3jXWeYTSDHvsizfBrq-x-l97noPqZAihlqRys-AFQpPaZAIUbvq06kHWwNu5mpirupJ_bOaH6I6YQiIqbezt9HczJQ4bi4-VTlMjbij7Eb5O_vi42ues2_1voHnI0NQm6H6bR7av68Rks8ecq4xJkgg4KXlBSiFdu2oBWzndPjLg/w640-h640/MLK%20Quote.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-91073325771230390722023-12-28T00:07:00.007-05:002024-01-18T14:15:13.249-05:00My Little Town After Sundown<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFS_YBh9UEqK1qxTfmZ4J3xiI1tRkni-Is0KwPbOHiMfaA_3IMtner329wGuEzYXgrOgMXcEsKsnRWJkpvpyXtP5_iWTi6jZc0L9yqeUTxZqJlk_o8WdUMzilpFMkqdJ1vq8wMheLko1-NMsGIiDeDbGly55H5mSWS5DybLIhbRqRBP_4PH0IRV3OFA/s1740/SP%20After%20Sundown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1740" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFS_YBh9UEqK1qxTfmZ4J3xiI1tRkni-Is0KwPbOHiMfaA_3IMtner329wGuEzYXgrOgMXcEsKsnRWJkpvpyXtP5_iWTi6jZc0L9yqeUTxZqJlk_o8WdUMzilpFMkqdJ1vq8wMheLko1-NMsGIiDeDbGly55H5mSWS5DybLIhbRqRBP_4PH0IRV3OFA/w640-h354/SP%20After%20Sundown.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Spruce Pine, NC</span></div><br /><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-16609827279270324552023-05-14T21:22:00.003-04:002024-01-18T14:23:18.177-05:00On Henry's Gotcha Day, Which Happens to Coincide with Mother's Day, Which Happens ...<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuII6i8my3cqBMoWn22KCHNSrzdF1dVck9ptmbCzp-aBLdTsvkv3mYTscxhcykXX9VFbj-IKpcuFz9wMgrCHvMO27rx6TxAoCGyjjcGgbT846vHr2A6X_PBZt_h_DY9jCdWA0Ynybn6Ng_D66yFEmTXiOtpTb--mPWnpePg7lREe0r9nbM9CeS6TY/s2804/2015-05-18%2010.13.58.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1616" data-original-width="2804" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuII6i8my3cqBMoWn22KCHNSrzdF1dVck9ptmbCzp-aBLdTsvkv3mYTscxhcykXX9VFbj-IKpcuFz9wMgrCHvMO27rx6TxAoCGyjjcGgbT846vHr2A6X_PBZt_h_DY9jCdWA0Ynybn6Ng_D66yFEmTXiOtpTb--mPWnpePg7lREe0r9nbM9CeS6TY/w640-h368/2015-05-18%2010.13.58.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My heart is breaking into a million pieces tonight.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Unless some improbable miracle happens, I'll be saying goodbye to my beloved Henry-Dog tomorrow. I'm crying so much that I can hardly see to type, but I need to ask for prayers and well-wishes for the courage to let him go.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He's about 15 years old now -- pretty old for a Retriever -- and it's been just about 11 months since the discovery that Henry has multiple cancers. Honestly, that he's here at all right now seems pretty miraculous; I fully expected to lose him last June. He's stayed comfortable (as far as I can tell ... ) these many months, with medications and a change in diet and love, lots of love. But I can tell that he must really be struggling with a new physical issue, and I just can't let him struggle any more, not on my account. My brother thinks that Henry's been putting a brave face on things, for some time now, out of his devotion to me; I suspect that's close to the truth.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I've cried off and on pretty much all day, sometimes with guilt and regret for all the times that I might have done more for Henry. But then I look at all of the adventures we've shared -- traveling all over the US and parts of Canada, camping, hiking, trail-walking, sharing campfires and beach walks and lazy evenings doing absolutely nothing -- and I think he's had a pretty remarkable life, and I know that my life with him in it has been pretty remarkable.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He helped mend the hole in Greg's heart after Maggie Muggins's death, and he helped to mend the hole in mine after Greg's death. Had it not been for Henry, I wouldn't even have been able to get out of bed some days. The necessity of caring for his needs was a gentle reminder that Life goes on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The picture is an old one, from about 8 years ago, but the expression is the one I'll remember best. This is the face of devotion, of loyalty, of caring, of earnest dedication to the task of being the best protector-dog and adventure-buddy I could've ever imagined. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My Henry-Dog</span></div></div><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-3866691429533059592022-11-27T17:50:00.002-05:002022-11-28T08:44:05.127-05:00Farewell, Yellow Brick Road<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83s_NyW8HSAcGmg7LuDKkWnBBu7uPAGn07uuoerKbJN44nkhLL8z97KPmhmwbWanT8QVfNDdaKorpj7Wa-rLiD1V2wYlv7hTdyfPUH_oohSKFJwRA9bkSU9PIx3liQ9I_IxA-IUyK_oQjv-64okXYthINjdrSZpPgnP_PTK8o4XQAeKUxUl6hR28/s1537/elton-john-farewell-tour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1144" data-original-width="1537" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83s_NyW8HSAcGmg7LuDKkWnBBu7uPAGn07uuoerKbJN44nkhLL8z97KPmhmwbWanT8QVfNDdaKorpj7Wa-rLiD1V2wYlv7hTdyfPUH_oohSKFJwRA9bkSU9PIx3liQ9I_IxA-IUyK_oQjv-64okXYthINjdrSZpPgnP_PTK8o4XQAeKUxUl6hR28/w640-h475/elton-john-farewell-tour.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I just finished watching Elton John Live: Farewell from Dodger Stadium.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My heart is full and I shed more than a few tears as I watched. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Elton John has been a huge musical influence in my life. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I started playing the piano when I was six years old. A lot of little girls in my hometown took piano lessons, though only a few stuck with it for more than a couple of years or so. It just wasn't cool to play the piano.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Not that anybody teased me or bullied me for playing! But very few friends really noticed ... it's funny that, as important as piano was to me -- after all, piano lessons took up ten years of my life and by the time I was a senior in high school I was practicing up to six hours a day -- as important as piano was in my life, there have been former classmates who have been surprised to learn that I am a musician!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Elton John showed me that there was potential for a pianist beyond the classical concert stage or church musician or piano teacher. I've since realized that there were other examples all along: Thelonious Monk and Duke Ellington became famous in the world of jazz long before I was born. Scott Joplin's brand of ragtime music was occasionally heard in old TV westerns and became wildly popular for a period because of "The Sting." There was Jerry Lee Lewis ... but I could never envision myself playing his style of music. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was Elton John, with his arpeggiated chords, and unconventional voicings and bass lines, and rhythms that helped me to better understand the piano as percussion instrument, who fired my imagination for possibilities. From the moment that I heard his first single, "Your Song," I was hooked. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I'd never abandon all the Bach and Beethoven and Chopin that I'd studied for so many years. They are such an excellent foundation for any type of music that one may wish to pursue! And though Elton John was my first "piano hero" from the world of popular music, there are others ... right up there is Billy Joel, who incorporated Beethoven into one of his own songs; and to an extent Barry Manilow, who borrowed from Chopin to compose his hit "Could It Be Magic." Stevie Wonder and Freddy Mercury and Paul McCartney and Carole King and Alicia Keys have all since impressed me in their use of the piano.