tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88332608778594465052024-02-07T08:53:16.959-08:00Contemplationscatniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.comBlogger188125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-91484396816183824542020-06-01T16:34:00.000-07:002020-06-01T16:36:12.058-07:00<div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: both; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></i></b><br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;">*MONDAY MEMORIES*</span></i></b></div>
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<b></b><i></i><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">MOM</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>If I could have one wish, I would be back in my mama's house. I loved her company. She was a brilliant woman with a wicked sense of humor. </i><i>I think she knew me better than anyone, although that is easy to say. She knew my many faults but never threw them in my face, but for the </i><i>most part, she was a delight. We spent many times in the car on the way from one place to another, discussing ethereal topics, her mind wandering </i><i>as far as mine. She seemed to know no limits in her imagination and I matched hers, finding her a joy. I don’t think I've ever found anyone as </i><i>fascinating. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>I remember sitting quietly in Grandma Stewart’s kitchen when young, watching Mama cook. She was a fantastic creator of food. </i><i>Despite what you had in your kitchen, she would produce a delicious meal. I asked her how she would feel if I died, and she answered, </i><i>“I would cry for the rest of my life.” That, to a paranoid kid, meant the world.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>She was cooking dinner in a pressure cooker, leaning over to inspect the pot, and it blew up in her face. I remember </i><i>her consoling me in my terror, telling me that she would be fine as she was taken to the hospital. I counted every second until she </i><i>returned, her face wrapped in gauze. Luckily, she suffered no real damage.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Another memory…she made wonderful donuts and shook them in a bag of sugar. </i><i>She loved for me to watch her cook and I loved it as much.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></i>
<span style="color: cyan;"><i>When I was around 12, my parents discovered I could sing. I hid it from them for a long time, letting them think that it was the radio. </i><i>She was so proud and engaged a German voice teacher near Chapel Hill to give me lessons. She would sit in the car and read while </i><i>I sang.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>She was a voracious reader, everything she could get her hands on. It tickled her when we girls shivered as she told us about </i><i>Rasputin, the mad monk of Russia. I've never forgotten the look on her face as she watched our reactions.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>She had a good work ethic, often leaving home in later years, traveling several hours away to make a sale. She made friends easily and v</i><i>irtually no one could resist her charm.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>I don’t think she ever met a stranger, no matter what race or nationality. She had many friends and was a friend to them as well. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><br /></i>
<i>I miss you mom.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></i>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-77434099003287292502020-05-25T18:11:00.001-07:002020-05-25T18:11:29.755-07:00<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;">GREETINGS FROM THE CRAZY CAT LADY</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Had a really crazy week. Can't wait to see how this one goes. I lightened my mood by looking at funny memes tonight...the laughter was welcome. I and an online friend swapped a few. Some I won't post...lol...but the ones below will still, hopefully, bring a chuckle.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I do love animals, can you tell? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Life is too short. When you can, find something that amuses you, relax, and have a good laugh. It does wonders for the soul.</i></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Pe</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">ace,</span></i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">Barb</span></i>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-55829987785604018942020-05-22T12:10:00.002-07:002020-05-22T12:15:45.405-07:00<div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: both; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<i><b><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;">*FELINE FRIDAY*</span></b></i></div>
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</i><i><b></b><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span style="color: cyan;"><br /></span></i><i><br /></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">THOUGHTS OF A FERAL CAT</span></i></div>
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<i>I sit and watch as they put out food.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">They see me but make no overtures, as they know I will run.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">They seem to care, so I come each day and wait.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">I can only hope that I will always be welcome,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">If only from under a bush.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>UNDER A BUSH</i></span></div>
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<i>It sat under a bush, a small, thin ball of fur, and seemed to know instinctively that this was where it should be. I had </i><i>watched the cat for several days, putting out food, hoping it would eat, and the third morning, there it was. I spoke </i><i>softly as I placed the bowl on the lowest step, and going inside, I watched from the partially closed door. </i><i>It took a week before it would stay under the bush and not run. It took another week before it began to trust me </i><i>enough to let me watch from inside with the door completely open.</i></span></div>
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<i>One morning, I opened the door to see a tiny flash of orange. She had kittens! I placed the food down and went </i><i>back inside to watch. Slowly, she came up, tentatively followed by four kittens, one orange, one gray and white, </i><i>and two orange and white. What a joy they became! I looked forward to seeing their tiny faces each morning and </i><i>grew to love each one. They began to trust me, letting me touch them, if only for an instant. </i></span></div>
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<i> As the weather was turning </i><i>colder, my husband and I bought a sleeper for them – a large plastic crate that he cut a hole in, sealing it against the rain. </i><i>We placed a large towel inside, first insulating it with newspaper underneath. Each day, we would replace the towel with a </i><i>nice warm one from the dryer. They slept there all winter, safe from the wind, growing friendlier as time passed. </i><i>Why didn't I take them in? We already had two cats that never went out, a dog, a bird, and two ferrets. Being new at </i><i>the feral cat experience, I think we were afraid. </i></span></div>
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<i>By spring, they were grown, sweet cats but only trusting us. The little female surprised me one morning with a litter of kittens </i><i>that I promptly placed with a loving woman who had done cat rescue and lived on a mountain. What a perfect place.</i><i> As time passed, the calico gave birth to another litter. </i><i>I caught them, turning them over to the humane society and a local rescue group and the capable and loving hands of women who </i><i>became mentors. I remain grateful for their knowledge and support.</i></span></div>
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<i>I was able to trap the five cats that formed the “colony” and through the humane society, had them spayed/neutered and inoculated. </i><i>The last litter that had been born before we could trap the mama became members of our household, loving reminders that although </i><i>we could not take all, we could at least make a difference for some of them.</i></span></div>
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<i>I remember, as a child, watching our Siamese cat give birth and wondering at the tiny, helpless forms that filled the bottom of a </i><i>box my mother had put in her closet. We watched them grow, playing with them and falling more in love with them each day. </i><i>When the time came for them to go, we cried, but knew that my mother had found special, loving homes for each one. Soon </i><i>after that, she had Belle, our beloved cat, spayed. When asked why she replied that there weren't enough homes for all </i><i>the kittens Belle would have. We took her at her word but would not understand until later in life when we had our own </i><i>experiences with cats.</i></span></div>
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<i>My two sisters and I have a special place in our hearts for all animals, but especially cats. We all have several each, my last count </i><i>in my house was 10. We also take care of ferals whenever we find them, going out of our way to feed them and look after them as best </i><i>we can. </i></span></div>
