tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-344335352024-02-02T11:42:23.300-05:00This is My "Real" BlogI call it my "real" blog because its predecessor was a "quasi" blog. You'll see. I'm just a mom with two phenomenal kids. My husband and I are taking it day-by-day, and enjoying every minute of it all. Thanks for stopping by!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.comBlogger738125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-52089013957397012752015-01-29T15:33:00.001-05:002015-01-29T15:33:15.909-05:00Getting Back Into the SwingI may try getting back into blogging. A lot has happened since I last blogged. <div><br></div><div>Almost too much to contain....but I think I'm ready to try. </div><div><br></div><div>We shall see....</div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-84330607222694218142012-05-04T15:10:00.002-04:002012-05-04T15:10:58.085-04:00PinterestPinterest has changed EVERYTHING. It's made me blog.<br /><br />By inserting a picture, I'm able to post things that I've done to Pinterest. Weird.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4eqqT8g5LcJIsZCrUmTb829tQ4EUJh6oURFj2pNbR3JIRX_Wd-IOo9VGxtzPvP_bkJZ6szhHtT163ycGc8GXRwb8BKRMAONdE5dmhvb48EigiblHhSWZ55n_c4dmT3mzJGQA/s1600/initial+pillow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4eqqT8g5LcJIsZCrUmTb829tQ4EUJh6oURFj2pNbR3JIRX_Wd-IOo9VGxtzPvP_bkJZ6szhHtT163ycGc8GXRwb8BKRMAONdE5dmhvb48EigiblHhSWZ55n_c4dmT3mzJGQA/s320/initial+pillow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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By posting this here, I can link it on pinterest.<br />
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The instructions are pretty simple. <br /><br />Letter "A" is printed out on cardstock - American Typewriter (font) - 720. Cut out card stock, trace backwards onto Steam a Seam.<br />
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Cut out fusible letter. Fuse onto one piece of 14 x 14 homespun material. <br />
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Once fused, stitch (light green) top stitch 1/4 inch inside the "A"<br /><br />Sew pillow front to pillow back on three side -- insert pillow form (14 inch). Sew bottom seam by hand.<br /><br />You're done!<br />
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What I would've done differently. . . . I would have made the fabric 14.5 x 14.5, rather than a straight 14 inches square. I would also move the letter up (diagonally) about a 1/2 inch.<br />
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I will make more. . . and I will make those adjustments!<br />
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Until then. . . enjoy!!!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-30156375003079208582011-08-03T18:07:00.008-04:002011-08-03T18:51:41.743-04:00Boy, are my arms tired!We did a whirlwind trip to Chicago this past weekend. Our friends, Steve & Char Hopeman (from Wheaton) have two daughters. A couple months ago, I got an email (facebook message) from their youngest daughter, Emily, asking if I would consider playing for her wedding.<br /><br />I have to be honest - I was so homesick for. . .well, anyplace but here. . .I was willing. We worked it out -- and took off for the Windy City last Wednesday morning. But, the wedding was the last of our many stops along the way.<br /><br />On Wednesday night, we had dinner with my aunt & uncle in Southern Indiana. Edison and I saw them back in December, when my great aunt died. But, it had been <span style="font-style: italic;">years</span> since Mark had seen them. And no, they hadn't met Caroline, yet. But, met her, they did -- and loved her. . .? Well, that was assumed, wasn't it?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUab6AAdY-4AXtKS1UNlrfehBL5mihgVJiIttYeQMhXfB1de9xEwq_QYwKYJKBqSWWT6UFibl7jTbDMSdIYYXQZvVBBOGOAvqpuQmJ7NGmvlZrgdNyiGoGLQzBFDoK6Yb57E/s1600/100_4251.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUab6AAdY-4AXtKS1UNlrfehBL5mihgVJiIttYeQMhXfB1de9xEwq_QYwKYJKBqSWWT6UFibl7jTbDMSdIYYXQZvVBBOGOAvqpuQmJ7NGmvlZrgdNyiGoGLQzBFDoK6Yb57E/s320/100_4251.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636756767769953170" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHVI4BGuWgefMTCMHwlCsKpAs6kmnJnnJV7fDLtJ_nDyqdOoLq46Z8089ubPde5KxAKnns7ZKEG77Uer4fLKiNa2n6PEO-fvck-WE-bHWDFtlleDI1W80zwhYMDnEF7ILGjRA/s1600/100_4252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHVI4BGuWgefMTCMHwlCsKpAs6kmnJnnJV7fDLtJ_nDyqdOoLq46Z8089ubPde5KxAKnns7ZKEG77Uer4fLKiNa2n6PEO-fvck-WE-bHWDFtlleDI1W80zwhYMDnEF7ILGjRA/s320/100_4252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636756774731532994" border="0" /></a><br />While we were in Owensville, we stopped in downtown to see where they were setting up for the Watermelon Festival - which was to happen that weekend. I have probably failed to mention that Gibson County, IN is the Watermelon Capital of the World. It's true. Melons there ROCK the Casaba (sorry, couldn't resist that pun!)<br /><br />Anyway, my uncle had told us about a new memorial they were going to unveil on Saturday. Knowing Mark's interest in genealogy, he talked to a couple of his friends. . . .<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRM6QiE1Enro9Fgmp4dii5XSPkq4kY13k5okaV3JdT6w1F6yxH-Ap-IBRbQo3NdCkHsJ02EUpkJ_DwDEVEpQ_wB2hHiBLZgcqeX4vzRIAyoSyhMPBqfXLMXkrxMUEolcGDv5E/s1600/100_4228.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRM6QiE1Enro9Fgmp4dii5XSPkq4kY13k5okaV3JdT6w1F6yxH-Ap-IBRbQo3NdCkHsJ02EUpkJ_DwDEVEpQ_wB2hHiBLZgcqeX4vzRIAyoSyhMPBqfXLMXkrxMUEolcGDv5E/s320/100_4228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636756775526823570" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhadz1YpW1ijB-oIPtB2qmp57ydFMEepkLAPSeqaYmIYWjgSESmWgdaFVSL4i2TB9gbBFsluK_xOv_i8nlkiOis4ZBl_tMpweKJaoLFD8vDS92dC6gqag98N-rjR3_0gLxCM/s1600/100_4231.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhadz1YpW1ijB-oIPtB2qmp57ydFMEepkLAPSeqaYmIYWjgSESmWgdaFVSL4i2TB9gbBFsluK_xOv_i8nlkiOis4ZBl_tMpweKJaoLFD8vDS92dC6gqag98N-rjR3_0gLxCM/s320/100_4231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636756779762192050" border="0" /></a><br />That's right -- they let us see the unveiled statue three days before the actual unveiling. It was precious. And, to see the pride and patriotism in these men, as they talked about this monument. Well, quite honestly, it brought a tear to my eye.<br /><br />We also spent a little time in the cemetery where my grandparents, and many other family members are buried.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dPTKccH6UO5zsijfzG2Qr-zlXeo9Cg9nZ2MJfqTNVU-ZZKCVPCfbkCVX4zsufvrMZmFsOsV_8dOAadtlm0wAlaoMQ5xRlFXJ1mCKfXZD1iYBbtM6uF5SJxLBRvAwzcJBBlU/s1600/100_4194.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dPTKccH6UO5zsijfzG2Qr-zlXeo9Cg9nZ2MJfqTNVU-ZZKCVPCfbkCVX4zsufvrMZmFsOsV_8dOAadtlm0wAlaoMQ5xRlFXJ1mCKfXZD1iYBbtM6uF5SJxLBRvAwzcJBBlU/s320/100_4194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636757946926368834" border="0" /></a><br />While we were there, we ran into one of my second cousins (I believe) that I haven't seen in YEARS.