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But Elton John's my favorite. I've seen him in concert several times -- twice with Billy Joel, and what a treat for me! -- and I'll probably watch this Disney+ presentation a couple more times before they pull it into the vault. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Thank you, Sir Elton. You'll never know me, but you've influenced me more than you could ever know.</span></div><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-74987264802682957302022-05-04T10:18:00.015-04:002022-05-05T22:04:20.660-04:00Let's Say Goodbye Like We Said Hello<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgy61Pphrc_hQoRsHBa37hfif2cO9uF37MjGfTkZvSUSPIkO3GtvDkQT2poGVHh-5RnlotDi10lXYVJRg7F9HtUcW075C3uAP4z4X6VHNXpukUpst5bAZjpjMrX3dNNx82H2FSgqYs2urnwGezUjnGRZXdWttsCXd1haAcemzRHR16CJZp93rabY/s1800/Tubb.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1800" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgy61Pphrc_hQoRsHBa37hfif2cO9uF37MjGfTkZvSUSPIkO3GtvDkQT2poGVHh-5RnlotDi10lXYVJRg7F9HtUcW075C3uAP4z4X6VHNXpukUpst5bAZjpjMrX3dNNx82H2FSgqYs2urnwGezUjnGRZXdWttsCXd1haAcemzRHR16CJZp93rabY/w640-h266/Tubb.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Bumper Sticker purchased at Ernest Tubb's Record Store</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The title of this post is actually the title of a song recorded by country legend Ernest Tubb. I just heard the news that Ernest Tubb's Record Shop is closed as of yesterday. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you suppose that John Hartford had a premonition when he wrote this song? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iI5lv7Sb5Ds">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iI5lv7Sb5Ds</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">No, I expect that Hartford observed the trends of 1972 and thought them through to a natural conclusion. Makes me sad, though. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't go to Nashville on a regular basis, never did, but any time I went, a visit to Ernest Tubb's was in order. I enjoyed browsing and exploring the vast array of music, most on compact disc, and made quite a few discoveries. I honestly can't tell you that they carried "hit country" stuff (though it's a reasonably safe bet that they did) -- I was more interested in the traditional country and bluegrass, the obscure and hard-to-find. I enjoyed browsing the souvenirs and memorabilia, and always let my imagination take me back to times never personally experienced, daydreaming about the legendary musicians who performed on Ernest Tubb's Midnite Jamboree Radio Shows.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's telling that on my last visit to Nashville's Lower Broadway, after an early lunch at Jack's and a visit to the Mother Church -- Ryman Auditorium -- I didn't cross the street to visit Ernest Tubb's; just couldn't stand the noise and the crowds. And maybe it's the recent years' crowds' appetite for the loud and flashy that helped to drive the old record shop out of business; the brief announcement of the closing said only that "due to changes in circumstances out of our control, itās now clear the best way forward is to sell the business and the real estate."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">Linebaugh's, the restaurant/barber shop mentioned in Hartford's song, once served the likes of Patsy Cline and Jim Reeves but is long since closed. The Grand Ole Opry left the Ryman for Opryland almost 50 years ago. At the time there was talk of removing all of the Ryman's memorabilia to Opryland and tearing down the Mother Church! But I'm here to tell you that the Ryman's walls talk, and I hope that enough of the throngs who visit Nashville nowadays will actually listen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gruhn's Guitars, another of my favorite Broadway "wonderlands," has moved away from Broadway. Hatch Show Print has relocated. All but a couple of the gritty old honky-tonks have vanished, replaced by glitzy, expensive and L.O.U.D. celebrity establishments. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;">And now Ernest Tubb's is gone ... seems like nothin's left of what made Nashville, Nashville.</span></div><div><br /></div></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /> </p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-62404432479096336382022-04-19T09:00:00.022-04:002022-05-06T21:50:20.176-04:00How Little Winters Follow Spring<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomI3hAfTXUfWQTy00l0i4Sk7t5B9uswz0JfCifVQpw8zljP8q9SfBOtwOhy4kzhuz9G70eORM0jb97x7T-nyojKiXSCxSibfUykIehr1Qr5y8hXkI4qH7p88vQKNrljua9Y9p2raZruyu4OvJWscsIzUvccb4LGfYywN3eH8OwGBzacf_bGWZ3fw/s2048/Marcille%20in%20Gilboa%20Stylized.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1798" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomI3hAfTXUfWQTy00l0i4Sk7t5B9uswz0JfCifVQpw8zljP8q9SfBOtwOhy4kzhuz9G70eORM0jb97x7T-nyojKiXSCxSibfUykIehr1Qr5y8hXkI4qH7p88vQKNrljua9Y9p2raZruyu4OvJWscsIzUvccb4LGfYywN3eH8OwGBzacf_bGWZ3fw/w176-h200/Marcille%20in%20Gilboa%20Stylized.jpeg" width="176" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Wind howled all night. It's still blowing and the "real feel" is 26Ā°. Appalachian lore says there are five "little winters" -- Locust, Redbud, Dogwood, Blackberry, Britches -- before spring is finally here to stay. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Redbuds are in bloom, and I've seen a few dogwoods in bloom as well, so I don't know which little winter we're "officially" in. But I'm pulling for Dogwood. š</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">If you're interested to know more about the "little winters," try this link:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.thetomahawk.com/uncategorized/old-timers-had-a-name-for-all-these-weather-changes/?fbclid=IwAR38ot1ndLcBsN7uf_pbO8xTHkOSlpnbAm1vP7Fj-ak0hViYmFe02gbJEbg#:~:text=The%20snow%20white%20blooms%20of,t%20very%20long%20or%20cold">https://www.thetomahawk.com/uncategorized/old-timers-had-a-name-for-all-these-weather-changes/?fbclid=IwAR38ot1ndLcBsN7uf_pbO8xTHkOSlpnbAm1vP7Fj-ak0hViYmFe02gbJEbg#:~:text=The%20snow%20white%20blooms%20of,t%20very%20long%20or%20cold</a></span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-88905112103020778012022-04-18T19:00:00.012-04:002022-04-26T12:24:16.408-04:00BRP<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZBTyTk6Z2B_6JuBOPzctn99zRJnnVamQeQylPS16pBhv62nGEst0p6P4Xt-X_RLa-nZmi-4gYE86-1uJjGKWa7vV1wRgFHThMtfM-uOTED2ilZIt0btSfVsSulS0to2Hx4UMmZpChYo2gyXqg6EN9lKffu57qndg6-S-hAfUlcBFFMEVH-XIfmI/s3954/20220418_144814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2129" data-original-width="3954" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZBTyTk6Z2B_6JuBOPzctn99zRJnnVamQeQylPS16pBhv62nGEst0p6P4Xt-X_RLa-nZmi-4gYE86-1uJjGKWa7vV1wRgFHThMtfM-uOTED2ilZIt0btSfVsSulS0to2Hx4UMmZpChYo2gyXqg6EN9lKffu57qndg6-S-hAfUlcBFFMEVH-XIfmI/w640-h344/20220418_144814.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Sometimes I drive the Blue Ridge Parkway for -- as Forrest Gump would say -- "no p'ticular reason." </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But the real reason is because there's always something new to see. Not long ago, these trees were completely bare; today they're dressed in the green of early spring.