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<i>We don’t look for a 'pat on the back'. We do what we do as a small appreciation for regal, beautiful creatures that don't ask </i><i>for their lot in life and return love and affection whenever it is given, even from under a bush.</i></span><br />
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<i>Barbara Chioffi</i></span></div>
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Links for the Blogs Participating In The Tour:</div>
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<a href="https://jenwintersne.wordpress.com/" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Jen Winters Is An Indie Author</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.susanjeanricci.com/blog.php" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Susan Ricci's Blog</a></div>
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<a href="http://julienichollsauthor.blogspot.com/" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Fallen Angels</a></div>
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<a href="http://savannahsthoughtgarden.blogspot.com/" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Savannah's Thought Garden</a></div>
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<a href="http://mistralkdawn.blogspot.com/" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Mistral Dawn's Musings</a></div>
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<a href="http://reveriesfrombarb.blogspot.com/" style="color: #ff8866; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Reveries From Barb</a></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-17775928090702647982020-05-20T09:54:00.001-07:002020-05-20T10:03:14.959-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">*WEDNESDAY WALK*</span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Good afternoon. Nothing like a nature walk to invigorate us, especially in the current situation. Today's images will hopefully inspire you to explore your surroundings and bring calmness to your soul.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Peace,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Barb</span></i></div>
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</span>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-25739637593784682882020-05-19T17:50:00.004-07:002020-05-19T17:53:37.867-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;">*TUESDAY THOUGHTS*</span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: cyan;">In a previous post, I
referred to music as a stress reliever. Music isn't only for stress relief, it
is my sanctuary. When I write, when I can’t, when days are sunny
or filled with storms, music has been my constant companion. This quote by Maya
Angelou expresses it best.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: cyan;">“Music
was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back
against loneliness.”</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>This quote from The Writer's Circle by Anthony Neilson is also meaningful:</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Listen to music to find a way into the story you're telling. Music is incredibly evocative; find the piece that reflects the world you're writing about and you're halfway there."</span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: cyan;">My mom once told me my
first word was ‘book’. She said I’d walk around wanting everyone to read to me,
so she taught me how at a very early age. I then discovered music and my world
was complete. Being able to see any book I'm reading on my mental screen is a
gift, but being able to visualize music in colors and patterns as I’m listening
is a treasure.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone has their
favorite genre. I, myself, like a little of everything. I play </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">before<i> writing, choosing music to suit the part of
the story I'm working on. Then I play </i>as<i>
I write, and when the words flow, it's a beautiful thing</i>.<o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: cyan;">For example, when I'm aiming for an epic paranormal theme, I might listen to something like this:</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></i></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6gtAZIZQCuw" width="480"></iframe><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Need a little highlander in your life....try this.</span></i></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pNvVxXkE3Tw" width="480"></iframe> <i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Music is powerful. It can
lift your spirits, enable your talent, and give you vision. Explore the
available music services and create your own magic.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Peace,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Barb</span></i></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-26682784249838394302020-05-18T08:49:00.000-07:002020-05-18T08:49:03.060-07:00<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>KITH AND KIN</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Today, I share a portion of a letter dated 1889 written by my great-great-grandmother, and yes, I have the original in its envelope, as well as others. I treasure these letters that speak of what we would consider mundane things... coach rides to town, Sunday church services, the state of friends and relatives, and so much more. </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbKMqg0u1ZGeyJnsQJczhJLrPFEfLHwpshC-dUClm2qj-OsyYOxWDU0T4N3JCB3cIUbgaSb664PgBazUlNMbzDt-tqzE7pwydpcHhaVsktdy3pMyxL8k-7odnuxJVPOPbstJEQUQc3UeQ/s1600/Barbara+Herndon+Glenn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbKMqg0u1ZGeyJnsQJczhJLrPFEfLHwpshC-dUClm2qj-OsyYOxWDU0T4N3JCB3cIUbgaSb664PgBazUlNMbzDt-tqzE7pwydpcHhaVsktdy3pMyxL8k-7odnuxJVPOPbstJEQUQc3UeQ/s400/Barbara+Herndon+Glenn.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i>My dear daughter,</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;">It is night, past nine o'clock, and your Pa has just come into his room where he has a good fire. He is all alone with a candle on a little stand and is writing to his sweet child. He got a letter yesterday from Cousin Annie and one from Sister. He was sorry to hear that Aunt Mary is ill and my dear daughter's throat is not yet well.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i>It has turned cold today, but I have a good piney woods fire to go to bed by. I hope that you also have fire to warm your feet. Little Herndon is down on the hearth keeping me company. He has been at school only four months and reads very well, writes some, and spells wonderfully for his age and time at school.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i>I'm not much of a walker these days, having broken myself down last summer going up the mountain to your watermelon patch. I would never have gotten to the top if it weren't for you and Alex. He pulled and you pushed and at last I found myself on the top. It was a spectacular view.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i>I'm getting a little cold and will stop writing for this time. Hoping to hear from you soon. I remain as ever your loving and affectionate...</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: large;"><i>Mother</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Times like these are long gone but the sweetness and simplicity of the words live on.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Peace,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Barb</span></i></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-51324149965172648772020-05-15T09:03:00.001-07:002020-05-15T09:26:49.142-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">*FELINE FRIDAY*</span></i></b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><i><span style="font-size: large;">Ah, the feline...my favorite animal. Today, I'll share my
fur children with you, all ten of them - seven of my own and three inherited
from my son and his fiancé when they moved.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">TEN! you say...not so much when taking care of them is a
labor of love. A routine helps, plus separating several who would cause mayhem
or have mayhem done to them. </span></i><br />
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</div>
<br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">ROUTINE:</span></i><br />
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</div>
<br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> Morning: 1. Turn on coffee...oh yes, must
have fortification.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
2. Open blinds, let sun in. Stand in window and</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
greet the day.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
3. Rinse and refill cat water bowl.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
4. Change cat boxes.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
5. Divide cat food into three bowls...an important step.
They know their spots, two to
each bowl.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
6. Place food on floor. Step back. :)</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
7. Make coffee. Ahhhhhhhh.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
8. Relax in living room with morning news.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
9. Playtime during the day with toys and red dot. :)</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> Evening: 1. Feed basement cats. They
have dry one day, wet the</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> next.</span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