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnwM5PTnVbNU00EKFxSH0dFzeRe-7hjbSnhavfsPX8oNzB2pCR3GcNloNY1w-KZfEzSHLM6io70JgtEvIJnn2DXqeuKhcBjCOrrOnBL-_RcRPgrlfYbkFP1jyL3Slegf0PTM/s1600/100_4143.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnwM5PTnVbNU00EKFxSH0dFzeRe-7hjbSnhavfsPX8oNzB2pCR3GcNloNY1w-KZfEzSHLM6io70JgtEvIJnn2DXqeuKhcBjCOrrOnBL-_RcRPgrlfYbkFP1jyL3Slegf0PTM/s320/100_4143.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636757941404515586" border="0" /></a><br />Ironically, he knew me upon seeing me -- and asked "Angie, how's Knoxville these days?!" I was stunned -- but delighted to talk to him. There's just something about seeing family that you haven't seen in a long time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicgfgenk4t7cD0wXbhKF0ikS85FZEjuUTv-zDVFTEj5IRRW38-bLLMwJLSiV7tKXbya_vRVEfWiflonZu9tu1DncW2mj0VlbWN97qFH4_SDznWrRgXaj3-FGYwOp9Yl114O8/s1600/100_4140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicgfgenk4t7cD0wXbhKF0ikS85FZEjuUTv-zDVFTEj5IRRW38-bLLMwJLSiV7tKXbya_vRVEfWiflonZu9tu1DncW2mj0VlbWN97qFH4_SDznWrRgXaj3-FGYwOp9Yl114O8/s320/100_4140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636757937650967154" border="0" /></a>One of the reasons we visited the cemetery -- my aunt & uncle told us about a new veteran's plaque they'd had put on the back of my grandpa's headstone. It had only been on there about four days -- I am so proud of my family, and the men who served years ago to preserve my freedom today.<br /><br />After leaving Indiana, we traveled <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">home</span></span> to Illinois. We took Edison to see the sights of Chicago. But, having very limited time, this was a driving tour only.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2OZsP8rGJcbG1aVK70IJyiLigmpIx8cJLMpN9zFzgLvg0xxx8T088y7NFHI3XuWuUI1sYDoPRe91r9C5QJdvFv1O5lGs3M8_zdhfgk2iSqpqUZuAQATbMKuvMb_InNf7hBQ/s1600/100_4265.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2OZsP8rGJcbG1aVK70IJyiLigmpIx8cJLMpN9zFzgLvg0xxx8T088y7NFHI3XuWuUI1sYDoPRe91r9C5QJdvFv1O5lGs3M8_zdhfgk2iSqpqUZuAQATbMKuvMb_InNf7hBQ/s320/100_4265.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636759181249173570" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgde4RlrQBbgHwCMhsSmIyHY_Km3hXdaIZqUGqGR4nUIb1Bb0vdtrmUDIdjFnVTGxy4p5wLq0badoFtuabQ7mB7VioM06GGCiaRj2sWDT12PJ4G2LD0vt1P0-WWjLeBGsBLGDY/s1600/100_4282.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgde4RlrQBbgHwCMhsSmIyHY_Km3hXdaIZqUGqGR4nUIb1Bb0vdtrmUDIdjFnVTGxy4p5wLq0badoFtuabQ7mB7VioM06GGCiaRj2sWDT12PJ4G2LD0vt1P0-WWjLeBGsBLGDY/s320/100_4282.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636759193872160226" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1iTKEe6JSgVVxbBNwkbKHAQY1FvLLwrgICJqe5BH7qJqY2bSWspkZ6WX0yKB_QSmSnhnt1KHBFftAJ68rKWy8gdzRuGOc4vswNqjJ56ylhyed3L1xmKWfEGouzE_cwH3ajc/s1600/100_4276.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1iTKEe6JSgVVxbBNwkbKHAQY1FvLLwrgICJqe5BH7qJqY2bSWspkZ6WX0yKB_QSmSnhnt1KHBFftAJ68rKWy8gdzRuGOc4vswNqjJ56ylhyed3L1xmKWfEGouzE_cwH3ajc/s320/100_4276.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636759190908010546" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxYgcvemILAyUu3DLKxsxHyVdfOZBIBxYaJv0SqK5Jg_Ztr3v1K10-DMXAFywKvX2n63zlAq09tfLC7dK7y3FLSipOhPvxisJ0hyjNFPAhIj6tY5Yz6pLobmA0DL1yiEbXhI/s1600/100_4275.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxYgcvemILAyUu3DLKxsxHyVdfOZBIBxYaJv0SqK5Jg_Ztr3v1K10-DMXAFywKvX2n63zlAq09tfLC7dK7y3FLSipOhPvxisJ0hyjNFPAhIj6tY5Yz6pLobmA0DL1yiEbXhI/s320/100_4275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636759185196815954" border="0" /></a>We tried to hit the major spots -- and give him a taste of what the city is really like. I think we did alright, actually.<br /><br />After Chicago, we headed out the suburbs. We visited our favorite bakery:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGYXvrSJlzWcthFMKcGxUd9KUQbqfppR8rj8FSJUHx765sUnjxFQiMQTtByS4GLcvGGYLvaR3BrpfBJfuBuSmyQh4Z4So6ukBVzTUiJ7JJh95a8wxTf7wzr9GnCSzUdBmWNA/s1600/100_4289.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGYXvrSJlzWcthFMKcGxUd9KUQbqfppR8rj8FSJUHx765sUnjxFQiMQTtByS4GLcvGGYLvaR3BrpfBJfuBuSmyQh4Z4So6ukBVzTUiJ7JJh95a8wxTf7wzr9GnCSzUdBmWNA/s320/100_4289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636762192995065554" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjph5MJvMTFCpYC2krxt3QPK9lFlPVjuqFMxHB1fNUCMFtxTOrAq6a9-RyGXH6tUDj5A1t_Y4BBrLZzVS7xiH5xXRpQpB_nld54xZBkmTcgFBhlJHMQHy9Jp5lIGpwfyeghmIA/s1600/100_4290.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjph5MJvMTFCpYC2krxt3QPK9lFlPVjuqFMxHB1fNUCMFtxTOrAq6a9-RyGXH6tUDj5A1t_Y4BBrLZzVS7xiH5xXRpQpB_nld54xZBkmTcgFBhlJHMQHy9Jp5lIGpwfyeghmIA/s320/100_4290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636762198829226306" border="0" /></a>had dinner with an old friend, and shared dessert with his wife & parents. This time was very precious to all of us. . . .<br /><br />We had lunch with friends, and shared tattoos. (Theirs, not ours)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcC5L3-XHLo_E-tPGtMbg-LcW-PtyvgVNeypdskl3He78Dbmvruz73ZlA4Kv7lIWFMqrr6iwdOBagK6k5XWmfnlOwpA9VTda8Xdthal31aldmc4XfKSGrGUa1E76agEVkog-Y/s1600/100_4301.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcC5L3-XHLo_E-tPGtMbg-LcW-PtyvgVNeypdskl3He78Dbmvruz73ZlA4Kv7lIWFMqrr6iwdOBagK6k5XWmfnlOwpA9VTda8Xdthal31aldmc4XfKSGrGUa1E76agEVkog-Y/s320/100_4301.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636764492045371410" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QQrLMdVyAwcDVeyXXDSMMpAt8XetB_nK7MdJTKTOWz5bkxzTti4_QLJnB24h76VoO6gqeOvGnfJL1FjajTJn2ahXY64BSdISKmlAPwdEzSygqcVMXhf47MGxRiVfC0pZa74/s1600/100_4304.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QQrLMdVyAwcDVeyXXDSMMpAt8XetB_nK7MdJTKTOWz5bkxzTti4_QLJnB24h76VoO6gqeOvGnfJL1FjajTJn2ahXY64BSdISKmlAPwdEzSygqcVMXhf47MGxRiVfC0pZa74/s320/100_4304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636764494273369330" border="0" /></a>Oh yeah, and there was a wedding. (Our original reason for heading north). It was an outdoor wedding - and I'm still recovering from the sunburn. But, it was beautiful. . .<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWyFRs8nFZ4dwt_5VdtxjScr1MuPX5Qjojn_Q603HjvaGDjiBeZ7TLp_v8NQbMXB-Xt6Lcma0_waUZKvoRTXTlpHjnUFJqX-glGoeFv6af2fLBC6ZuUFg7kpDg8sV0revjsM/s1600/100_4400.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnWyFRs8nFZ4dwt_5VdtxjScr1MuPX5Qjojn_Q603HjvaGDjiBeZ7TLp_v8NQbMXB-Xt6Lcma0_waUZKvoRTXTlpHjnUFJqX-glGoeFv6af2fLBC6ZuUFg7kpDg8sV0revjsM/s320/100_4400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636765263283126706" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStNv-36LpeEwx6NGuuX6ZQOjx4DWm3Sfx6OhwFvegYUqzZUqncf4XawFtjns-xEp2dHHyI_6lFZj_KBvqC47UDM1oZbziTdDUl-G_t3cUq1h8wt5dKYOX2Y3J1YFZeshtUQI/s1600/100_4413.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStNv-36LpeEwx6NGuuX6ZQOjx4DWm3Sfx6OhwFvegYUqzZUqncf4XawFtjns-xEp2dHHyI_6lFZj_KBvqC47UDM1oZbziTdDUl-G_t3cUq1h8wt5dKYOX2Y3J1YFZeshtUQI/s320/100_4413.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636765272720402370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnopXMBc80PncZ1pXWbpOgw4x-56f-oQPzFLQAwm4A8K6jYXv144zqL0oG1XRyupmmD9Wzp_c3SoqPvJW_cYlr7-t7V4Knpq4_QpI3coHOhCCMrPaNL8Hg6FQHZ-ulDtY-tY/s1600/100_4365.