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-60113386584095158752022-04-12T16:07:00.025-04:002022-11-27T16:14:45.623-05:00Loch Norman Highland Games<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFki4ptunCjqTjYNdgWcB8wt_BdYTMhTyjOWelkeYnlsVELklCo5pDgg4VtAfm_uBcktmcloQEm_RP9g2IrpSS3NiLC4Xgy2g0XmGHj8bUuDoKpStnvSH2r4bd0-vOoysZGUE8E5dZZF52bdDL3gTBllNN8-RVEpIhFjD7YNsv8Qo4ahrF6y_eas/s4032/20220409_155808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFki4ptunCjqTjYNdgWcB8wt_BdYTMhTyjOWelkeYnlsVELklCo5pDgg4VtAfm_uBcktmcloQEm_RP9g2IrpSS3NiLC4Xgy2g0XmGHj8bUuDoKpStnvSH2r4bd0-vOoysZGUE8E5dZZF52bdDL3gTBllNN8-RVEpIhFjD7YNsv8Qo4ahrF6y_eas/w400-h300/20220409_155808.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Attended Loch Norman Highland Games last weekend. Although it was a first for Rita Kochensparger and myself, it felt like Old Home Day, seeing so many friends: Neil Anderson, Scooter Muse, Aubrey Gray, Colin Shoemaker, Stephanie Sellers Morrow, Donald Cameron, Heather Gallia, Celtic Exchange (Danny), The Celtic Bag Co. (John), Chris Kagan, Tawnya Kagan, Jacqueline Murdock Habenicht, Robin Frye, Debbie MacFarland Webb, Sam Moffitt (you didn't see me but I saw you š), Clan Forrester Society, Inc. ... gosh, so many people; I'm sure I've left some people out? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Pictured are the Tannahill Weavers , one of my all-time favorites and one of my big musical inspirations.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Even though it was C.O.L.D. it felt good to be out festivaling.</span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-5349799397449400262022-04-06T09:30:00.010-04:002022-04-28T15:01:02.509-04:00What's Best?<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ymb-1N_HuzRofTVI_E_ymf6zQOABJXqr6mapvNZO3w8QrFT--JLudi6uC47at7eI-BliEGBchxmCKkE4I5bo3_A0WBv1cm841wEsQ8uD0p0DdcTQCmwApWbj4X9w6rwWVTu7Uhine5OPYTGb1TnOxah9N2IMOVJ3jB0oPSVDzDO758f_uHSn8bs/s1800/Jon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ymb-1N_HuzRofTVI_E_ymf6zQOABJXqr6mapvNZO3w8QrFT--JLudi6uC47at7eI-BliEGBchxmCKkE4I5bo3_A0WBv1cm841wEsQ8uD0p0DdcTQCmwApWbj4X9w6rwWVTu7Uhine5OPYTGb1TnOxah9N2IMOVJ3jB0oPSVDzDO758f_uHSn8bs/s320/Jon.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"I believe this to my coreāthere is no best musician, best artist, best dancer, best actor. The creative arts are subjective, and they reach people at a point in their lives when they need it most. It's like a song or an album is made and it almost has a radar to find the person when they need it the most." ~ Jon Batiste</span><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-56201809393892164302022-04-05T19:30:00.016-04:002022-04-26T12:39:39.357-04:00Fog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjd8y_iQODd7JqujlEYt4nF9wWjH-jdyoMCZ515I_l0Hjn5I8Nw2NocRyWJbV1MAfzWkBimBMf-2S2DdVfQH4oW4SylxAUmNQYvPO5RrXgQXvfEqGF6fouCt8lCEIULtljQzWyZ-5oIuFZNTNbG_dfxrHqTMZCCfsamhh4sUYs7h3fXVHj0SXQOc/s4032/405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjd8y_iQODd7JqujlEYt4nF9wWjH-jdyoMCZ515I_l0Hjn5I8Nw2NocRyWJbV1MAfzWkBimBMf-2S2DdVfQH4oW4SylxAUmNQYvPO5RrXgQXvfEqGF6fouCt8lCEIULtljQzWyZ-5oIuFZNTNbG_dfxrHqTMZCCfsamhh4sUYs7h3fXVHj0SXQOc/w640-h480/405.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fog sets in, making for a haunting and mysterious scene. I drive with the window down and all is silent. And even while keeping a wary eye out for deer and bear, I feel so relaxed and peaceful.</span><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-85493408635873981082022-04-04T04:00:00.011-04:002022-04-26T12:42:13.096-04:00Wake Up to Spring<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTVbdd5jcGiViJyD6-Iac0Uq2nelUeYAjsHFWgpzRCAEswetFm5aUFjmgECqyhcOdMJDaqfxZjevyZs4dX9RFjRx9nxdjhLMu9caY2TCLCihebAZa4qy-kRct13GzNMsfc0gPdSsPVFUI41fqGuUgUh7JNsJ4zgXCbsWp5LYhjcFNtpnSPE4MXww/s3853/404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3853" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTVbdd5jcGiViJyD6-Iac0Uq2nelUeYAjsHFWgpzRCAEswetFm5aUFjmgECqyhcOdMJDaqfxZjevyZs4dX9RFjRx9nxdjhLMu9caY2TCLCihebAZa4qy-kRct13GzNMsfc0gPdSsPVFUI41fqGuUgUh7JNsJ4zgXCbsWp5LYhjcFNtpnSPE4MXww/w640-h502/404.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">One of the fun aspects of spring:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Everything doesn't wake up at the same time.</span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-42284784252659601722022-03-30T05:30:00.012-04:002022-04-26T12:45:16.514-04:00In Appreciation<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSkS2eFb5i1796jvQGLI3nnEwzAZLnRjAk-EXTzHiwepNRNeapTGhle0ZwqwTyl2ajfgr700sXlH3jf-pjoMT1BW9VyWTTPB2JRWGtqU6ddi9RfBL-01fJTIRKYRiA6WDpkRA0T-uXcUw8xTgudCWY1Ff6PODVtsbxjZOuMvgO_sy72n9vaBOpcY/s4032/330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSkS2eFb5i1796jvQGLI3nnEwzAZLnRjAk-EXTzHiwepNRNeapTGhle0ZwqwTyl2ajfgr700sXlH3jf-pjoMT1BW9VyWTTPB2JRWGtqU6ddi9RfBL-01fJTIRKYRiA6WDpkRA0T-uXcUw8xTgudCWY1Ff6PODVtsbxjZOuMvgO_sy72n9vaBOpcY/w640-h480/330.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">May I always be as appreciative of my life in this wild and beautiful place as I am today.</i></div><p></p><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-85689445527043395402022-03-29T07:00:00.001-04:002022-04-30T15:51:29.819-04:00My Daddy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iaiDcTE4CFpN6Ood-A1c8uzylgmUdBpHe5FFjAyp73DbGNwnT3OeyGiUhrPXhv0L3eo4SI9ZiXwGArEt5Xwqd4-6wlLd84SqpzvkNWUU4KRNbFnlhuDGDOHfm0UhvI79Wmckgvf5lpYMgnup2F92_THEmL3Gfl7eQuaX44y67unhpG116Yz7Pkc/s814/Daddy%20for%20FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="610" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iaiDcTE4CFpN6Ood-A1c8uzylgmUdBpHe5FFjAyp73DbGNwnT3OeyGiUhrPXhv0L3eo4SI9ZiXwGArEt5Xwqd4-6wlLd84SqpzvkNWUU4KRNbFnlhuDGDOHfm0UhvI79Wmckgvf5lpYMgnup2F92_THEmL3Gfl7eQuaX44y67unhpG116Yz7Pkc/s320/Daddy%20for%20FB.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My Daddy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Smart but down-to-earth, practical yet a dreamer, kind, generous especially with his time, good humored, and deeply spiritual. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">He could grow food, and although he couldn't cook he always made the best sandwiches. He could fix my car or fix my broken heart. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">He didn't really sing and never played a musical instrument, but he was my most ardent supporter. Not a day goes by without me reflecting, in some way, how blessed I was to have him as my father!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">He'd be 96 today. He's been gone almost 19 years and in each of the 6316 days since his passing I've thought of him - for all of the above and so much more. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Happy Birthday, Daddy. ā¤</span></div><div><br /></div></div><p><br /></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-3789907028507538662022-03-28T18:34:00.110-04:002022-05-06T21:50:42.307-04:00Does the World Need Another POV on Smith v Rock? Ho-Hum<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6Uv5ysH5PJ0wjkFGISgI7gqeO6XF7ae1xUeACXJzWyRX984RbkXDlNccnI-vNBUbXJPejobLI_PLEkYE9PpMSTiZsyrtBcdj0QB2q2XI2USTIN8F9l57f_Sy9hIV2LF5T8wDxn1CtIDcB7ACG39D5GCWg8obUqe7FaQO6xOvJk1iQlkeJePth40/s2048/Marcille%20in%20Gilboa%20Stylized.