2. <i>Refill dry food bowl for first floor cats</i>.</span><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
2. Clean and refill water bowls for all.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
3. Clean boxes for all.</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">
4. Playtime with red dot. :)</span></i><br />
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</div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
PICTURES: :)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX166gCFRX2v51ou1xEcJb1wsoLpLyHZ0Cz3VDlIwLozyaEY-qk5Gc-PAHFFEEs2czk4TbOPtyMsIboknzriQKEI4xqSmNe11Gr4ya7hpchh8S-MflbUcSpPRC88zO7jdzVwVLkYU8YBs/s1600/cats+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="720" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX166gCFRX2v51ou1xEcJb1wsoLpLyHZ0Cz3VDlIwLozyaEY-qk5Gc-PAHFFEEs2czk4TbOPtyMsIboknzriQKEI4xqSmNe11Gr4ya7hpchh8S-MflbUcSpPRC88zO7jdzVwVLkYU8YBs/s640/cats+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF5vYdu_SQl-7G7go46xiLmf4I2ZGKAzD4yASN7k8AMvxkAFuW0R02pYgnC65_6N5d8OYGLklbu8mkhJtXjTHw3JnIfxfe0zL-cDOA47PUYZauCSNF3Oj7NwWOxksZ4yczExKBORLCcfU/s1600/birdy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF5vYdu_SQl-7G7go46xiLmf4I2ZGKAzD4yASN7k8AMvxkAFuW0R02pYgnC65_6N5d8OYGLklbu8mkhJtXjTHw3JnIfxfe0zL-cDOA47PUYZauCSNF3Oj7NwWOxksZ4yczExKBORLCcfU/s640/birdy.jpg" width="640" /></i></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-SRkjesVWwKtJUc-ROpD0d1YQBsJA_mKb2DGtlSKlxPcV7s1PK6LOO5xeWvvtRsYoTl3oz_HgSD8eGgxBvkXc0sZWHSZ4Y-FavDIqRpIDKJq4cncwlAAADx7oG184631IxW2ElZh-Hc/s1600/cat+brawl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="588" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-SRkjesVWwKtJUc-ROpD0d1YQBsJA_mKb2DGtlSKlxPcV7s1PK6LOO5xeWvvtRsYoTl3oz_HgSD8eGgxBvkXc0sZWHSZ4Y-FavDIqRpIDKJq4cncwlAAADx7oG184631IxW2ElZh-Hc/s640/cat+brawl.jpg" width="640" /></i></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlV8L6hCAKbKylgGHY8o2Cytr6wbvWHRAJKz4AVDV3AxOlIiYeFHgWOTr1k5J5-YgOuM_g4AJsupDSWpdJhUXwSp283XH9wjrazIz-Dn5HT8S7lR4LmjkldujP2E2I2WXc_cDOwRVYrM/s1600/Picture+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlV8L6hCAKbKylgGHY8o2Cytr6wbvWHRAJKz4AVDV3AxOlIiYeFHgWOTr1k5J5-YgOuM_g4AJsupDSWpdJhUXwSp283XH9wjrazIz-Dn5HT8S7lR4LmjkldujP2E2I2WXc_cDOwRVYrM/s640/Picture+10.jpg" width="640" /></i></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
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</span>
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">So little pampering, rewarded with a lifetime of purrs and love.</span></span></span></span></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Peace</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Barb</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-9327386992108051222020-05-14T11:20:00.001-07:002020-05-14T11:20:19.906-07:00<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family: Times New Roman; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b><i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;">*THURSDAY TALES*</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<b><i><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">Today's post is in remembrance of my sister, who died May 15, 1963.</span></i></b><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVd2PxwVU5dWhsjgHM1qJnfZf_z5_G1MEZY88IzQS11kVNPPlMQHiI-ldENpY4ghIpLGKLI5lu9Wo1JeUQPGwcqINKebb7fEEZNGW1EockwyXhi-WPhxhdoeO1mXrZOQj6XZEreRw2muw/s1600/15871226_10154593355618429_1405324609_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="264" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVd2PxwVU5dWhsjgHM1qJnfZf_z5_G1MEZY88IzQS11kVNPPlMQHiI-ldENpY4ghIpLGKLI5lu9Wo1JeUQPGwcqINKebb7fEEZNGW1EockwyXhi-WPhxhdoeO1mXrZOQj6XZEreRw2muw/s320/15871226_10154593355618429_1405324609_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="221" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">THE LOSS</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #000037;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My parents </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> had been so very careful. The new
bridge where the children were gathering bugs for their biology projects
appeared secure. If the children were alert, they would be safe.<o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: #000037;"></span>Around 7:00, Mama drove my sisters to the
bridge. Carrie only needed five more bugs for her science project, and the
twins were anxious to help. Parking on the grass and giving her children last
minute instructions to stay off the highway, Mama settled to read. Other
children were there also. Mama could hear them shouting to
each other as they found their prizes. She smiled, for they were all so perfect
and dear, each in their own way.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">She heard a new sound, and as it drew
closer, she became apprehensive. A car passed her, traveling at a high rate of
speed, and she could see two men in the front seat, one wearing a hat. It all
happened so fast. Hearing a horrible sound, Mama immediately left her car,
running onto the bridge. She could see a man kneeling over a small body on the pavement. The man said repeatedly, “What have I done?”</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">Her heart stopped, and she began calling
her children. “Carrie, Ellen, Marie?” One of Carrie’s friends ran up, then Carrie
and one of the twins. Mama called for her missing child. “Ellen, Ellen?”</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">Carrie’s friend said, very softly, “I’m so
sorry.”</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Time stopped for mother. She ran, pushing
the man away, and knelt by her child, feeling for her heartbeat. Ellen was so
small, lying there on the pavement, her face turned to one side. As Mama
stroked her cheek and ran her hand down her neck, she stopped, for blood ran down the road in rivulets. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">She refrained from turning her child's head, not
wanting to see the destruction. She told Carrie and her sister to sit on the
curb, covering the small body with her own, trying to spare them from seeing
what she had seen.</span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">A police car pulled up. Two officers
emerged, and their only comment was, “How are we going to get him out of this
one?” </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 22.5pt; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">They made no move to see who the child was or to help the woman kneeling
over her body. The man who hit my sister had been
drinking, wishing only to scare the little girl by the side of the road.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The police called an ambulance to take my sister
to the hospital, telling Mama to wait for her husband. She knew it was no use
going in the ambulance. My sister had died instantly from the impact. Carrie’s
friend called my father, and when she told him what had happened, he put the
phone down and left tthe house, running down the middle of the street. </span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">A cousin
picked him up and took him to his car. At the bridge, Daddy hurriedly collected
his family and drove to the hospital, blowing the horn all the way. Mama said,
“Darling, don't hurry. It's too late. She’s already dead.”</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">At the hospital, the family doctor and
assisting nurses were around the small body, wanting to do something to ease
the agony. Mama went over to the table where my sister was lying. She wanted to
say goodbye to her child.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: cyan;">Time, if you let it, heals many things.
The pain of remembering is still there, only more bearable. After two years of
torment, Mama sent a message to her spirit child. “I'm going to forget you for
a while, or I will not be able to continue.” She gradually returned to us, giving love
absent too long.</span><o:p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"></span><br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="color: cyan;"></span><br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-28652743613099834442020-05-13T07:20:00.001-07:002020-05-13T07:29:46.792-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">*WEDNESDAY WALK*</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Good morning. :) Take a few moments, sit back, and enjoy today's images. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">You are there - in a boat or taking a walk, enjoying nature's beauty. What do you feel - the wind, the warmth on your skin? What do you hear - waves lapping on the shore, birdsong, the happy voices of children? What do you smell - fresh cut grass, the wood of an ancient tree?</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Let your mind wander and relax.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhFwpdF3s0slAXvr5Ij-MJ0rlVcIMpnB_Vux6zDCjTa7lQo3Y14faQg1nWbJOhzrapUn53ORdXM5E8RO30j-TyNxaxjEdlkFsQKKfLtp4w3c02mWedsclJBjNS0G_Zz0LfhNxUSEPOvQ/s1600/meadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="960" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhFwpdF3s0slAXvr5Ij-MJ0rlVcIMpnB_Vux6zDCjTa7lQo3Y14faQg1nWbJOhzrapUn53ORdXM5E8RO30j-TyNxaxjEdlkFsQKKfLtp4w3c02mWedsclJBjNS0G_Zz0LfhNxUSEPOvQ/s640/meadow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9H5Vf7WWGc1KcGNWYnfTgX_cMedMmPfb3FaQrwLlgURHLBvUCa_uduBBHzJ4Q9Kud9K86cUjZJAjROEGrnEs8p8ysPVTThXIYjyq1vFLW9zREHSpbjHnrBDECCwGvUyJIUnMzHefrbdY/s1600/lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="960" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9H5Vf7WWGc1KcGNWYnfTgX_cMedMmPfb3FaQrwLlgURHLBvUCa_uduBBHzJ4Q9Kud9K86cUjZJAjROEGrnEs8p8ysPVTThXIYjyq1vFLW9zREHSpbjHnrBDECCwGvUyJIUnMzHefrbdY/s640/lake.