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnopXMBc80PncZ1pXWbpOgw4x-56f-oQPzFLQAwm4A8K6jYXv144zqL0oG1XRyupmmD9Wzp_c3SoqPvJW_cYlr7-t7V4Knpq4_QpI3coHOhCCMrPaNL8Hg6FQHZ-ulDtY-tY/s320/100_4365.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636765267753792578" border="0" /></a>(Edison was my page turner - and I'm really glad I had him there. You'd never know it by my sunburn, but there was just enough of a breeze to be troublesome)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkJWMxZF53O8wY9zW6HNP6XKL0TlFJo0i53KV9Z-TONEM80PbmBZwUKhtjjIz7FU_ca4UlXOOF5-_kb7H9OSLwkTjoBp13Bg9IBnqBgBfXDqbkk3WZlHowsIIZAPt2mPtGk8/s1600/100_4442.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkJWMxZF53O8wY9zW6HNP6XKL0TlFJo0i53KV9Z-TONEM80PbmBZwUKhtjjIz7FU_ca4UlXOOF5-_kb7H9OSLwkTjoBp13Bg9IBnqBgBfXDqbkk3WZlHowsIIZAPt2mPtGk8/s320/100_4442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636762204493342402" border="0" /></a><br />Steve & Char - the bride's parents (and our friends). For those of you who know about my quilting prowess (or lack thereof) this is my original teacher & inspiration.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvUoShyt0PbznnTDdQNBLPXw4F4hTtlkDkQAv-Msbzt6dEhbq7WPDtMDa29jmv3xJMJpTYZ4fnftse2Zm1rbbZer6Odh0crSv6F6Mo-2wlh3TYnsQjs2NieLO3te8FbIJSSc/s1600/100_4411.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvUoShyt0PbznnTDdQNBLPXw4F4hTtlkDkQAv-Msbzt6dEhbq7WPDtMDa29jmv3xJMJpTYZ4fnftse2Zm1rbbZer6Odh0crSv6F6Mo-2wlh3TYnsQjs2NieLO3te8FbIJSSc/s320/100_4411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636762201477720034" border="0" /></a>And yes, when Steve & Emily shared their dance to "Butterfly Kisses," I was a mess! <br /><br />There are so many more stories that go with the weekend, and the friends and family. . . but Mark just walked in the door with pizza. And, I'm hungry.<br /><br />So, the stories will have to wait until the next blog entry. But I leave you with this thought. . .<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:180%;">"Yak in a Box"<br /></span></div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-54702710427966429672011-07-23T16:12:00.007-04:002011-07-23T16:42:02.287-04:00More Thousand Words. . . .It's time to update - but I'll let the pictures do more of the talking. (Yeah, right)<br /><br />Caroline lost her first tooth a few weeks ago -- this is a BIG thing for her, because there was thought that she'd have to have teeth surgically removed. Here's hoping they'll all fall out the "old fashioned" way!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmEttC3TIWlhehOgsiiZMggTHAqcCUIJf8d3kF1_DqIU922QBHDuAxxI2WnR2j-X1HkVbaRfT5t2A_R7BHAWcQFH0ZnXjltIa3KKsCW0VvOkQxH9ZMTAVqC0EiK8Y7C8H9l8/s1600/100_3889.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmEttC3TIWlhehOgsiiZMggTHAqcCUIJf8d3kF1_DqIU922QBHDuAxxI2WnR2j-X1HkVbaRfT5t2A_R7BHAWcQFH0ZnXjltIa3KKsCW0VvOkQxH9ZMTAVqC0EiK8Y7C8H9l8/s320/100_3889.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644598004795218" border="0" /></a><br />Edison was in the Spring play at his school. They did "Our Town," and it was very good. He played the Constable. We were, and are very proud of him!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi534UXwW4zLFIvqPK8XwcAhpNEtPrqqdTZ7bn6dIq54WNv1O_qASkC6s8Tu7obMWXm05TETJVyi_rR4DsUSrw2dVB1CTPHWaQ-4B2OTOKwWa3t2ZzsZLKSkOhCVDjgndPwc/s1600/100_3246.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeda4uXwFPFG-cRvvKWM0qJ90LM8B1hvLK03MSfOsFJV6AXQEkdXBLm75S0hP7M_V_QnJgSCk5jMbUxVncXm910L9so4nk2JICZqNDiRljJVWOCVssHUVap26pRONMVO3Ojo/s1600/100_3212.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeda4uXwFPFG-cRvvKWM0qJ90LM8B1hvLK03MSfOsFJV6AXQEkdXBLm75S0hP7M_V_QnJgSCk5jMbUxVncXm910L9so4nk2JICZqNDiRljJVWOCVssHUVap26pRONMVO3Ojo/s320/100_3212.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644592636290946" border="0" /></a>Two of his biggest fans were there on closing night:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi534UXwW4zLFIvqPK8XwcAhpNEtPrqqdTZ7bn6dIq54WNv1O_qASkC6s8Tu7obMWXm05TETJVyi_rR4DsUSrw2dVB1CTPHWaQ-4B2OTOKwWa3t2ZzsZLKSkOhCVDjgndPwc/s1600/100_3246.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi534UXwW4zLFIvqPK8XwcAhpNEtPrqqdTZ7bn6dIq54WNv1O_qASkC6s8Tu7obMWXm05TETJVyi_rR4DsUSrw2dVB1CTPHWaQ-4B2OTOKwWa3t2ZzsZLKSkOhCVDjgndPwc/s320/100_3246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644596842173026" border="0" /></a><br />This past Spring, Caroline had the honor of helping with the dedication of the new lobby at East Tennessee Children's Hospital. Her picture (larger than life, actually) is hanging in their newly-renovated lobby. This was a very proud day for our family. Here she is, helping cut the "film" (ribbon) for the dedication. The project was funded by Regal Cinemas, so the kids used safety scissors to cut the "film" for the celebration.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelpgxDRObZdlMB2J2c1arp6WAw8pw925DJsgc_8fKlBPXKdSHIJ-yCw5JmccAreN1e0ZT9YN1eUKDRBwko4Qo1Hw62_A-G54_H2joA5Mw5xP3aVnRiMyAnSp1lsit99vav-Q/s1600/100_3169.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelpgxDRObZdlMB2J2c1arp6WAw8pw925DJsgc_8fKlBPXKdSHIJ-yCw5JmccAreN1e0ZT9YN1eUKDRBwko4Qo1Hw62_A-G54_H2joA5Mw5xP3aVnRiMyAnSp1lsit99vav-Q/s320/100_3169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644586430662450" border="0" /></a>If you happen to go into Children's, please stop in the lobby and wave "hello" to Caroline and her teddy bear!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXB6t9wfMkJhbqARtbYBcwhyWp_8xpUCg7Bw055YRSxDHwyw9mS-IS0IUUH9ome-pJdWGmemRtRbshYac1s-x3I0vW3t92GGNhoqkckeLPApwETulsU0WP86IgGmk6GCMuZM/s1600/100_3153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXB6t9wfMkJhbqARtbYBcwhyWp_8xpUCg7Bw055YRSxDHwyw9mS-IS0IUUH9ome-pJdWGmemRtRbshYac1s-x3I0vW3t92GGNhoqkckeLPApwETulsU0WP86IgGmk6GCMuZM/s320/100_3153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644003010113938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Spring also brings prom season. This year, Edison took Caitlin to his prom. Quite the momentous occasion!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cl9T1YaCHPi10yT8fGC8ysiVJD0UKTf8ZiPAHFbCreuS1_lTQirHinfRWzhJ4oPreRfpKtshoCxmvcQe2EPOp8wTwXQ2XedKAls_xmp61cUOrswVraVMyDE1cGr0hplg3RQ/s1600/100_3634.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cl9T1YaCHPi10yT8fGC8ysiVJD0UKTf8ZiPAHFbCreuS1_lTQirHinfRWzhJ4oPreRfpKtshoCxmvcQe2EPOp8wTwXQ2XedKAls_xmp61cUOrswVraVMyDE1cGr0hplg3RQ/s320/100_3634.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632644602369396690" border="0" /></a><br />Caroline continues to have fun with her "best friend in the whole wide world." (Her quote) She and Grandma always seem to find time for each other.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_VKZ5e2obsh1zDKXj4hSZo83GKn_fsOZg0S4BEhOSQEz_x18pjoMNpTA1ean_S3GYJYV84ZWpQ8BCCgbYuFhVTACMCDor-Ogqw-IfttHyuT9oynH027VmdRE0S0zET0PhgE/s1600/103_3912.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_VKZ5e2obsh1zDKXj4hSZo83GKn_fsOZg0S4BEhOSQEz_x18pjoMNpTA1ean_S3GYJYV84ZWpQ8BCCgbYuFhVTACMCDor-Ogqw-IfttHyuT9oynH027VmdRE0S0zET0PhgE/s320/103_3912.