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1798" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6Uv5ysH5PJ0wjkFGISgI7gqeO6XF7ae1xUeACXJzWyRX984RbkXDlNccnI-vNBUbXJPejobLI_PLEkYE9PpMSTiZsyrtBcdj0QB2q2XI2USTIN8F9l57f_Sy9hIV2LF5T8wDxn1CtIDcB7ACG39D5GCWg8obUqe7FaQO6xOvJk1iQlkeJePth40/w176-h200/Marcille%20in%20Gilboa%20Stylized.jpeg" width="176" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The Academy Awards ceremony was just last night, but in one day we've heard a year's worth of buzz ... very little of it focused on the actors or the movies. We're obsessed with a brief exchange between Will Smith and Chris Rock in which Rock made a tasteless crack about Jada Pinkett Smith (Will Smith's wife), followed by Smith striding on to the stage and slapping Rock, then returning to his seat in the audience to yell and curse at Rock. Sad business. Even more sad from the point of view of the Oscar winners, whose achievements have been completely overshadowed by Smith v Rock.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I don't usually watch the Academy Awards and wasn't watching last night (although I've had countless opportunities to witness The Slap Heard 'Round the World of Movies). To me the Academy Awards is Hollywood's version of the high school athletic awards banquet: important mainly to the players. The two events are so similar, even down to the way the attendees dress: some dress comfortably, tastefully understated, while others go overboard with the dramatic. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Yeah, I can take it or leave it as to the Academy Awards, but it's absolutely hilarious to me how many people on this side of Hollywood trip all over themselves to proclaim how little they care about the Oscars (and other awards ceremonies like Grammys, Emmys, CMA Awards, you name it). Uhhh ... š¤£</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">While I don't think Smith was right to do what he did (my reasoning is somewhat nuanced) there's a part of me that isn't altogether sorry. There. I said it. Words matter, and it has been shown time and time again that the "scars" from words often last longer than physical scars. I realize that cutting observations and insults are part of Chris Rock's shtick and I'm prepared for it if I go to one of his concerts or watch a celebrity roast. He's so smart and quick and witty ... and in certain situations, a potential liability.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">There's a reason why Border Collies, generally acknowledged as the smartest breed of dog, are not chosen to be guide dogs for the blind. They're just not temperamentally suitable for the task. It's probably the same for some comedians.</span></p><div><br /></div>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-51198457993924964482022-03-22T19:27:00.000-04:002022-04-27T19:31:16.234-04:00Perspective on Sadness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdHGYgaRZJnzASTbTlpkcymiq_Ow601RnObxr5o2hwr0QS-Aklr_-BPBmdSYOYeFSLr2hGEIBqoEQxNrmk5HPlbmwVKjm2QItoDQOgRXiV9OwH7_WuTnuSClk8nSBXI09giAfJCr0EL0fZI9OFYkv9fv2NFvCDai7bQ_5sS3LwrLeu6cX5a4UjWg/s1080/Irish%20Sadness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1080" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdHGYgaRZJnzASTbTlpkcymiq_Ow601RnObxr5o2hwr0QS-Aklr_-BPBmdSYOYeFSLr2hGEIBqoEQxNrmk5HPlbmwVKjm2QItoDQOgRXiV9OwH7_WuTnuSClk8nSBXI09giAfJCr0EL0fZI9OFYkv9fv2NFvCDai7bQ_5sS3LwrLeu6cX5a4UjWg/w640-h636/Irish%20Sadness.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-24242133946720222612022-03-16T13:15:00.009-04:002022-04-27T19:26:03.165-04:00111<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0jcEyiaqTbLxtnvvAeSIA6Sc4F7v1uggZxrxooNv-zTa9YhMjDQaGlMJbVenQkgqv1tlfnnRGA_vyrFOb1itUboWM86Ohx-hlLvm8DUsIi37zVnxvulXdAvhp08g28kTZZre0etBB3_C8UM3H0geHErOou7RtvomJEkxoPoTGeMbW0-kKFopm1k/s1080/Stove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="823" data-original-width="1080" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0jcEyiaqTbLxtnvvAeSIA6Sc4F7v1uggZxrxooNv-zTa9YhMjDQaGlMJbVenQkgqv1tlfnnRGA_vyrFOb1itUboWM86Ohx-hlLvm8DUsIi37zVnxvulXdAvhp08g28kTZZre0etBB3_C8UM3H0geHErOou7RtvomJEkxoPoTGeMbW0-kKFopm1k/s320/Stove.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I think of my dad all the time. All the time, and so many different things trigger the memories.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I love it best when some random thing triggers a specific memory, like just now I glanced at the stove to see 1:11. Daddy loved bowling, and whenever someone's frame showed the score 111, he'd draw a little roof over it to make a stick drawing of a house. I haven't bowled in years, but this brought it all back. </span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-33788941788622713802022-03-01T12:30:00.040-05:002022-03-07T12:13:27.713-05:00Š“Š»Ń Š£ŠŗŃŠ°ŃŠ½Šø<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">The Bandura, National Instrument of Ukraine</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLevbPtBLj1VMLkopj2Z1SW6pEgXjWeDJUP1Q362oIFEy63eswmoQ9OVbbavy3nFNjphSJ5EmjLAG8SOKE_4lZdtL0jBQuVZiYamxjCa5zSg_G2pixQMeEfcfrcRdmENDneaFCPysWg_sof0_-zYtSPYikfgY4yViZE08t5tbP3O-9-nyLIq7Wmvg=s796" style="clear: left; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLevbPtBLj1VMLkopj2Z1SW6pEgXjWeDJUP1Q362oIFEy63eswmoQ9OVbbavy3nFNjphSJ5EmjLAG8SOKE_4lZdtL0jBQuVZiYamxjCa5zSg_G2pixQMeEfcfrcRdmENDneaFCPysWg_sof0_-zYtSPYikfgY4yViZE08t5tbP3O-9-nyLIq7Wmvg=w301-h400" width="301" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Maybe youāve never heard of a bandura. Thereās a reason for that,
and Iāll get into it shortly.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">I was first introduced to the bandura by Yarko Antonevych
(pictured), the son of a Ukrainian Ć©migrĆ©, at the Florida Folk Festival. Iād
been playing the hammer dulcimer for a couple of years and was really getting
into learning more about musical instruments that were less āmainstream.ā</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Yarko taught as he performed, explaining that the bandura of today
had āevolvedā from a lute-like instrument played in Ukraine during medieval
times. Although the strings are plucked, rather than hammered, I noted a
definite similarity of its sound to a hammer dulcimer, and was fascinated to
see another instrument that had so many strings ā and was probably similarly
difficult to keep in tune.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Beautiful as the music was, my main takeaway from Yarkoās
performance was the tale he told about the persecution of Ukraineās Kobzars ā a
unique class of itinerant musicians who earned their living singing and playing
traditional Ukrainian music. In the late 1800s, Imperial Russia banned stage
performances by Kobzars and bandurists; the intent was to prevent any musical
performances in the Ukrainian language because the repertoire typically
included aspects of Ukrainian history and culture. Kobzars, who had once
enjoyed status in society, turned to street performance but in some cities were
arrested and their instruments destroyed. They were relentlessly persecuted and
all but wiped out.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">A few of them survived, however, and a rekindling of interest in
them and in the bandura sparked a rise in Ukrainian
self-awareness. There was even a brief period during which the
Russian government showed tolerance to Ukrainian language and culture.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Then, the Communist Party launched a fight against nationalist
tendencies. Kobzars, and even the manufacture of banduras, were once again
restricted, all in an effort to quell a movement for the liberation of Ukraine.