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5hLIbCf8T2HquIFKlenKwZmQmKYo38b6ivCeH_Q6rn0IK1O-B0deg884MK-fMOwA6bm1miK1y749wcebgXKqvNsHBxaMd3wo5jZ5PuDYy4xWEPgAEZOj108NmVpOzql5YU-Zbq11KaM/s1600/italy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="960" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5hLIbCf8T2HquIFKlenKwZmQmKYo38b6ivCeH_Q6rn0IK1O-B0deg884MK-fMOwA6bm1miK1y749wcebgXKqvNsHBxaMd3wo5jZ5PuDYy4xWEPgAEZOj108NmVpOzql5YU-Zbq11KaM/s640/italy.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-llcZKn2BE-c7IgNa_Yinq08Wx4jeTpm9S2_ZAwVSjm2Orf6rI579GuuqT7_xnMqaETGhSr4NBdPf08CEhfmhhGZZeKQMS3y4mU8zilI8cDoubTFX4Rlq6NK0Ri4XObpU-laG4Ny2wo/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="960" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-llcZKn2BE-c7IgNa_Yinq08Wx4jeTpm9S2_ZAwVSjm2Orf6rI579GuuqT7_xnMqaETGhSr4NBdPf08CEhfmhhGZZeKQMS3y4mU8zilI8cDoubTFX4Rlq6NK0Ri4XObpU-laG4Ny2wo/s640/beach.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-gJbxvR64BQG_QaSe98YJrkY_XXmiGl2r448uWQr04MPPcvBmJDEvstAI5yk7o3vGSJOB79lPCU4oKM3uwzKzJwdEvf8Qb4x8UkIftVLIIVH4EV5Q5zUmSqXtqT5A7AmtBoZHLf2_H8/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="960" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-gJbxvR64BQG_QaSe98YJrkY_XXmiGl2r448uWQr04MPPcvBmJDEvstAI5yk7o3vGSJOB79lPCU4oKM3uwzKzJwdEvf8Qb4x8UkIftVLIIVH4EV5Q5zUmSqXtqT5A7AmtBoZHLf2_H8/s640/tree.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Stay safe and well, my friends.</div>
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Peace,</div>
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Barb</div>
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</span></i>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-84308275834158962642018-05-08T19:26:00.001-07:002018-05-08T19:28:48.728-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>KITH AND KIN</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>If I could have one wish, I would be back in my mama's house. I loved her company. She was a brilliant woman with a wicked sense of humor. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I think she knew me better than anyone, and for the </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">most part, she was a delight. We spent many times in the car on the way from one place to another, discussing ethereal topics, her mind wandering </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>as far as mine. She seemed to know no limits in her imagination and I found her a joy. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as fascinating</i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">. </i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I remember sitting in Grandma's kitchen when young, watching Mama cook. She was a fantastic creator of food. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Despite what you had in your kitchen, she would produce a delicious meal. I asked her how she would feel if I died, and she answered, </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“I would cry for the rest of my life.” That, to a paranoid kid, meant the world.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD-c7alniDLyH12br5LJa7wRuwsXb3BlvsqA6t55XGjbmaTVQ7ZqHaolgIiy0N2xTJywzQpwHmXdKOYkE6nXKZAKpkwYItz7Lh-veT_8j0Ckw_91uOmRmlFooxxTLapDk7cS-b4TDqmc/s1600/mom+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD-c7alniDLyH12br5LJa7wRuwsXb3BlvsqA6t55XGjbmaTVQ7ZqHaolgIiy0N2xTJywzQpwHmXdKOYkE6nXKZAKpkwYItz7Lh-veT_8j0Ckw_91uOmRmlFooxxTLapDk7cS-b4TDqmc/s320/mom+4.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>She was fixing dinner in a pressure cooker, leaning over to inspect the pot, and it blew up in her face. I remember </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">her consoling me in my terror, telling me that she would be fine as she was taken to the hospital. I counted every second until she </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">returned, her face wrapped in gauze. Luckily, she suffered no real damage.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Another memory…she made wonderful donuts and shook them in a bag of sugar. My sweet tooth raged as I watched.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>When I was around 12, my parents discovered I could sing. I hid it from them for a long time, letting them think that it was the radio. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She was so proud and engaged a German voice teacher nearby to give me lessons. She would sit in the car and read while I sang</i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">.</i><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>She was a voracious reader, everything she could get her hands on. It tickled her when we girls shivered as she told us about </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Rasputin, the mad monk of Russia. I’ve never forgotten the look on her face as she watched our reactions.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mom was also a talented writer. I grew up reading her family anecdotes and thoughts on life. She was my inspiration that resulted in my lifetime efforts and recent publications.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrHssKx9hOwh-Y-4zWPVvEcMHmidWWlNumxLSuXa6PcJII_0XLtW7X9YgmH295VO5hAtqkt5AKKLGVsrXj-_-SxyQkOxYTNzp1wgRS1kWiPqdjDWOAOFznxgsmgDsuVpUtxX4N_zXe1o/s1600/Picture+002.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrHssKx9hOwh-Y-4zWPVvEcMHmidWWlNumxLSuXa6PcJII_0XLtW7X9YgmH295VO5hAtqkt5AKKLGVsrXj-_-SxyQkOxYTNzp1wgRS1kWiPqdjDWOAOFznxgsmgDsuVpUtxX4N_zXe1o/s320/Picture+002.bmp" width="217" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>She had a good work ethic, often leaving home in later years, traveling several hours away to make a sale. She could sell clothes to </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a nudist and no one could resist her charm. I don’t think she ever met a stranger, no matter what race or nationality. </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She had many friends and was a friend to them as well. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>My sisters and I were blessed to be her children.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRl-knb6WH1P29ffJB7A9jLkIE9btNlfOw-xbAvnyrU9koNlFWL2dMio25nec3JD_g078ff7ewk9Zv-RdslUSYWrtE_Ul8n5Fx2BtlWZJJx5rm3JyN-n3HO4PpLF76EZZmhS35gRNCLM/s320/mom+3.jpg" /><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Peace,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barb</span></i></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-54834891813458810622018-05-08T19:14:00.000-07:002020-02-12T18:05:40.332-08:00Going through cassette tapes, I've found real jewels, most I'd forgotten. I'll be sharing many in the future from family gatherings over the years. Today, however, I'm in a playful mood. This particular recording was made before karaoke became popular. I still have the record with the instrumental sing-a-longs. I hope you enjoy it. I certainly had fun making it.<br />
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From 1973<br />
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https://www.facebook.com/barbara.chioffi/videos/vb.600093428/10155671922078429/?type=3/catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-84904187523532207432018-05-04T07:29:00.004-07:002018-05-04T07:29:29.230-07:00Good day friends. I have been long absent due to family issues and a bout with depression. In an effort to revitalize my blog, I've decided to post remembrances relating to my family and the many people I've met along the way.<br />
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We all look back on what we've accomplished, what we meant to do but didn't, and what we did but shouldn't have. With my sense of humor and belief in the good in everyone, I'll post the successes and failures I've experienced during my 75 years.<br />
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Postings will be on Tuesdays and Fridays with occasional meanderings when the mood allows.<br />
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Ship of Dreams was written shortly after my mother passed in 1996.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">SHIP
OF DREAMS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have come home to my
father’s house for the last time. My sisters and I are here to lay my mother to
rest. She followed my father several years after his passing, dying on their wedding
anniversary. There is a sense of regret that I did not have a chance to say
goodbye to either of them. As with my father, Mother was cremated. Ashes seem
such a poor representation of a person’s essence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This is also my final
visit to the house that has been my companion for many years. My grandparents
owned the house until their deaths when it passed to my father. We moved to the
house when I was fifteen, but I remember the many trips from North Carolina to
Alabama where I spent every summer with my grandparents. My travels began when
I was seven. Mom and Dad would put me on a bus seated behind the driver, who
promised to watch me during the ten-hour trip. It was a great adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I walk into the house,
whispers of past events and motion picture memories overcome me. The front
hall, now devoid of its countless books, is covered with dust. The shelves are
a silent testament to lifetimes of preachers, teachers, and philosophers. Going
into my mother’s room brings instant tears. It is empty now, but I can still
see her lying on the long, yellow couch, frail and angry that she should be so.