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632643997930243202" border="0" /></a><br />We have to give Grandpa a little equal time, don't we?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcMC5EDVzsgoe90G5Kxqf_bgnc3Ejk0K1gRFMQc-UY1DOZvLVImzUt4CrSWbDnFxuGYMZp_qNpuUFZeScjqzKxV0pOBQO1ME7Qz71vpJ1PCyp0T7hf2ArX95aKOTmuRvf1l8/s1600/100_3160.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcMC5EDVzsgoe90G5Kxqf_bgnc3Ejk0K1gRFMQc-UY1DOZvLVImzUt4CrSWbDnFxuGYMZp_qNpuUFZeScjqzKxV0pOBQO1ME7Qz71vpJ1PCyp0T7hf2ArX95aKOTmuRvf1l8/s320/100_3160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632648509556017442" border="0" /></a><br />Edison & Caitlin on Easter Sunday. . .<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03xGz2A3WY3dzpP96TIbnZO4bbQLpKim3oo9o-q9yTRToNqOgyZz00N6ZMN5KpQKpbUq8k1LMkGjIhID7sTmQ1lV28MFNhWJ3KM7zrL9m_SqnK7CN9CCdGNN6B4cOcuhqgaQ/s1600/101_3657.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03xGz2A3WY3dzpP96TIbnZO4bbQLpKim3oo9o-q9yTRToNqOgyZz00N6ZMN5KpQKpbUq8k1LMkGjIhID7sTmQ1lV28MFNhWJ3KM7zrL9m_SqnK7CN9CCdGNN6B4cOcuhqgaQ/s320/101_3657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632643995343746018" border="0" /></a>Caroline & Mark on Easter. . .<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZm5KHlnHcmBoWmp5X80DvLtUgUrFteB8x8B7H4H2nR-OcudvWZ3PmJfYd771nni0nLeRgBAXbkauu70Ba8UsT5AXQYtJPfU7KCAKAyktNv-1CKmIKUFXVBesdv2DOhbLw3o/s1600/100_6268.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZm5KHlnHcmBoWmp5X80DvLtUgUrFteB8x8B7H4H2nR-OcudvWZ3PmJfYd771nni0nLeRgBAXbkauu70Ba8UsT5AXQYtJPfU7KCAKAyktNv-1CKmIKUFXVBesdv2DOhbLw3o/s320/100_6268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632643990699522130" border="0" /></a><br />Back in June, we went to a Tennessee Smokies game with a group from church. To prove that I indeed *do* allow my picture to be taken, here is evidence that I went to the game. . . and even had fun!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPw5fHWia_MkMxtgd7U4fwOgrqJm4djVWavxtk5wyvspGKJZSs4j0v5sc6hwfRM_r7c23g3iqoRt8cC8w2s58ZfaxLI3L8lY6LsD9_NzDnPvepnl6FvkU6zaBIBcNieX6EsXY/s1600/100_3970.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPw5fHWia_MkMxtgd7U4fwOgrqJm4djVWavxtk5wyvspGKJZSs4j0v5sc6hwfRM_r7c23g3iqoRt8cC8w2s58ZfaxLI3L8lY6LsD9_NzDnPvepnl6FvkU6zaBIBcNieX6EsXY/s320/100_3970.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632650313844551970" border="0" /></a><br />Fast-forward to July 4. We spent the day out at my aunt & uncle's lake house. Caroline was determined to get in the tube. She eventually did - but she was dry-docked. We hope to get her in the water (in the tube) before the summer is over.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXB6t9wfMkJhbqARtbYBcwhyWp_8xpUCg7Bw055YRSxDHwyw9mS-IS0IUUH9ome-pJdWGmemRtRbshYac1s-x3I0vW3t92GGNhoqkckeLPApwETulsU0WP86IgGmk6GCMuZM/s1600/100_3153.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzy4M-GL9Ai8ATeYaOcRiKU-Qbqk7o_BqiFA-I1vCzL95oPuMdCQWYoUMBVZyfUsiKEXIQ3M5KZQ5QlMtpHSXNoOPo1uUWYmgSaDGSNwDZsVJ3do_u15zEvO0DtRlUVqG974U/s1600/100_4036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzy4M-GL9Ai8ATeYaOcRiKU-Qbqk7o_BqiFA-I1vCzL95oPuMdCQWYoUMBVZyfUsiKEXIQ3M5KZQ5QlMtpHSXNoOPo1uUWYmgSaDGSNwDZsVJ3do_u15zEvO0DtRlUVqG974U/s320/100_4036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632645897583759522" border="0" /></a>Once I got out on the water, I had to update my facebook status. Come on, don't tease me too much!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAVZqssYkreL7aojvC1LoKb4XPSgOcGgie6I2kDFrNNSXRMIX75OLJtq78saCxY5rqAnzSLZYImOa9d0jh6UfJz4ekjRA7EzsStLB1lvfjsCQ80mbX8EozJA-l09eOi-j3xY/s1600/100_3988.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAVZqssYkreL7aojvC1LoKb4XPSgOcGgie6I2kDFrNNSXRMIX75OLJtq78saCxY5rqAnzSLZYImOa9d0jh6UfJz4ekjRA7EzsStLB1lvfjsCQ80mbX8EozJA-l09eOi-j3xY/s320/100_3988.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632645891632385426" border="0" /></a>I think I could stay like this for a long, long time. . . .<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQbFzbRK-7a97FP_1RgQGUAXbSoZpj6B3CrLLAol22GVq_Mnxe6JFSIJqTXkRLEkgNYqdQTfEdP7vxkbL_5jLoyisDFaPtFk-ZqD09UGmqoMnntIVB2eEWI-wbE7HtCSvIWs/s1600/100_4042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQbFzbRK-7a97FP_1RgQGUAXbSoZpj6B3CrLLAol22GVq_Mnxe6JFSIJqTXkRLEkgNYqdQTfEdP7vxkbL_5jLoyisDFaPtFk-ZqD09UGmqoMnntIVB2eEWI-wbE7HtCSvIWs/s320/100_4042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632645899555294290" border="0" /></a>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-6167274579226269502011-07-20T21:55:00.002-04:002011-07-20T22:06:02.366-04:00Forever Between PostsI don't know. . .I must've lost the blogging mojo or something. <br /><br />But today, I've been reminded of what a blessing we bloggers can be to each other. . . and ironically (or NOT SO ironically) I was reminded by someone named Beth. Nope, not <a href="http://20birds.net/concealedstars/?p=167">this Beth</a>**. . . another Beth.<br /><br /><a href="http://lovelaughquilt.blogspot.com/">Beth Shibley </a>is a quilter that lives in California. She must quilt around the clock - because she always seems to be finishing the most beautiful quilts, table runners, and pillows. She really inspires me.<br /><br />Lately, when she's written a blog entry, or posted pictures of a project that I love - I've left her a comment. And every time, she's emailed me a sweet, brief response. Today, she blogged about some "ugly" (as she called it) fabric -- it was NASCAR fabric. Nearly broke my little boogity-boogity-loving heart.<br /><br />So what did I do? I left her a comment saying that it <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> possible to quilt and love NASCAR.<br /><br />And, what did she do? She emailed me back (within minutes) and offered to send me the few last bits of her NASCAR fabric. (If I'm honest, it really touched my heart -- I nearly cried)<br /><br />And then, I started to reminisce about "my" Beth. I have thought of (and missed terribly) my Beth this week. I had my heart broken a couple of times over the past 10 days -- and each time, I found myself still wishing that I could call or email her. . . wanting to pour my heart out to her. I know that she would have listened, or read -- and would have replied with something that would have made it better.<br /><br />But, alas, I can't email her. I can't call. And, that made me a little bit sadder. . . momentarily. <br /><br />It's really okay. God has provided me with others to whom I can "let it all hang out" and, for whatever reason, they still accept and even <span style="font-style: italic;">like me.</span> (Kinda like Beth did)<br /><br />So. . . if you're a blogger, please take a minute to think about, and maybe thank someone who leaves a comment on your blog. If they're a blogger too, go to their blog and leave some love. You never know what might happen.<br /><br /><br />. . . you never know, you might even get some NASCAR fabric in the mail!<br /><br /><br />**I purposely put the link to this particular entry from Beth Cain -- it was one of the first times she created a scrapbook layout for Caroline. I just "happened" to stumble on it (Thanks, God) and shed a couple tears of joy over a friend who truly changed my life.