Bandurists were harassed, arrested, exiled, tortured, and even executed.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">In 1932 (or 1933; accounts vary), on the orders of Joseph Stalin,
Soviet authorities invited all Ukrainian Kobzars to attend a congress in Kharkiv.
All who attended were taken outside the city and put to death. According to
Yarko, the only reason that anyone knows about the bandura today is because of
a bandurist who figuratively āmissed the train to Kharkiv.ā</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">No documents exist ā or at least none have been found ā to
substantiate the story about the mass execution of Kobzars and other
traditional Ukrainian performers. But thereās plenty of evidence that SOMETHING
happened, that bandurists died or disappeared in significant numbers around
that time, and with all that we now know about Stalin, the story is more than
plausible.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">And isnāt that the way to subjugate a culture? Over and over
throughout history ā¦ Irish, living in Ireland, yet forbidden to speak their own
Irish language. Native American children sent off to boarding schools, in order
to āKill the Indian in him, and save the man.ā The playing of bagpipes banned
in Scotland by the Act of Proscription of 1746. Obliterate any semblance of
cultural identity.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Historically, Imperial Russia, the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
Poland, and Lithuania all have claimed jurisdiction over Ukraine. I donāt
pretend to understand all of the complexities that have led to Russiaās current
attempt to once again annex Ukraine. But my sympathies lie firmly with Ukraine as
they fight, yet again, to maintain their identity as a culture and as a sovereign state. </span></p></div>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-5506485397334420952022-01-28T17:55:00.007-05:002022-05-06T21:51:00.817-04:00Weird Observations on Weirdness<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_9kkwS0M5p6FvV9Q5r2HZvr_FVCyLFY_to0ADTXP6G8PAeZJoz4uIcRlnYPrgX1bwW8ELUtXufeQQWhITjAdRj35L6UBGJo-65NZxFWfEzCiEg5EeN6be_Nl_4M7h0WZJ0BMWmI6oZm6pZ_iQRQOmDPNRi1aMrSBRJKVWPy1cPhjHE4pLd3Get2g=s200" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="176" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_9kkwS0M5p6FvV9Q5r2HZvr_FVCyLFY_to0ADTXP6G8PAeZJoz4uIcRlnYPrgX1bwW8ELUtXufeQQWhITjAdRj35L6UBGJo-65NZxFWfEzCiEg5EeN6be_Nl_4M7h0WZJ0BMWmI6oZm6pZ_iQRQOmDPNRi1aMrSBRJKVWPy1cPhjHE4pLd3Get2g=w176-h200" width="176" /></a></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Today I had a Facebook comment from a long-time acquaintance:
Gilbert Sullivan. Actually, I first came to know him when we were in elementary
school, through my younger brother. Gilbert Sullivanās name immediately grabbed
me ā¦ and this was years before Irish pop star Gilbert OāSullivan hit the music
scene. Gilbert Sullivanās name meant something to me because it reminded me of
Gilbert and Sullivan, the creative team that wrote comic operas in the
Victorian Period. Most of my other elementary-school friends didn't make that
connection. (And why on earth would they?) But I was listening to Gilbert and
Sullivan operas, and playing their music on the piano ā¦ yes, even as a little
kid.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">As an adult, teaching school, I encountered a student
named Nicole Porter. āCool name,ā I thought. It was even cooler when I
discovered that she could sing! āHow fitting!ā I mused to a friend. āHow so?ā
said with a blank look, was all I needed to hear to realize that my friendās
mother didnāt ever sing them snippets of Cole Porter songs.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">And these are just a couple of the musical connections
made by my brain. I canāt even count the number of coincidences and oddities --
musical and non-musical alike -- that my brain found interesting or amusing but
were met with blank looks, and occasionally derisive laughter ā¦ until I finally
learned to just keep the observations to myself.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Like any other kid, I didnāt want to be weird. Unlike
most other kids, I never figured out how to accomplish that.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Iām still weird. I laugh at jokes that are funny only to
me because they pull together disparate knowledge and trivia; by the
time I explained every little component, the joke would no longer be funny,
even to me. As a kid, this really bothered me. As an adult, it doesnāt much
bother me any more.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Part of self-acceptance, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I have friends whose "weirdness" is genius, in my
estimation. There are friends who are considered by others to be weird but in reality are marginalized, because of the unwillingness of general society to accept them for exactly who and what they
are, without condition or judgment. I hope they all know just how much I love
and admire them for being true to themselves. It canāt always be easy. I know
whereof I speak.</p><br /></span></div><p></p></div>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-59674398481774413012021-12-16T14:16:00.009-05:002024-01-18T14:19:37.874-05:00Henry and Red Head Fred<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-_FyJpBXGF2hDASM9LKGDjWdQ7jU0wlrnZTVkyE5Mxiq8FuXk9m-fwk9ggFVMNU_y7PNgtwIzGYBZJfeBp3JWMySwFlK2INP-anmuGV3KKSdOvMoevASDdkpEbIeCnw6xdTcWOkwlwWlyMcCVNS4VqloBArkSh33XW5fhbneOvsEKmncqS6mSJbfTQ/s2048/Henry%20and%20Red%20Head%20Fred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-_FyJpBXGF2hDASM9LKGDjWdQ7jU0wlrnZTVkyE5Mxiq8FuXk9m-fwk9ggFVMNU_y7PNgtwIzGYBZJfeBp3JWMySwFlK2INP-anmuGV3KKSdOvMoevASDdkpEbIeCnw6xdTcWOkwlwWlyMcCVNS4VqloBArkSh33XW5fhbneOvsEKmncqS6mSJbfTQ/w640-h480/Henry%20and%20Red%20Head%20Fred.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I see this a lot these days. Gotta conserve energy - his bursts of silliness may not occur as frequently, but when they occur they're as silly and as fun as ever. I love my dogly dog!</span></div><br /><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-34598595561716194032021-11-12T15:07:00.019-05:002022-11-27T15:14:52.169-05:00"And this, then, is why music ā of all the arts ā is the most meaningless art."<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;">Alan Watts, Future of Communication</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"And this, then, is why music ā of all the arts ā is the
most meaningless art. After all, music is a major industry in the United
States. The money invested in orchestras, in operas, in the recording business
is fantastic. Itās ā horse racing is a very great industry, but music, I think,
probably absorbs more millions than horse racing. And you could make a case
that this was a complete dissipation. It solves no useful purpose, it doesnāt
help anyone to survive, it is a noise; meaningless noise, endless meaningless
noise going down the drain. And all these energies of orchestras, or all the
power of electronics that delivers this, is total waste! And people get hooked
on it. They get the thing called chorditis, which is addiction to harmonics.