Without her presence, the room, the house, seems lonely and forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There is a palatable
sense of loss in three generations of joy, sorrow, everyday events, and whispers
in the dark. I am surrounded by sounds of children running through the hall,
music from the upright piano in the living room, births and deaths and the old
ones who died when their time came. Mementos are gathered--books, an afghan I
made for Mom years ago, and other small bibelots. Only unwanted items remain
when it is time to leave. The house seems to be saying, “Don’t go. Stay a while
longer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My siblings and I gather
on the front porch, and our sister of the heart and a dear cousin are with us. Comfortable
rockers, worn by many sitters, hold us close. Ashtrays and plant stands are
friendly reminders of the countless evenings spent with family and friends and
the shared camaraderie. We remember evenings sitting silently in the darkness,
watching spiders spin their webs. Friends from across the street bring wine,
and we sing, talk, laugh, and cry far into the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Time passes, leaving bittersweet
memories. The house will always be a part of me, of my soul. All that I have
loved resided here at one time or another. It was a safe harbor for a ship of
dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A
safe harbor? A ship of dreams? Yes, but I, the house, am also a keeper of
secrets held close in love. My walls have felt and absorbed your emotions and
your dreams. You have meant so much to me, all of you. Your goodbyes touched my
heart. Yes, a house can have a heart. Built of wood, brick, and mortar, it
comes to life when a family moves in with all its hopes and human frailties.
Sometimes, the house weeps, sometimes it rejoices, but it always revels in the
human condition.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">How
can I respond to so many souls? Several generations of your family have lived
within me--the earliest during the depression, raising their children in a
simpler time, and the second, wildly passionate, finding humor and wonder in
their children, watching them grow in the same passionate manner. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A
life cut short, that of your sister, was the most sorrowful event in all my
years with you. A beautiful child, she was torn from her family by a drunk
driver trying to scare a little child by the side of the road. I can still see
each of you in your pain and grief, trying to comfort each other. Your memories
will remain with me forever--your mother who covered her child’s body so the
younger sisters could not see her, the father running down the middle of the
road toward his injured child, and the oldest daughter, in the days to follow, finding
herself giving comfort, tapping into an inner strength she did not know she
possessed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
remember fondly the mornings with you girls and any visiting friends piled on
your mother’s bed with cups full, brimming over with coffee and laced with the
previous night’s conversations. Also remembered are your parents, sometimes
driven by their own private hells, but always seeing their children as precious
and unique. They were willing to sacrifice everything for you. Those
sacrifices, given freely in love, negated any failings.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There
were the happy times, the simple enjoyment of a family being together--poker
games until the wee hours, discussions that covered everything, celebrations
with neighbors that centered on scintillating conversation, and music--the
father and oldest daughter providing the entertainment with their glorious
voices.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And
the funny things you did. One in particular comes to mind. Barbara, the oldest,
ever seeking to shock, but always looking for approval, brought home several
albums by Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts. The name of the group was kept from your
father. Your mother shuddered, but to her credit, listened with an open mind to
the crude jokes and sexual innuendos. She stood it as long as she could, and
one night, after several drinks, showed her true feelings by sailing one of the
records out the front door and into the bushes.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
will always love each of you. I wept silently as you walked through my rooms
for the last time. I knew why you had to leave and watched your departure with
a breaking heart. Your sorrow was mine, and if I had wings, I would have
carried you back to happier times. You will always be the ideal by which all
others are measured. Never again will I experience that pure joy in your lives,
the love as I hold you close to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Barbara,
you called me a safe harbor for a ship of dreams. I say to you, “You have
sailed your course, poorly at times, but always with a faith that has sustained
you. I love you past caring and will hold forever, the vision of a tall, proud
ship on its quest.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Peace,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Barb</span></div>
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<br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-88420198177417898882018-01-02T17:58:00.000-08:002018-01-02T17:58:46.191-08:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">HAPPY NEW YEAR</span></b></i></div>
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Today's post is THE SHADOW RISES by K. S. Marsden</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7N_4dFz_RR22ezk79YcuIfHJFNu3haHr0wGJNdreOOuveTqHH4Gc33PQymwUGXBiETeSjecZeHj7PNZv3J3iYCrhs5umVsASv9XA2Lsonkx3fpF80Jz5SV6gC0F9ukW3IpRyZuAlbYU/s1600/kelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7N_4dFz_RR22ezk79YcuIfHJFNu3haHr0wGJNdreOOuveTqHH4Gc33PQymwUGXBiETeSjecZeHj7PNZv3J3iYCrhs5umVsASv9XA2Lsonkx3fpF80Jz5SV6gC0F9ukW3IpRyZuAlbYU/s320/kelly.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The Shadow Rises (Witch-Hunter #1)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Author: K.S. Marsden<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Genre: Urban Fantasy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">SYNOPSIS:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Witches are real, and to be blunt, they’re all
black-hearted, and evil. These are not wiccans; witches are a different breed
that use magic with devastating effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Charged with stopping the witches, taking whatever
measures necessary, there are witch-hunters, all reporting to the Malleus
Maleficarum Council (MMC). For hundreds of years witches have been persecuted
and when the powerful Shadow Witch rises again, they have their opportunity for
revenge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The best the MMC has to offer, the talented
seventh-generation witch-hunting Hunter Astley has his own part to play. In his
own way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">LINKS:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">~FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM ALL ERETAILERS~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17972985-the-shadow-rises<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2CgDfk4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Amazon US:
https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Rises-Witch-Hunter-Book-ebook/dp/B00AWRN8YQ/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Barnes & Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-shadow-rises-k-s-marsden/1119501646?ean=2940046183108<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Apple:
https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/the-shadow-rises/id921005166?mt=11<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="PL">Kobo:
https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/the-shadow-rises<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Google Play:
https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=5Xu8BAAAQBAJ<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/476391<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">THE STORY BEHIND HUNTER:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Yes, it's hard to believe that it has been 5 years
since my debut was released!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">It has always been an ambition of mine, to be a
published author, and these last five years have been an absolute dream. (An
incredibly steep learning curve, but still a dream).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The Witch-Hunter books continue to draw in new readers
and are my best-sellers; and it is still the story that I get most excited
about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What prompted the Witch-Hunter trilogy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Despite the fact that this series pegs the
witch-hunters as our heroes, and follows the famous Hunter Astley; the story
actually started with the bad guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I used to practise Wicca when I was younger, and I
wondered what would happen if you had a bad witch. One that broke all the
wiccan rules, and inflicted pain for the fun of it. I decided the witches in my
story would be a different breed, distinct from their wiccan cousins, and not restricted
by human morals. And my main antagonist had to be the most powerful witch in
history, naturally. Magic without limits...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Once I had my bad guys, it seemed almost too easy to
create the people that would stop them: the witch-hunters working for the
Malleus Maleficarum Council (MMC).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">A witch-hunter named Hunter?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">
</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Yes, I know it's cliche. I struggled to come up with a
name for my main character. He's the best the MMC have at their disposal; he
comes from a witch-hunting family, and has some ridiculous inborn skills to
deal with fighting witches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB">So, I used "Hunter" as a placeholder until I
found a name that suited him. And it stuck. And he's enough of a pretentious
git to pull it off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It's actually a bit of a running joke in the series -
Hunter's real name is George. Sexy, I know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Fact vs. Fiction?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So... this might be a straight-up fantasy story, but a
lot of it is based on real events.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The Malleus Maleficarum was a real book, published in
1487 as the guide for finding and persecuting witches, recommended by Pope
Innocent VIII. (There's a lot of contention surrounding the "authors"
and how legitimate the papal bull is, but I won't go into that here)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This book helped legitimise mass killings,
persecutions, and the general witch-craze that swept the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Witch-hunters of questionable morals attacked people,