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-11467584939806471322011-03-27T23:30:00.003-04:002011-03-27T23:47:51.528-04:00So Sorry. . .It's been far too long since I have written an entry. I can't say why - except that I've been quite busy. Probably too busy for my own good. So, what has changed since I last wrote?<br /><br />Well, we finished the "Together" sermon series - and have also started and finished a series based on Francis Chan's book, "Crazy Love." Great book. I highly recommend it.<br /><br />Kids are good. Growing up too fast. Want proof? Here you go. . .<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dKjgG9xZsT33DHR-zkZ126ZLcVVU0CfnFbuTGJvg6Pa0tkWnm97efmR2hRfQ9tvW1mz8LsIdcWPVJStkZkWV2jmE3ZTl68W1z9dRiXbKRrXgiTdu7HA7XXQZZqiifHSWcjM/s1600/favorite+-+e+%2526+c.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dKjgG9xZsT33DHR-zkZ126ZLcVVU0CfnFbuTGJvg6Pa0tkWnm97efmR2hRfQ9tvW1mz8LsIdcWPVJStkZkWV2jmE3ZTl68W1z9dRiXbKRrXgiTdu7HA7XXQZZqiifHSWcjM/s320/favorite+-+e+%2526+c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588970399881020802" border="0" /></a><br />Other than growing kids, making meals, driving a mini-van so much that its tires are wearing out, piling more books onto the "I want to read them" pile, and waiting with baited breath for the return of Bobby Goren (Vincent D'Onofrio) to Law & Order: Criminal Intent. . . there's not been much going on.<br /><br />Well, except for NASCAR starting up again. . . . and I realized that of the over 970 songs I had on my itunes - NONE of them were Michael McDonald songs.<br /><br />It's a travesty, I tell you.<br /><br />I had a few Doobie Brothers songs on there -- but honestly, that doesn't count. And, if I'm totally honest, I don't have his "Soul Speak" or either of his "Motown" albums on there yet . . . so the collection is sorely incomplete.<br /><br />Hmmm. What else?! Oh yeah. . .the "big" news. I'm now a Mac user. In fact, this is the first blog entry written on a Mac. You could tell the difference, couldn't you?<br /><br />I thought so.<br /><br />The whole transition has gone fairly smoothly. Yes, I live in a PC house - but for the work I do, a Mac serves my purposes much more completely. I've even made my first movie on the Mac.<br /><br />Okay - that's it. Just catching you up. Got a picture of the kids squeezed in - and some of the happenings in our household. I hope I filled in the gaps, and provided you with a few smiles. If not, come back tomorrow. . . okay, maybe the next day.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-60739666984531835082011-01-21T11:52:00.002-05:002011-01-21T11:55:29.383-05:00TogetherWe're in the midst of a 5-week sermon series at church entitled "Together." It's all about <span style="font-style: italic;">intentional relationships.</span> Getting to know people. Helping make disciples by purposely "friending" someone (Hello? Facebook, anyone?)<br /><br />We've used one of my all-time favorite songs for "bumper music" the last couple weeks. While looking for it again this week, I found this. Couldn't help but share. . .<br /><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_3AJYVMet3k" allowfullscreen="" width="480" frameborder="0" height="390"></iframe><br /><br />LOVE this!<br /><br />Happy Weekend, everyone!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-47851768992010921882011-01-11T20:40:00.008-05:002011-01-11T21:05:12.378-05:00On snow. . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-JdY8ipgzVmXBkEkjRzbe-RTyvHTZqoQsdNEuw7KeQWeUPBDVmYw51n4ioRNwhOHEB4kyoMu1thPXsMqqi-OekZfgAoQu5N-vozo-W7-8dEgmtNAHdGAfie_C71O72VHJ-k/s1600/100_3055.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-JdY8ipgzVmXBkEkjRzbe-RTyvHTZqoQsdNEuw7KeQWeUPBDVmYw51n4ioRNwhOHEB4kyoMu1thPXsMqqi-OekZfgAoQu5N-vozo-W7-8dEgmtNAHdGAfie_C71O72VHJ-k/s320/100_3055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561111056774545762" border="0" /></a>Over the past couple of weeks, we have experienced snow on snow on snow. . .and, over the past couple of weeks, I've made references to "snow" with regards to my friend, Beth. In fact, when we got a decent snow a few weeks ago, on her birthday, I talked about singing "Happy Birthday" to her out in the snow.<br /><br />Well, this week -- I've been at it again. We got snow.<br />Snow-Day Snow.<br />Stay-home-from-work-snow.<br />And again, I thought about Beth.<br /><br />Beth loved snow. It was a good thing -- she lived in Canada. She got to experience it -- a lot. But, she wrote about metaphorical truths we can see in snow. Here's one of her excerpts from her blog:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">And all day yesterday a hush fell over my heart as gently as the snow lay down a new covering of white.. in our neighbourhood we have mountain ash trees and in the winter they drop their bright crimson berries on to the snow, not too many - just enough so that here and there drops of bright red are seen on a brilliant gleaming white blanket. It's a picture, I tell you of a Saviour making paths through the desert, and through the sea.</span><br /></span></div><br />So, it's only natural that I would take a picture like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_grSfoMs_P3gOtLCrmV7guwZJUpxT6IU6nKcZuIElUZIYxt1T_j87CSameuoMMbf5wUbSmUcnQxFmQC0BTzCkDmUKB5EzZYI99Lc4ewrgJHNCqAF-sgIV2iH5NvxjGPV9gQ/s1600/100_3077.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_grSfoMs_P3gOtLCrmV7guwZJUpxT6IU6nKcZuIElUZIYxt1T_j87CSameuoMMbf5wUbSmUcnQxFmQC0BTzCkDmUKB5EzZYI99Lc4ewrgJHNCqAF-sgIV2iH5NvxjGPV9gQ/s320/100_3077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561110368366872114" border="0" /></a>. . and remember Beth.<br /><br />Since she loved snow, she would have loved these, as well:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAkpBsNM1J5QlXXNDXjEk6Sn2peRkcPBbic0Rz1GuA2UVjMR9vVZVLdoIzeTkvRrAzBTblUzpc66Dk9lUhJVKHiX45RxCUtGWfpCgkthg_e3nXLChIWQP0jj8i-Hq36T6txY/s1600/100_3062.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAkpBsNM1J5QlXXNDXjEk6Sn2peRkcPBbic0Rz1GuA2UVjMR9vVZVLdoIzeTkvRrAzBTblUzpc66Dk9lUhJVKHiX45RxCUtGWfpCgkthg_e3nXLChIWQP0jj8i-Hq36T6txY/s320/100_3062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561110814019090290" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5nAK4pogaa1r-G6R0aXvD3FAPNWu_eVQ1qRtnvjNY0-ktiXpKwzbYnp9zFjrRvb9W8xmXcnjTo-RFmCPIt2EY3DQInzMSTEDfI2oCgeXaiPvgHfH5Dz3p-_T9oVjpHKg4H4/s1600/100_3057.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5nAK4pogaa1r-G6R0aXvD3FAPNWu_eVQ1qRtnvjNY0-ktiXpKwzbYnp9zFjrRvb9W8xmXcnjTo-RFmCPIt2EY3DQInzMSTEDfI2oCgeXaiPvgHfH5Dz3p-_T9oVjpHKg4H4/s320/100_3057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561110806596751698" border="0" /></a><br />But, because she had adopted my two kids as her niece and nephew, she would have <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> loved these:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6kS1l7Mq6i0GoFwQ0eZwW0VO4q7PW6j1mCLBu4zHUzxZOa4_4ECNiDXnjq7UvrqJRS7ujJOaF23Pvb7hyt_fWW16sibpji-B0Vl1On0kCZc48ITgU3tCph6phw4bMf853asg/s1600/100_3063.