And they have to have this repeated day after day. Some people get up in the
morning and they canāt function until theyāve had cup of coffee. But many more
people get up in the morning and canāt function until they turned on the radio
and got some music.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">āAnd what would you say, then, of a culture which took this
standpoint: music not allowed. Music is a diversion from reality. You know?
That kind of awful, utilitarian attitudeābut really, one of the basic things,
you see, that we live for. What makes it worth surviving and going on is there
can be such a thing as music, there can be dancing. In other words, that we can
do things that are absolutely irrelevant so far as mere survival is concerned.
Now, we have the proverb that āAll work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.ā
Dull for work. And people who play ā justifying their play by making it a means
to that end ā those people never play. Because you donāt really play until you
get so absorbed in the music ā or the dancing, or the whatever youāre making;
the part of doing, the calligraphy ā until you get so absorbed in that there is
no reason for it other than what youāre doing. The sheer delight of that. Then ā
because you are absorbed in something for which there is no ulterior motive,
and which is pure play ā this, by way of a byproduct, produces sanity. In other
words, if you play in order to be healthy, in order to be sane, youāre not
playing. But if you play just to play, then, as a byproduct, as something you
couldnāt aim at directly, you are sane.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">āAnd so a culture which allows for this, which allows for this
sort of goofing, is a healthy culture. This is not the culture that we live in,
because it is extremely anxious about play. Everybody, when they play, they
have to find an excuse for it. They say, āWell, this is culture.ā You try and
persuade the city of San Francisco to support its opera. What sort of
propaganda do you have to use? You canāt say, āWe should have a good opera
house because we just like going to be opera.ā You say, āThis improves the
cityās image.ā After all, they have it in New York.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">āAnd that is because we do not allow ourselves the idea that
life is not serious. Because somehow we feel if you arenāt engaged in something
serious youāre a loafer. Youāre not contributing to the social welfare. And so,
in this way, the artist has a peculiar role in this society. Very, very
interesting. Because the artist is a very deceptive fellow. He appears to be
the supreme luxury, the irrelevant fellow. You can afford an artist, you can
afford to buy paintings, if you have surplus money. Thatās a luxury. So you can
support an artist, and we call it āfine arts.ā The completely useless person
who makes paintingsāwhich are sort of big labels or posters that you stick on
your utilitarian walls to decorate them.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">āBut on the other hand, the artist is the man who shows you the
future long before everybody else sees it. The artist is the eye opener. Just
because the artist is distinct in role from the preacher and the philosopher,
the artist can get away with all sorts of things. For example, in our culture,
if youāre a university professor, a doctor, or a minister ā these three
professions: teacher, doctor, minister ā you have to be very careful about your
private life. Because the moment you have any alliances that are not quite
regular, peopleās tongues begin to wag. And why do they wag? Because they say, āThe
way you behave is inconsistent with your profession, with what you profess. You
are teaching people the good life, the healthy life. And you live in this
disreputable way. You have a mistress. You have something or other going on.ā
But the moment an artist should take a mistress, this is what is expected of
him. Everybody says, āOh, heās an artist.ā In other words: he doesnāt matter.
Heās irrelevant. He is an entertainer; some sort of clown. But on the other
hand, if you belong to a high culture, you patronize artists. See?</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">āSo the role of the artist is very fascinating. Because he
appears to be the clown, the jester, the absolutely unimportant and irrelevant
person. And yet, itās actually through the artist that we learn how to live.
Not through the preacher, not through the philosopher, not through the
professor. It is the artist who teaches us, whether he does it visually with
painting or sculpture, tactually, or whether, above all, in music."</span></span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-55608271241404977952021-11-10T16:22:00.002-05:002022-04-28T15:04:26.324-04:00Homeowner Anniversary<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So one year
ago today I put some ink on a few lines and became a homeowner once again!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It came at
the end of a long, drawn-out process ā almost six months! ā that was weirdly
complicated, but Iāll spare the details on that. It finally happened, and thatās
all that matters. The house needed some upgrades and repairs, and some of the things Iād
really like to do will take years. But the excellent news is that none of the
needed repairs/upgrades was necessary before I could move in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First order
was to remove all the old wall-to-wall carpeting. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTID_PPhavrtCw5PqSQNoEFIa6DIpb9a00nfiltl8HvYHtiR3nxNDce6prTw7MkuzMgpkVQXttd5trJjHfWHPjBAECnmDQqNAemd9FI_MNPonhDW7Tfc-qxbEakPxo72L6_q8IHJDq2M/s2048/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+Carpet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1652" data-original-width="2048" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTID_PPhavrtCw5PqSQNoEFIa6DIpb9a00nfiltl8HvYHtiR3nxNDce6prTw7MkuzMgpkVQXttd5trJjHfWHPjBAECnmDQqNAemd9FI_MNPonhDW7Tfc-qxbEakPxo72L6_q8IHJDq2M/w400-h323/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+Carpet.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Discovered pretty hardwood
underneath! </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfT3kYJBd6_6mSxe3RJGmI9fkKdMMLs1a9Jnzfl_9OxsSJ5Qmrkiy4o_KyiaLs-T0VUD7GwnafkX6qXgV2Kxxp5K7bbWWf2CVg3_bRRikRL8sj6WbEfui_0LK2nLb8ILKnfZ63fR7YC4/s2048/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+to+Hardwood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfT3kYJBd6_6mSxe3RJGmI9fkKdMMLs1a9Jnzfl_9OxsSJ5Qmrkiy4o_KyiaLs-T0VUD7GwnafkX6qXgV2Kxxp5K7bbWWf2CVg3_bRRikRL8sj6WbEfui_0LK2nLb8ILKnfZ63fR7YC4/s2048/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+to+Hardwood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3prirYsRhKMNI0KXAM62REkMEJaaCY5AecN-DOQRQTg9b4vS0Op387yRX4Wqf6JwtRBsF2QeM4J_bnA0KK3bpUajNiyKKCanGL0Ga3_qXFrmUOBsCuweAzSF4NV7O4DyMcXpBvkSLCE/s2048/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+to+Hardwood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1697" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3prirYsRhKMNI0KXAM62REkMEJaaCY5AecN-DOQRQTg9b4vS0Op387yRX4Wqf6JwtRBsF2QeM4J_bnA0KK3bpUajNiyKKCanGL0Ga3_qXFrmUOBsCuweAzSF4NV7O4DyMcXpBvkSLCE/s320/House+-+Wall+to+Wall+to+Hardwood.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A couple of days of crawling around on hands and knees to remove