regardless of gender or position. The incentive was often money, claiming the
possessions of the "witch", or even to enact a grudge they were
holding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The most common "witch" was female, and if
you were a woman with any ounce of independence, intelligence, free-thought,
charm...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My Malleus Maleficarum Council is based on the premise
that they quickly saw the damage that was being done by the ignorant general
public, and immediately started working in secret. The MMC employs real
witch-hunters, who track down real witches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Until our modern-day Hunter Astley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Why witches?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">When I was looking for a new project to start writing,
I knew that I wanted to do something in Urban Fantasy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">At the time, I thought the literary world was
inundated with vampires and werewolves, and I wanted to steer clear of these
popular tropes. I wanted something I could put my own spin on, something that
felt like it was mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In the end, I nervously started fleshing out a story
about witches. I've always been fascinated by stories of magic and wicked
witches, and I started to put to use all the random facts that I'd gathered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The fascination with witches actually comes from a
long-running family joke that all the women in my family are witches, and that
my nanna would turn us into a toad if we misbehaved. Y'know, the usual silly
stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It felt weird, taking something that had been a family
joke, and turning it into a bunch of books for everyone to read. I'm just
grateful that it went down well!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Mrs Astley<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Even though Mrs Astley is just a background character
- as Hunter's mother, she does little more than hang around the estate, and has
nothing to do with witches - she is the one that leaves the biggest impression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">She is horrible to those around her. She doesn't
intend to insult everyone, she just doesn't have a filter. She's very entitled,
and thinks that the people around her will benefit from hearing her opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">A couple of fun facts about this character:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">1) She doesn't have a first name. Well, she does, it
is just never mentioned. Did you notice?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">2) Her husband died five years ago (although it was
never a happy marriage), but Mrs Astley has been kept company by Charles, the
butler. Nothing is ever said outright, but they do play "chess"
(amongst some of my friends "playing chess" translates into
relations).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">AUTHOR BIO</span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Kelly S. Marsden grew up in Yorkshire, and there were two constants in her life - books and horses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Graduating with an equine degree from Aberystwyth University, she has spent most of her life since trying to experience everything the horse world has to offer. She is currently settled into a Nutritionist role for a horse feed company in Doncaster, South Yorkshire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">She writes Fantasy stories part-time. Her first book, The Shadow Rises (Witch-Hunter #1), was published in January 2013, and she now has two successful series under her belt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">AUTHOR LINKS:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Website: https://www.ksmarsden.com/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6905238.K_S_Marsden<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Twitter: https://twitter.com/KSMarsden<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KSMarsden<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The Northern Witch's Book Blog: http://thenorthernwitchbooks.blogspot.co.uk/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-19612067566295894892017-08-10T14:00:00.000-07:002017-08-10T14:15:29.754-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>FRIDAY FEATURE</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Dragonblood Throne: Legacy</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>by</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Tom Fallwell</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">BLURB</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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Orphaned as a young child and growing up alone in the forest, Delina lives a life of isolation; her only companion a saber-toothed panther. Her strange eyes frighten those she occasionally encounters, so she keeps to herself, until a young, wounded warrior ends up at her doorstep. As she nurses him back to health, she discovers she is more than just a young woman with unusual eyes, she is a dragonblood, destined to become the ruler of Almar.<br />
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Now hunted by the dark sorcerer who murdered her father, usurped his throne, and killed all her kin, she must find out how she can release the essence of the dragon inside her to defeat him. Everything depends upon her willingness to embrace her legacy and reclaim the Dragon Throne.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt from Dragonblood Throne: Legacy, by Tom
Fallwell<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Copyright </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">©</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> 2017 by Tom
Fallwell – All Rights Reserved<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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Ignoring the two scribes fidgeting
nervously behind him, Kargoth anxiously watched the cosmic tableau of the moons
unfold in the darkened sky from his balcony. The rare, lunar eclipse was only
moments away from its apex, the new moon phase of Tibel almost centered within
the bright ring of Sianor behind it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While he would never admit it, not
even to himself, Kargoth was fearful as he waited to see if the prophecy was
true, if there would be a sign indicating a dragonblood still lived in Almar.
The words of that prophecy played continually in his mind as he waited with
bated breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Ring of the heavens,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Ring shining bright.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Darkness the lesser<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Than greater moon's light.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>When the ring glows bright<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>As the moons above turn,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Blood shows the sign<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Of the dragons return.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>A dragon reborn<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>From an innocent child.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The power will grow<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>As emotions run wild.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The dragon will rise<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>When all hope seems lost.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>All evil will pay<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The dragonblood's cost.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The dragonblood comes,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The darkness will die.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The dragon wings spread<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And the dragon will fly.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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“Here it comes,” Kargoth said, never
removing his gaze from the moons. “Now we’ll see if there is any truth to this
prophecy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The scribes trembled, fearing their
High Lord's wrath, as Tibel firmly centered itself in front of Sianor. The
light in the night lessened momentarily as Tibel covered much of Sianor's full
and bright splendor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The slim circle of light around
Tibel began to burn brightly, becoming a brilliant glowing ring in the night
sky. For a moment, the scholars hoped that perhaps the prophecy was false, but
a red glow began to fill the darkness of Tibel. It was as if some celestial
being had poured a bowl of blood into the mold of the darkened Tibel, now
glowing with a red, unearthly light. The eclipse became a white circle filled
with a blood-red glow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The prophecy was true! It was a sign
of blood! Of dragonblood!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>ABOUT THE AUTHOR</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Early in life, Tom Fallwell discovered a love for fantasy and science-fiction, delighting in the wonderful escape into realms undreamed of. Weaned on the greats like J.R.R. Tolkien, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert E. Howard, Roger Zelazny, Robert A. Heinlein, and Michael Moorcock, just to name a few, Tom's imagination was forever inspired by those marvelous tales.<br />
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One day, he discovered a simple book of rules called 'Chainmail', by Gary Gygax, and found a new love: the love of creating adventures and stories of his own. 'Chainmail' evolved into 'Dungeons & Dragons', and Tom played consistently with friends as both a player and a dungeon master (DM) for decades. Such activities helped him develop his ability to create worlds and stories for other players to enjoy.<br />
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Now retired from his long career as a software developer, Tom writes all the adventures and characters that constantly fill his mind and shares them with the world.<br />