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6kS1l7Mq6i0GoFwQ0eZwW0VO4q7PW6j1mCLBu4zHUzxZOa4_4ECNiDXnjq7UvrqJRS7ujJOaF23Pvb7hyt_fWW16sibpji-B0Vl1On0kCZc48ITgU3tCph6phw4bMf853asg/s320/100_3063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561111726986427586" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFpTMok392F-LWtgApLbQ-pgb2lkeFzQIAgGI_uFgoXL2AB-k-O0QNTxLdUacJLORAUayET4kKuM9LjZDQrbavLRSHRQUEx57C752sQjPDfYDVF_iN6q_0ub4JKPY1q3LYXE/s1600/100_3073.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFpTMok392F-LWtgApLbQ-pgb2lkeFzQIAgGI_uFgoXL2AB-k-O0QNTxLdUacJLORAUayET4kKuM9LjZDQrbavLRSHRQUEx57C752sQjPDfYDVF_iN6q_0ub4JKPY1q3LYXE/s320/100_3073.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561111744466294498" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDgcm46yx0JZ8wh6IGEHT0dfHfJaagfLsMZxPy4nyrgXcxxTOQKSrZlVaKGJk2WxwuFu1LIQ_oD7Vw2NGT176KuSVOq2ae-67Y2pqbxkt_I43R86-_qwXw_qhS1T_1pbdQ6c/s1600/100_3069.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDgcm46yx0JZ8wh6IGEHT0dfHfJaagfLsMZxPy4nyrgXcxxTOQKSrZlVaKGJk2WxwuFu1LIQ_oD7Vw2NGT176KuSVOq2ae-67Y2pqbxkt_I43R86-_qwXw_qhS1T_1pbdQ6c/s320/100_3069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561111708478298770" border="0" /></a><br />And, because she loved Caroline's voice. . . this would have made her very, very happy! <br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Please don't crane your neck sideways. . . the camera operator eventually changed the camera angle!)</span></span><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwdZWK9yWp7y2XQT3q7gAdYjd7rS4Qrfy0dkxFNFxCVoyXNwPA_Ys6nwSrzW3XnLYn2KtcbMSExqhU' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-60695171021280850472011-01-08T13:56:00.006-05:002011-01-08T14:07:26.021-05:00Who wants to be like Mike?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sEJoghvqNRN7j9o7lbFk1F76iOKE3vPo2I1emkYQwItsC2vtCOULGWa0v4FjROW7e9F15KIJNBey8md01UL3OpSL3u1ZhdeU0d_SvQM9pibK9t3ZBQcuV4fqptZ7rIfr_Ns/s1600/michael-jordan-1280.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sEJoghvqNRN7j9o7lbFk1F76iOKE3vPo2I1emkYQwItsC2vtCOULGWa0v4FjROW7e9F15KIJNBey8md01UL3OpSL3u1ZhdeU0d_SvQM9pibK9t3ZBQcuV4fqptZ7rIfr_Ns/s320/michael-jordan-1280.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559893252402070418" border="0" /></a>Not Me. I wanna be like Kevin.<br /><br />Who's Kevin? Why Kevin? Enough questions for one day. . .here goes.<br /><br />Kevin Wolff is a friend that Mark met through baseball card blogging. I met him, too. He's funny. He's witty. He writes awesome posts on one of his <span style="font-style: italic;">two</span> blogs. Not just <a href="http://semi-coherentthoughts.blogspot.com/">one blog</a>, but <a href="http://corecontrarian.blogspot.com/">two</a>. But here's where he's so cool. . . he puts the post on facebook, too.<br /><br />So, in my pursuit to be just like Kevin, I am posting something here that I just put on facebook.<br /><br />You <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to make <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/02/thick-chewy-oatmeal-raisin-cookies/">these </a>cookies. No, really. You do. They rock. They look like this:<br /><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/Angie/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-1.png" alt="" /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF5NkKbsOlPUCKzLywpsQ_Fxmo_2tUWqQQ5sJ0jYEx0V5PXB6HEWEqCYmWPoanQpAvrkSMtqefXlGUfzkstEVGDmaNo1luq1dol0KvLkXvIFpMw77uCKVOJoJyVMI3BeRtAQ/s1600/oatmeal+cookies.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF5NkKbsOlPUCKzLywpsQ_Fxmo_2tUWqQQ5sJ0jYEx0V5PXB6HEWEqCYmWPoanQpAvrkSMtqefXlGUfzkstEVGDmaNo1luq1dol0KvLkXvIFpMw77uCKVOJoJyVMI3BeRtAQ/s320/oatmeal+cookies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559891966862466354" border="0" /></a><br />And the taste?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDptp1zl-6CuINaBskkIfxjoGyY3e_Sx7pfwdPKuCUgY-ceoxgmXxTGreXUWABj5xtXRknluO_z6FaGEBM_ZU0wNgEFkSGZ_-SNUN-3YJ0S9RLvRHaXIh4pYOF9Tz-FoKb9A/s1600/jump.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDptp1zl-6CuINaBskkIfxjoGyY3e_Sx7pfwdPKuCUgY-ceoxgmXxTGreXUWABj5xtXRknluO_z6FaGEBM_ZU0wNgEFkSGZ_-SNUN-3YJ0S9RLvRHaXIh4pYOF9Tz-FoKb9A/s320/jump.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559893002285717986" border="0" /></a><br />(See what I did there?)Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-91512141141912649052011-01-03T16:16:00.003-05:002011-01-03T16:51:52.564-05:00A Little Light Reading. . . .Miss C was reading to her baby doll today. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to capture it on film!! Enjoy!!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmgs4K5wVdJVl8ITte8OMxAy4wVNXa1bJi51di-POhu-br1pzVLunVI1J91CQe9yL3lIz6Xi7EU5o' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-32287413157476626282010-12-29T20:22:00.002-05:002010-12-29T20:24:08.967-05:00Two Kinds of TearsI have never blogged from my phone. Don't know if it works or not. We'll see. <br /><br />Today was my Aunt Millie's funeral. We spent last night greeting friends and family members. We shed a few tears. <br /><br />Today, we said goodbye. I cried. <br /><br />But I realized something as I was sitting there, crying. <br /><br />As sad as I was about my aunt dying, I was doing some "delayed" mourning for my friend, Beth. Death always makes me sad. Seeing people mourn is difficult. <br /><br />I played for a funeral a few weeks ago. I was sad for this family - but not knowing the man, I was somewhat able to detach myself from the grief. <br /><br />Today - not so much. I grieved. And it was *my* grief. <br /><br />But I have hope. And, as the pastor said today, death without hope is just that...hope-less. Death with hope means sadness, yes. But it also means rejoicing. It means that we acknowledge that we will, and do miss them...but we will see them again - someday. <br /><br />And that is why, though I shed tears - they were not hopeless, sorrowful tears. They were....different. <br /><br />. . .I still lost all my mascara, though.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-44478280944188903862010-12-27T23:30:00.002-05:002010-12-27T23:51:36.051-05:00Back Home Again. . . .I really am not that familiar with the song, "Back Home Again in Indiana," other than I know that it is sung (usually by Jim Nabors) before the start of the Indianapolis 500 on Memorial Day Weekend. But, for the next 40-48 hours, it will be my theme song.<br /><br />My Great-Aunt Millie died on Sunday afternoon. She was old. (I know that sounds so harsh) But, she had lived a very long life. She spent the last number of years in a nursing home. From what we were told, she quietly finished her lunch on Sunday, and fell asleep and woke up in heaven.<br /><br />She had been a widow for many years. I vaguely remember when her husband passed away, but I was either in middle school or high school. (Maybe even elementary school??) So, for almost as long as I can remember her - she was by herself. They never had any children.