carpet staples, some buffing and a coat of wax, and hereās the result:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPqVuPWgUdtg5rpyFvSG9cs4eT0-Kee3kX-FgnenndMD7jcUpW3vHYy5LCjZeDE2jVpmQNd7cQyJVKBNHIIH20gu1cnjLlnPUWsU-gyjucgtlwFYS8gaJPyROBQ87kkwB2jX_gHk4S_4/s2048/House+-+Hardwood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1856" data-original-width="2048" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPqVuPWgUdtg5rpyFvSG9cs4eT0-Kee3kX-FgnenndMD7jcUpW3vHYy5LCjZeDE2jVpmQNd7cQyJVKBNHIIH20gu1cnjLlnPUWsU-gyjucgtlwFYS8gaJPyROBQ87kkwB2jX_gHk4S_4/w400-h363/House+-+Hardwood.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Check out that front door while you're looking! Pure '50s! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqVhxk7DXStEOhH3fRofiiFJX-SKn-39IcKVTk7kC_8eLKpCGberbFTfPM8u1JopHxdrSnqaT70WcW0aqMPIsr82lQxB5PozveMUAVxCIQg7ndW1jADuTeOhh6mgVL_PwvSqIMELLrjQ/s2048/House+-+Hardwood+-+Closer+Look.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqVhxk7DXStEOhH3fRofiiFJX-SKn-39IcKVTk7kC_8eLKpCGberbFTfPM8u1JopHxdrSnqaT70WcW0aqMPIsr82lQxB5PozveMUAVxCIQg7ndW1jADuTeOhh6mgVL_PwvSqIMELLrjQ/s320/House+-+Hardwood+-+Closer+Look.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A closer look, but don't look too close! I have a dog, after all.</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">After removal of the
carpeting, and its years of accumulated dust and inevitable decay (no judgment;
thatās the nature of carpeting) and it was time to clean and move in a few essential
pieces of furniture, like a bed, a couple of chairs, and this really cool
dining table with benches that Iād spied in an antique store. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1BOsA2RJdXq6BChk4drnGkIG9KXMbeuFCGZleWrZx1sfJ2Jv3O24uYoinHwjw7F2hWw7fo0fbU8EHP8qjEgmpk-boaRFswDGKOxLYDkioQGJ5ubGefuDXdHJsh4tpV6R3oTh_50qY-8/s2048/House+-+Dining+Table.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1431" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1BOsA2RJdXq6BChk4drnGkIG9KXMbeuFCGZleWrZx1sfJ2Jv3O24uYoinHwjw7F2hWw7fo0fbU8EHP8qjEgmpk-boaRFswDGKOxLYDkioQGJ5ubGefuDXdHJsh4tpV6R3oTh_50qY-8/w280-h400/House+-+Dining+Table.jpg" width="280" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The chairs
had been forgotten by the previous owner, and coordinate oddly but well with
the ānew to meā table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Over the
months, and with help from various friends, Iāve converted what was intended to
be the master bedroom<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliah3VL704iKUfDW5Q9hQnmzGIsEN9SROMMiKWyzGkefa_tGHd3D1gZQ4B6D6m1-wY2miliZFc-wwUBXd92LF_-ySTJWwR9ZDy7GAx0OQTA-fuwB8Mx0oa2HZs6g0h-uCQWjkholDxbI/s2048/House+-+Music+Room+Before.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliah3VL704iKUfDW5Q9hQnmzGIsEN9SROMMiKWyzGkefa_tGHd3D1gZQ4B6D6m1-wY2miliZFc-wwUBXd92LF_-ySTJWwR9ZDy7GAx0OQTA-fuwB8Mx0oa2HZs6g0h-uCQWjkholDxbI/w400-h300/House+-+Music+Room+Before.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Into a music
room<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkUBGJmLvOGgxREgTxYR71DUUJhd-IKPOQWoRLnMACKmK0gphCFcRoogiU6LgDB5dWuC5kb-fnsPFRpfvlOnIDRawv_kmc-MOXbzH_TZ3ZIvVJEKN7WoTth4cwS9SIJ1ONtwnLGTqZT4/s2048/House+-+Music+Room.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkUBGJmLvOGgxREgTxYR71DUUJhd-IKPOQWoRLnMACKmK0gphCFcRoogiU6LgDB5dWuC5kb-fnsPFRpfvlOnIDRawv_kmc-MOXbzH_TZ3ZIvVJEKN7WoTth4cwS9SIJ1ONtwnLGTqZT4/w400-h300/House+-+Music+Room.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Closet doors removed and I can have a small library and a place to store instrument cases. Really excited about that!</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Complete
with orange wall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6RDCd_oKmI95-1P3ekgmluu6h2rxsVebH8V9nWLtBG-x1gRrGuuARHn54JofAhikR0lTaZ0XxK4lT67zfTl6S5oTU2l4TdQ4wkQIUZkW2Lk_BKWx9pMVlaV3yvWc9whbeXGJ59rCx9M/s2048/House+-+Orange+Wall.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1393" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6RDCd_oKmI95-1P3ekgmluu6h2rxsVebH8V9nWLtBG-x1gRrGuuARHn54JofAhikR0lTaZ0XxK4lT67zfTl6S5oTU2l4TdQ4wkQIUZkW2Lk_BKWx9pMVlaV3yvWc9whbeXGJ59rCx9M/w273-h400/House+-+Orange+Wall.jpg" width="273" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Iām pretty
thrilled to have a fireplace, even though it doesnāt āworkā ā that unsightly
and rusted out, inoperable Buck stove had to go, and the chimney needs MAJOR
attention before itās safe. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvlsFGE6rDTz963QRssohjuakyV8tfdGumwdP5O6IWqtVijpp-XhtiNs9QS12xhHQn6DICKVWDqYIIP3r44htIqaFslh9YgpisK3vmGBCjrl4vsL1MOuG_6tAcutGuCbyGenUP8cauuY/s2048/Living+Room+7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvlsFGE6rDTz963QRssohjuakyV8tfdGumwdP5O6IWqtVijpp-XhtiNs9QS12xhHQn6DICKVWDqYIIP3r44htIqaFslh9YgpisK3vmGBCjrl4vsL1MOuG_6tAcutGuCbyGenUP8cauuY/w400-h300/Living+Room+7.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But no
matter. I never had a fireplace before, and it comforts me just to look at it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAEGFswySxQf42nIsIO941k5hMvklneyV3FkbTWOUVGIYuMUzxogt1CS2inRFgJ3YqAaqgupVrDUaGinARdrxVhGcc19HMkNhe3uNYyBiAt2lljFFfOdUSchofkiNrFZtRwHRasTLn3g/s2048/House+-+Fireplace.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1548" data-original-width="2048" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAEGFswySxQf42nIsIO941k5hMvklneyV3FkbTWOUVGIYuMUzxogt1CS2inRFgJ3YqAaqgupVrDUaGinARdrxVhGcc19HMkNhe3uNYyBiAt2lljFFfOdUSchofkiNrFZtRwHRasTLn3g/w640-h484/House+-+Fireplace.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Iāll keep
painting and upgrading/repairing as the months and years go by, but for now Iām
happy and content. Almost as happy and content as Henry-Dog. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq28d8Az0gUPM7m1rw1HYDYnfkxJ6zUFppajL3E_o1vnzXr8qIW8QCG4BktiTmZy9iAuqm0Bmrht7ZDFesJqGWOpBu7iN5ERSm_rWHmrCTQqFZqI5TWSoQ5iDAejeHUJuSypLqzKiX1o/s2048/House+-+Henry+Snoozepervising.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq28d8Az0gUPM7m1rw1HYDYnfkxJ6zUFppajL3E_o1vnzXr8qIW8QCG4BktiTmZy9iAuqm0Bmrht7ZDFesJqGWOpBu7iN5ERSm_rWHmrCTQqFZqI5TWSoQ5iDAejeHUJuSypLqzKiX1o/w300-h400/House+-+Henry+Snoozepervising.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My patient pet has supervised every moment of removing, moving, cleaning, painting and making messes and cleaning again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1AGDi6n44Bac54yihSSSveNiBRv6PGteQy1idU32EfCQgQT_MNVHR9VZn7mIeFVH_bIxROG3Hyjo8EKuTUSgjJAkKy3fHseG88O6YEbHXa2FX-eLfNvVaSrkj_shyeqXrZ-zdUY-fVT4/s2048/House+-+Bridgid%2527s+Cross.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="2048" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1AGDi6n44Bac54yihSSSveNiBRv6PGteQy1idU32EfCQgQT_MNVHR9VZn7mIeFVH_bIxROG3Hyjo8EKuTUSgjJAkKy3fHseG88O6YEbHXa2FX-eLfNvVaSrkj_shyeqXrZ-zdUY-fVT4/s320/House+-+Bridgid%2527s+Cross.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Brigid's Cross. Properly hung above the entry door.