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-73683931210840280302017-06-05T18:15:00.001-07:002017-06-05T18:15:04.879-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>MONDAY SPOTLIGHT</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Kith and Kin</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>My early years were with my grandmother. I remember her face, her smile, her unconditional love. A small woman, </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">she possessed an elegant grace and an enigmatic smile. One never knew what she was thinking. I thought of her as my mother though </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I knew she really wasn’t. Grandma was a unique individual, a woman wrenched from her idyllic life one Christmas Day in 1929. Her husband </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">died in a plane crash, and mother told me of the long line of black cars outside their home. My grandfather, the first licensed pilot in </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">North Carolina, had earned the respect of all. His pilot's license was signed by Orville Wright.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Grandma moved from her small town to a larger one, and having no resources, fed tobacco factory workers during their lunch hour to </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">make a living. She was a wonderful cook and an excellent tailor. She would look at a dress in a store window and make one just like it </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">without a pattern. I still remember my favorite, a shirtwaist dress with long sleeves.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>A proud woman, she could be utterly charming or caustic with a smile. One memory that brings laughter is of a pretentious man walking </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">away with a “did she just tell me off” look on his face and Grandma’s sweet, Cheshire-cat smile behind him. She was a major influence </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">during my early years, accepting me with all my faults and frailties, never criticizing, always supporting. I never told her of my many </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">failures, the family grapevine did that; but she always greeted me with a smile, a hug, and lots of love. I pleased her despite myself </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and to this day, I will remember the feeling with gratitude.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Grandma and I loved the trips we took home every year. We would turn a nine-hour trip into fourteen or fifteen hours, </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">stopping on the spur of the moment for anything that looked inviting. We usually took the scenic route, staying off the interstates, </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so we passed through many little towns filled with craft and gift shops, fairs, and restaurants.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>One year, I was in a hurry to get home. Bad weather was on the way and I took Interstate 95. Atlanta was notoriously </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">busy and we hit it at rush hour. I was a little nervous, but having taken the yearly trips home had given me a familiarity with the traffic</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. Grandma was sitting next to me with her hands folded, probably willing us down the road. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"> </i><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I was in the middle lane when suddenly, a car shot from the left in front of me across all lanes of traffic headed for an exit </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">on the right with no warning and no turn signal. To my credit, I didn’t slam on the brakes but out came the dreaded “F” word </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">followed by “you S.O.B.” As soon as I uttered those horrible curses, I realized who was sitting next to me. I spent the next few </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">minutes profusely apologizing. Grandma didn’t say a thing and when I finally stopped, without batting an eye, she </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">patted my hand and said, “That’s alright, honey, I probably would have said the same thing.”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Many other tales come to mind, but this one always brings a smile. Thanks, grandma, for all the memories.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Peace,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Barb</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i></i></span>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-70040092620110342132017-05-15T08:05:00.002-07:002017-05-15T08:05:35.120-07:00<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>I have been absent due to an ongoing health issue and plan to return on June 5th with the schedule as follows:</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em> Monday Kith and Kin</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em> Wednesday Ramblings from Belladonna</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em> Friday Feature of the Week</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>Sincerely,</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>Barbara Chioffi</em></span> <br />
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-56304912544867488292017-03-22T17:43:00.000-07:002017-03-22T17:43:28.310-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">*This is a continued story. If you are tuning in for the first time, please refer to previous chapters.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My first instinct was to throw something through the window, but I knew that would create more problems than I wanted; instead, I returned to my car, removed the basket I had so carefully packed with food, wine, and "dessert attire" and left it on the porch, certain H would realize where it came from. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I drove home, a myriad of emotions playing through my mind... anger, hurt, betrayal. H and I were in a relationship, weren't we? He had professed his love, bought me expensive gifts, and paid my rent for a year. Wouldn't that indicate commitment? Then the imp on my shoulder brought up other possibilities... H wasn't married. There was no written agreement. I had assumed that he would be faithful, but with assumptions there is no truth and plenty of wiggle room. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>By the time I arrived at my apartment, I had decided to see when H would call and what he would say. My future course of action would depend on his explanation. The imp, however, was focused on payback.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>To Be Continued.....</i></span></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-79292910967550195492017-03-20T17:58:00.001-07:002017-03-20T17:58:29.768-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>KITH AND KIN</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>If I could have one wish, I would be back in my mama's house. I loved her company. She was a brilliant woman with a wicked sense of humor. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I think she knew me better than anyone, and for the </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">most part, she was a delight. We spent many times in the car on the way from one place to another, discussing ethereal topics, her mind wandering </i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>as far as mine. She seemed to know no limits in her imagination and I found her a joy. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as fascinating</i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">. </i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I remember sitting in Grandma's kitchen when young, watching Mama cook. She was a fantastic creator of food. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Despite what you had in your kitchen, she would produce a delicious meal. I asked her how she would feel if I died, and she answered, </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“I would cry for the rest of my life.” That, to a paranoid kid, meant the world.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She was fixing dinner in a pressure cooker, leaning over to inspect the pot, and it blew up in her face. I remember </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">her consoling me in my terror, telling me that she would be fine as she was taken to the hospital. I counted every second until she </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">returned, her face wrapped in gauze. Luckily, she suffered no real damage.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Another memory…she made wonderful donuts and shook them in a bag of sugar. My sweet tooth raged as I watched.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>When I was around 12, my parents discovered I could sing. I hid it from them for a long time, letting them think that it was the radio. </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She was so proud and engaged a German voice teacher nearby to give me lessons. She would sit in the car and read while I sang</i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She was a voracious reader, everything she could get her hands on. It tickled her when we girls shivered as she told us about </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Rasputin, the mad monk of Russia. I’ve never forgotten the look on her face as she watched our reactions.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mom was also a talented writer. I grew up reading her family anecdotes and thoughts on life. She was my inspiration that resulted in my lifetime efforts and recent publications.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>She had a good work ethic, often leaving home in later years, traveling several hours away to make a sale. She could sell clothes to </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a nudist and no one could resist her charm. I don’t think she ever met a stranger, no matter what race or nationality. </i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She had many friends and was a friend to them as well. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>My sisters and I were blessed to be her children.</i></span><br />
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<br />catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-86277750532068551042017-03-15T08:40:00.001-07:002017-03-15T08:40:12.188-07:00<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I will resume posting next week on March 20. Please excuse my absence.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-56021088008612628822017-03-08T17:06:00.000-08:002017-03-08T17:06:14.445-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>As time passed, the relationship between H and me became routine. He came to my apartment only when we were going out, so I began to make friends in the building, enjoying the camaraderie. The summer I met Barbara and her sister (if she reads this, I'm in trouble), we had our own cliche, meeting in the evenings for entertainment that included dinner, drinking, and general mayhem. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Our group grew to include other people in the building, male and female. The pool was closed at night, but we often climbed the fence for a midnight swim. Grocery cart races up and down the halls were a source of merriment. That summer was the beginning of friendships that would last for years.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>One weekend, I decided to pay H a visit... an unannounced one. He had taken care of me for almost six months and I wanted to show my appreciation. My car was packed with dinner, wine, and a special outfit for "dessert". We had talked earlier and I was told that he would watch TV and relax for the evening. As I pulled up to his house, there was a small car in the driveway. My curious little shoulder imp suggested I look in the window before going in. There was H, stretched out on the couch as he told me he would be, but he wasn't alone. Sitting on his lap was a curvy blonde, wearing only her birthday suit.</i></span></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-70042404756773190732017-03-06T09:22:00.002-08:002017-03-06T16:26:52.776-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>KITH AND KIN</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">My father... November 21, 1915 - March 6, 1993.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><br />My early memories of him come in vignettes…</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">We were on the way home after visiting my grandmother. I was standing in the backseat, looking out the front window of the car. It was dark, and the road was virtually deserted. I’m sure that I had ridden in cars before, but for some reason, this night is what I remember as the first time.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">I noticed two bright eyes way down the road and instantly screeched, hitting the floor. A few seconds passed, and hardy laughter came from the front seat, followed by this explanation . . . “Honey, that is a car down the road and what you saw were the headlights. Stand up and look.”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">I trusted my father with my whole heart, so shakily, I did as he said, and sure enough, there were the “two scary eyes” surrounded by a car. I felt instant relief and continued looking over the front seat for the rest of the trip.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">I was always impressed by my father’s grasp of things. He was a brilliant man with a lusty sense of humor, loving his fellowman, while at the same time understanding their faults. He certainly seemed to understand mine. Impatient with me but still helpful, he would lose his temper first, then complement me, then figure a way to help me out of one situation after another. The one area in which he showed pride was my singing.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">I told no one of my talent. I would sing only with the radio at night after we had gone to bed. I had my own room and would lie in the dark listening to the wonderful sounds, trying to match them. One night, Mom yelled up the stairs, “Bobbie, turn off that radio and go to sleep.” One of my sisters answered from the other room, “Mom, that’s not the radio, that’s Bobbie.”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">She must have told Dad, because the next day, he had me at the piano, singing up and down the scales. A look of surprise and joy was on his face as he yelled to Mom. “Jean, do you hear that?”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">He was always my biggest fan, quietly supporting me with a smile and praise. I’ll always remember the songfests we had, singing gloriously together. His voice was of operatic quality and magnificent. It was pure heaven.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: cyan;">A happy soul, he brought a smile to everyone he met. Mom, my sisters, and I adored him. I miss you dad.</span></i></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-23891161115127115252017-03-01T18:00:00.006-08:002017-03-01T18:00:56.877-08:00<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Belladonna will return next Wednesday with another one of her ramblings. Stay tuned.</i></b></span>catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-30959218220364954722017-02-27T09:05:00.000-08:002017-02-27T10:45:04.810-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>My aunt </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor. She</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and I shared many things through the years... our love of family, of good books, art, and music, of nature, and of people. We were the watchers who often communicated without speaking. A look or a touch of the hand spoke volumes.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sister, as we called her, was a walker. We took many excursions, she strolling jauntily ahead, me struggling to keep up. Her energy was boundless. One memory that stands out is sitting under a huge tree, watching the leaves blow and the squirrels run. Words were unnecessary.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>In looking through the family pictures, I have definite favorites, but the one that brings smiles is Sister in her grandmother's wedding dress, taken when she was eighteen. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Raised in a small southern town, she had all the advantages her parents could provide. She and my father were close, enjoying times with friends and family. These pictures are of the two of them as young adults, playing off each other with their hats, and later in life, after marriage and family.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sister attended college in Georgia before moving to Boston, where she met and married the love of her life some years later. When I moved to Virginia in the late sixties, I stayed with her until I began teaching. She and my uncle took me to concerts, lectures, and museums, broadening my horizons. Her presidency of the local women's club provided another level of awareness as I witnessed her in that capacity.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>She was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor, a touchstone for her family. I am her namesake. She was my aunt, but she was also my friend. </i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thanks, Sister, for the memories.</i></div>
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-19062258383122729472017-02-24T07:39:00.002-08:002017-02-24T07:40:12.011-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>FRIDAY FEATURE</i></b></span><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: xx-large;"><i> </i></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>CHICANERY</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Barbara Chioffi</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i>Synopsis</i></b></span> </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">What finds you in the night?</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">CHICANERY is a collection of eight horror tales, each with a little bit of deceit and enough </span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">of the macabre to have you looking over your shoulder. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">Who knows what awaits us as we go about our daily lives. In these </span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">tales, you will find a bit of betrayal, a snippet or two of terror, and a lot of comeuppance. Oh, and a good dose of helpful spirits.</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg456eTPVgKgA3QuTVhHd5FPGLoFJ1ViK6bDl7jSz5nG_3h-079deucodLYdAR0fd6rJOBCLwcEOJ-H82Fs5oHZTAgfWaXgWfR14TpSufOnjcUC2Ct0VuJT6wjxHVCYtzPNU69Qnjh8YSY/s1600/THE+WHISPER+TEASER.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg456eTPVgKgA3QuTVhHd5FPGLoFJ1ViK6bDl7jSz5nG_3h-079deucodLYdAR0fd6rJOBCLwcEOJ-H82Fs5oHZTAgfWaXgWfR14TpSufOnjcUC2Ct0VuJT6wjxHVCYtzPNU69Qnjh8YSY/s400/THE+WHISPER+TEASER.png" width="400" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Available at</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">https://www.amazon.com/Chicanery-Barbara-Chioffi-ebook/dp/B01LW31IFE</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Peace, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Barb</span><br />
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8833260877859446505.post-30148431308367028402017-02-22T14:42:00.000-08:002017-02-22T18:07:30.612-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>After dinner, Garrett and I sat on the balcony with more wine. The night was perfect....sky filled with stars, cool breezes, and a view into the woods. I made small talk, waiting for Garrett to initiate the desired conversation. I had dressed for dinner in a white low cut dress with my dyed red hair down around my shoulders and was aware of the appreciative looks but pretended not to notice.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Our chairs were close. Perfume was wafting in his direction, encouraged by my flicking my hair more than was necessary. Hoping his inebriated state kept him oblivious, I put my hand on his arm.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>"Garrett, this is so pleasant, just the two of us. H never indulges my romantic side."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>A slight smile graced his face and he took my hand in his. I had to concentrate on my objective despite his good looks. Damn, he was handsome.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>"Bella, I knew when I met H, he was a controlling man. I hope this doesn't upset you, but I have to admit that the offer to be "his eyes" with regards to you is tempting. He and I have a lot in common... appreciation of a beautiful woman, ambition, and a common ancestry."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>My eyebrows shot up. Encouraged by his revelation, I took the naive road, "You're Italian?"</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>"Yes." He chuckled. "My mother was Irish and I have her coloring. My father... one hundred percent Italian."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>That certainly explained the instant rapport between him and H. Taking a large sip of wine, I waited a minute, appearing to consider what he had told me. "I wondered what you two discussed. What have you decided to do with his request?"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>He kept my hand in his and held my green eyes with his big baby blues. "Bella, you're a grown woman with your own mind. What you do is your business." Taking a breath, he added, "And to be honest, my interest in you is more than friendly."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Inwardly punching the air, I remained calm, smiling with what I hoped was reserved appreciation. After all, I didn't want to jump him on the spot but wanted the door to be open to all possibilities. "That pleases me, Garrett. Let's give it time, and we'll see where this relationship goes."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The rest of the evening was spent telling family tales and drinking another bottle of wine. When he finally left, we were leaning on each other as I walked him to the door.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">The next morning, I sat on my balcony with coffee, remembering what H had asked Garrett to do.</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;"> Although not explicit, I knew what he had meant. This set my jaw on edge. My first reaction was to tell H what he could do with himself, but I had to consider that I wasn't employed and depended on him for my existence. What I had learned from Garrett, however, set my course for the future.</span></i></span><br />
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<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>TO BE CONTINUED...</b></i><br />
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catniphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04056231117757097903noreply@blogger.com0