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-42666994394861850132021-06-20T14:58:00.002-04:002021-06-20T14:59:55.148-04:00I Bought A Bowl<p> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I bought a bowl yesterday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-T0MJiQfpbZ2p7uCwHqpomu6Bybc1bIur4XFFX2RNSEUWBZ2sqFNl2MXSYBVvNdd3EEQcchgMA-VfhWwzgL9uJhicKvLC7bNKc6fIRa8Pnprxu4-mPf-G6VzO_HSruSwy5kZnuh6kSQ/s2048/Bowl+Out.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1498" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-T0MJiQfpbZ2p7uCwHqpomu6Bybc1bIur4XFFX2RNSEUWBZ2sqFNl2MXSYBVvNdd3EEQcchgMA-VfhWwzgL9uJhicKvLC7bNKc6fIRa8Pnprxu4-mPf-G6VzO_HSruSwy5kZnuh6kSQ/w293-h400/Bowl+Out.jpg" width="293" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Itās 4Ā½ inches in height and 9Ā¼ inches in diameter, so, much bigger than a soup bowl or a salad bowl. I might use it for a serving bowl sometimes, or maybe itāll sit on the table keeping a few apples. (Itās nice to have art you can use everyday.) Itās turned from burl maple that was sourced from a local (Mitchell County, NC) forest and allowed to air dry.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Those are its specs, but theyāre not the reason I bought a bowl. A closer look at its inside reveals the reason I chose this particular bowl:</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9KluNcor8NCWvHG3p_tHsj8TDILADFx_rjdbm1bnOO6rwY8jlplZRJBsIU6czQYDju27QCzxLuLMJ2a74pEZ8nf6St1llgAH86GMISR0wAh5BYrH6uxHnWv_cukmIASpiZ15JGlbJZs/s2048/Bowl+In.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9KluNcor8NCWvHG3p_tHsj8TDILADFx_rjdbm1bnOO6rwY8jlplZRJBsIU6czQYDju27QCzxLuLMJ2a74pEZ8nf6St1llgAH86GMISR0wAh5BYrH6uxHnWv_cukmIASpiZ15JGlbJZs/s320/Bowl+In.jpg" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Itās easy to see its imperfections. The grain has grown in an irregular manner due to some kind of stress ā maybe injury from insect infestation or a fungal infection. The discolorations in the wood suggest mold ā yes, mold can have some pretty interesting color. The irregularities are part and parcel of a āburl,ā an unsightly, bulbous malignancy that often is attached to the treeās roots, though sometimes is attached to its trunk.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oddly, among artists burls are highly prized for their beauty and rarity. Burl wood can be very hard to work with; because of its twisted grain it can chip and shatter unpredictably. But the very thing that makes it difficult to work with is the thing that makes a high-quality end product: the twisted grain makes the product resistant to splitting.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">The burl can probably be a metaphor for many different aspects of human life, but I donāt really want to overthink it right now.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Iāll just content myself with admiring it as something beautiful and useful that came from something initially devastating. Maybe from time to time it'll symbolize something I am experiencing in my own life. Either way Iāll bless the kind, gentle, and imaginative soul who was able to recognize potential, and then use his talent to fulfill that potential</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">.</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> bought beauty and function and life lessons, all in the shape of a bowl, yesterday.</span></span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-62522547345817538412021-04-24T11:36:00.003-04:002022-04-28T15:08:17.103-04:00Walkie Time ā Exercise Time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFj01CjZBS2e-NLi_cJrXllRdmqXG2hQmC_fmB7O_jLYJXUGYYcopGStlypFsrhrbKM9BWf_p1ghtXZWHFhF7O4DtaEL8GSvl_mLxYJcmkuewxz-IfJr1tScnfdohpC2ui5h5Phw9E7tKnaBXvJOjuSNJ5CAGRvUH7M1hwKfu1ZsoqrrczvFcRiec/s540/Dog%20Walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFj01CjZBS2e-NLi_cJrXllRdmqXG2hQmC_fmB7O_jLYJXUGYYcopGStlypFsrhrbKM9BWf_p1ghtXZWHFhF7O4DtaEL8GSvl_mLxYJcmkuewxz-IfJr1tScnfdohpC2ui5h5Phw9E7tKnaBXvJOjuSNJ5CAGRvUH7M1hwKfu1ZsoqrrczvFcRiec/w334-h400/Dog%20Walking.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I've quit thinking of Walkie Time as having any exercise value for me. But I remind myself that it's great mental exercise for Henry as we take four steps and he stops to snnnifff ... take three more steps and he stops to leave a "message" ... take ten running steps to examine where a cat might have walked yesterday ...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">#ilovemydog #goodboyoldman</span></div><div><br /></div></div><p><br /></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898956132922427517.post-26778291839019594002021-03-29T23:45:00.003-04:002022-04-28T15:09:03.361-04:00Baby-Steps Back to Normal<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDgrTOdP4qF8iF2ah-5zsTjJ1iefFYqCB3MNjO_tnrFMwJi9Da_v1AjK1mEKaqI-kj3Qbu9H94WkIwA5nDDOsV0tqSi67eE_E0_dBhXryRCi3g5eDx9vo78fkrBuJOCM6ilZyzh5qC9M/s2048/20210329_202043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1746" data-original-width="2048" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDgrTOdP4qF8iF2ah-5zsTjJ1iefFYqCB3MNjO_tnrFMwJi9Da_v1AjK1mEKaqI-kj3Qbu9H94WkIwA5nDDOsV0tqSi67eE_E0_dBhXryRCi3g5eDx9vo78fkrBuJOCM6ilZyzh5qC9M/w640-h546/20210329_202043.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Just got home from a fun night out with friends - I can count on one hand the number of times I've done anything "social" like this in the past year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was exactly one year ago that I left Florida to "shelter" with family in North Carolina. It was a good move. Living alone as I do, to spend days and weeks at home in Florida "isolating" with Henry and going out for groceries only every other week or so, would have been dangerous from a mental health perspective. Living with my cousin Sally and her husband, and their three cats, was a lifesaver for me (and the cat situation was only mildly challenging for Henry).</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the past year, a few friends/acquaintances and relatives have been sick with COVID, and a couple were lost. I've been vaccinated; everybody at tonight's gathering had been, as well. I'm very hopeful for the times we can safely gather -- even in large groups, like festivals! š -- again!</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">WE CAN DO THIS!</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Wash your hands.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Wear a mask. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Practice social distancing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Get yourself vaccinated when it's your "turn."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Be kind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">(I threw that last one in there because I wanted to. It has nothing to do with physical health, but it'll help someone feel better ... and make you feel better too.)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Be kind. Even long after COVID is a bad memory.</span></span></p>Marcille Wallishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16362350066147101246noreply@blogger.com0