<br /><br />She wasn't alone. My grandmother, aunt, and great uncle all lived near each other in Southern Indiana. (Evansville area, to be exact) My dad and one of his cousins were especially close to Aunt Millie. I believe she even helped support Dad some as he went back to college in the mid-80s. <br /><br />She was so very sweet -- and she had a sweet smile and the quirkiest "southern" accent. It was a southern Indiana accent, which is very different from the southern accent we hear in these parts. My sister can still do an amazing knock-off of Aunt Millie talking about the "Church of the Nazarene," and we break into fits of laughter every time she does it.<br /><br />Things I remember:<br />She was a long-time member of the Nazarene church.<br />She was a devoted follower and avid watcher of Billy Graham.<br />She always kept an orderly, simple home.<br />She always had a cloth calendar than hung in her dining room/laundry room. <br />She always called my dad "Jimmy."<br /><br />And, although I haven't seen her in a long, long time, I mourn her passing. But, because she immediately went to be with Jesus, I am rejoicing. I know death is a part of life. Sometimes I think I have come to grips with that. Other times, not so much.<br /><br />Tomorrow morning (Tuesday) Edison and I will travel with my parents to Indiana. We will attend a visitation service. We will attend a funeral service. We will take part in an interment service. Then, on Wednesday, following the funeral and interment, we will drive home.<br /><br />While there, I hope to show Edison some of his heritage. I want him to see where my parents, and their parents were born and raised. I want him to experience a little of what I experienced during visits to the "Watermelon Capital of the World" otherwise known as Gibson County, Indiana.<br /><br />I want to re-introduce him to his great-aunt & uncle (my dad's sister & brother-in-law) who still live in Indiana. He met them many years ago. He needs to meet them again.<br /><br />So we will travel. I have some stitchery projects to take along with me. I have synced my mp3 player with my two new Darius Rucker CDs that I received for Christmas. I have a couple of books that I have been wanting to read (two out of a very tall pile, mind you). <br /><br />I'm taking my son. <br />Back home to <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> home state. (Even though I only lived there a couple years)<br /><br /><dl style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">Back home again in Indiana</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">And it seems that I can see</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">The gleaming candlelight, still shining bright</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">Thru the sycamores for me</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">The new mown hay sends all its fragrance</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">From the fields I used to roam</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash</span></dd><dd><span style="font-size:130%;">Then I long for my Indiana home</span></dd></dl>I will remember and reflect on a life well-lived. And we will rejoice, through tears, for her homecoming to the home she's been longing to see.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><b style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Beulah land ... I'm longing for you,</b><br /><b style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> And, some day, on thee I'll stand;</b><br /><b style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> There my home shall be eternal.</b><br /><b style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> Beulah land ... sweet Beulah land.</b><br /></span></div><br />Rest in peace, Aunt Millie. You were a wonderful aunt, and a beautiful example of a devoted Christ follower. I'll see you one day. . . .Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-33405647661026466942010-12-24T20:43:00.002-05:002010-12-24T21:04:05.948-05:00From Our House to Yours. . . .<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >We want to wish you a very Merry Christmas!</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyUUY5RXyOVE6ZHC34WYXhuvUKqelM_GY4tiDHJY4o_cnJTdZeA6BYms_kyselomLfDkFoHK37lZVrLlUvlSPIcTZvum51Zn4IYL-_xiWHI8RBCWvqQqRYbanPrA07DXURp8/s1600/100_2951.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyUUY5RXyOVE6ZHC34WYXhuvUKqelM_GY4tiDHJY4o_cnJTdZeA6BYms_kyselomLfDkFoHK37lZVrLlUvlSPIcTZvum51Zn4IYL-_xiWHI8RBCWvqQqRYbanPrA07DXURp8/s320/100_2951.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554429981849710978" border="0" /></a>May you be surrounded and embraced by those you love. May the joy of family and friends fill your heart with delight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthvj2fSKJYvSphOMBhJNk1FZu4qGMc3v_ivibABJe42mKI96qVfWcE9vygdwhTM3e6lgVDKFd-aZlPmdf13W1nG8U_ADRxkf564Yz2dDhS03n-ewfQ54fmSP9a0RPd1s9CO4/s1600/100_2919.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthvj2fSKJYvSphOMBhJNk1FZu4qGMc3v_ivibABJe42mKI96qVfWcE9vygdwhTM3e6lgVDKFd-aZlPmdf13W1nG8U_ADRxkf564Yz2dDhS03n-ewfQ54fmSP9a0RPd1s9CO4/s320/100_2919.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554429970824645426" border="0" /></a>May you be like a child - caught up in the wonder and magic of the season.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPGm3hSO5SKjbn3F0QpqAjL0q036fAzpdkN2KDpWaWmJ3Izx-qSsnZdoYB3xQVZbgdVo_q0w7QxpQMB3fvY4jWGf-zCcEEpOPyJ4DT-LJUcDlm731U5gpckHgdA1uRgfCyr0/s1600/100_2944.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPGm3hSO5SKjbn3F0QpqAjL0q036fAzpdkN2KDpWaWmJ3Izx-qSsnZdoYB3xQVZbgdVo_q0w7QxpQMB3fvY4jWGf-zCcEEpOPyJ4DT-LJUcDlm731U5gpckHgdA1uRgfCyr0/s320/100_2944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554429982823180386" border="0" /></a>May your surprises be good ones. But mostly. . . .may you remember the reason we celebrate:<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">"<span style="font-size:100%;">So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. </span></div><p style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-24985"></sup>Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-24987"></sup> Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, </span></p><p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“Glory to God in the highest heaven,<br /> and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span> <span>So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. </span></span><span>When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. </span><span> But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. </span><span>The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told." (Luke 2:4-20)<br /></span></span></div><p style="font-weight: bold;"> </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jQG_1GFfVkI?hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jQG_1GFfVkI?hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div><br />Merry Christmas from the Aubrey family!!!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-46684365600211670382010-12-16T14:47:00.003-05:002010-12-16T14:51:58.747-05:00Way too fast. . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WY2Ka7dllJYc6OggkUI5uiCepRm3kyECXJUh-Tp3X3xkMwbfYFLvlwD_iQ_yUBC-cvxjLpvrG_ZxJKxkoUncGyXsSjjCL3c6MxJPGBRaT1VZAuJjRcf5umSBeA5ak4XUhmU/s1600/100_2767.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WY2Ka7dllJYc6OggkUI5uiCepRm3kyECXJUh-Tp3X3xkMwbfYFLvlwD_iQ_yUBC-cvxjLpvrG_ZxJKxkoUncGyXsSjjCL3c6MxJPGBRaT1VZAuJjRcf5umSBeA5ak4XUhmU/s320/100_2767.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551370051485497090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC4mIUdBVx4edDb25w24cLz6KszJzGEoQWqhBjx7dPQn3eBqBu_LuT1-49K0r0aX2q79gdOzj1soBSEVMaFLzR3iyD2oXGoM0Yu936FDEO1YoD0HoB2EbwvKJdtNcgGjeJiI/s1600/100_2745.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC4mIUdBVx4edDb25w24cLz6KszJzGEoQWqhBjx7dPQn3eBqBu_LuT1-49K0r0aX2q79gdOzj1soBSEVMaFLzR3iyD2oXGoM0Yu936FDEO1YoD0HoB2EbwvKJdtNcgGjeJiI/s320/100_2745.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551370047701021122" border="0" /></a><br />These two kids of mine are growing up far too fast, in my opinion. I marvel when I look back and realize how quickly time is going by.<br /><br />Someone, slow it down. Please?!?!?Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-74851289981635987052010-12-14T20:35:00.006-05:002010-12-14T20:51:26.664-05:00All we are saying. . . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHsIIp71s9FMyG0VbEWWgz2P0jPj2ZrGii8uaCdTe6zmWLjPWBzT3U-N_XgVAhaTGHw26OSx5k3x6o_ql1ioWt3Nsdp9QFQnlK22Hu4hREqA9x7YSzcBQqXa7ItidXuAWdaQ/s1600/split-pea-soup-7.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBoXhB90_KKwIeGVWZ1J0AUS2oz3cmKu-nkSXghUGMLLFBaPrQ6KFeSawHvytjvnqm8ubnqsqufka7rsWaYBRCDHsNz9B9geuS4cGFfHfWeSX7GGDtufwYswkoBDrogi6ZOw/s1600/give-peas-a-chance.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBoXhB90_KKwIeGVWZ1J0AUS2oz3cmKu-nkSXghUGMLLFBaPrQ6KFeSawHvytjvnqm8ubnqsqufka7rsWaYBRCDHsNz9B9geuS4cGFfHfWeSX7GGDtufwYswkoBDrogi6ZOw/s320/give-peas-a-chance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550718527153957010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7BMWyw2sCCPdCGCBOJuBUoq2ANloDKoMf08344lgJkBDtEMHYjkZWN3XG4b7CCfIPPrsjaHzit-uxkhq9w1unlRSdcMmdS3vFvdxfF4HaOOhjGukIvETCm_Pyd7ZIcUQ15k/s1600/peas.jpg"><br /></a><br />Sorry, couldn't help but quote John & Yoko on such a monumental night.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;">Caroline loves peas.<br /></span></div><br />We had no clue.<br /><br />Tonight's dinner was simple: Roasted Chicken (very tasty), Baked Potatoes, Green Peas, and Cranberry Sauce. Yes, I know. . .I know. . .peas are considered starches. There was nothing inherently healthy about them -- except that they are beautifully <span style="font-style: italic;">green.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7BMWyw2sCCPdCGCBOJuBUoq2ANloDKoMf08344lgJkBDtEMHYjkZWN3XG4b7CCfIPPrsjaHzit-uxkhq9w1unlRSdcMmdS3vFvdxfF4HaOOhjGukIvETCm_Pyd7ZIcUQ15k/s1600/peas.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7BMWyw2sCCPdCGCBOJuBUoq2ANloDKoMf08344lgJkBDtEMHYjkZWN3XG4b7CCfIPPrsjaHzit-uxkhq9w1unlRSdcMmdS3vFvdxfF4HaOOhjGukIvETCm_Pyd7ZIcUQ15k/s320/peas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550717098014439010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I love them.<br />Mark and Edison? Not so much.<br /><br />I love them in Pea Salad (miracle whip, cashews, cheddar cheese)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSO4m5o5eh_QPxaM9jBitM8n4OQGx3oeGIQZae53cZX_gOvEXWzsc8AbuZZSQCn_WC7dT2S7LWtELi8BPKE2912lcLI224AZUiLO-8iMBnsmYkADTXT1afU0AzJ5zWmIcfOs/s1600/green+pea+salad.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSO4m5o5eh_QPxaM9jBitM8n4OQGx3oeGIQZae53cZX_gOvEXWzsc8AbuZZSQCn_WC7dT2S7LWtELi8BPKE2912lcLI224AZUiLO-8iMBnsmYkADTXT1afU0AzJ5zWmIcfOs/s320/green+pea+salad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550719437207580114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I love them in 24-Hour Layered Salad (lettuce, peas, cheese, red onion, celery, green pepper, bacon, etc.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uhihhsZXNLTvi_FPwimrYZaDFzY2egvpLtqAxzhzFK8MDS33zpAO085BAmg-QeTHrPx-f_u6DqeQg7ZESRhbvF54aJM9glLWCGS08VhI4UDi3Q9WdcfSvPLLlJM-yw0-xS4/s1600/24+hour+salad.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uhihhsZXNLTvi_FPwimrYZaDFzY2egvpLtqAxzhzFK8MDS33zpAO085BAmg-QeTHrPx-f_u6DqeQg7ZESRhbvF54aJM9glLWCGS08VhI4UDi3Q9WdcfSvPLLlJM-yw0-xS4/s320/24+hour+salad.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550719465798009122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm not such a big fan of split-pea soup.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHsIIp71s9FMyG0VbEWWgz2P0jPj2ZrGii8uaCdTe6zmWLjPWBzT3U-N_XgVAhaTGHw26OSx5k3x6o_ql1ioWt3Nsdp9QFQnlK22Hu4hREqA9x7YSzcBQqXa7ItidXuAWdaQ/s1600/split-pea-soup-7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHsIIp71s9FMyG0VbEWWgz2P0jPj2ZrGii8uaCdTe6zmWLjPWBzT3U-N_XgVAhaTGHw26OSx5k3x6o_ql1ioWt3Nsdp9QFQnlK22Hu4hREqA9x7YSzcBQqXa7ItidXuAWdaQ/s320/split-pea-soup-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550719955816385794" border="0" /></a><br />And I <span style="font-style: italic;">loathe</span> the "Army-green" peas that come out of a can.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0EfVnyY2lmmRsPvZZQSW5P3vIApOugP7pyitAH-JL3ovL7BohmhefYyljjHTYSECdUPsKaEIL2rvkPKfOphqftFG8kfl3BgnI2Wn-htXLhg1kcshvjqKz8O4gb1RyUBi7Oc/s1600/canned+peas.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0EfVnyY2lmmRsPvZZQSW5P3vIApOugP7pyitAH-JL3ovL7BohmhefYyljjHTYSECdUPsKaEIL2rvkPKfOphqftFG8kfl3BgnI2Wn-htXLhg1kcshvjqKz8O4gb1RyUBi7Oc/s320/canned+peas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550719434771202338" border="0" /></a>(I think I just threw up a little in my mouth)<br /><br />But, I love peas.<br /><br />We noticed that Caroline, very quietly, was using the proper utensils to shove the peas into her mouth. (In my defense, they were exceptionally good peas) But, we really didn't expect this from her.<br /><br />Our reaction? The silent gestures that said, "Did you see that?" and "Shhhh, don't say anything -- she might stop!"<br /><br />But, she didn't.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">She...ate...every...single...last...pea...on...her...plate.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br />I credit Veggie Tales. . . .<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiIpEndRw18VRWKebW6VataELT7frZO-0JK9mjnKMEBpDcbeMHoScWvoVzfg9WEAYvA0RVVLv4yQ-GzNJnX4jWysLbX5ZdjfJ0KfUy85cp2KwpGfIQt5CXQcMVvHpjQh87fc/s1600/veggie+tales.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiIpEndRw18VRWKebW6VataELT7frZO-0JK9mjnKMEBpDcbeMHoScWvoVzfg9WEAYvA0RVVLv4yQ-GzNJnX4jWysLbX5ZdjfJ0KfUy85cp2KwpGfIQt5CXQcMVvHpjQh87fc/s320/veggie+tales.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550719449850560562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />. . .now if I could just get her to eat squash!!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-50016522617438241832010-12-12T14:11:00.002-05:002010-12-12T14:16:10.082-05:00Happy Birthday, Beth. . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfzOxZQZvhNlntal3fLjOWzID_Ryk6yAuPvgzXSZ2K_nf6OWz0Zjn28bg93BJZc8SOpRakM6qSRnePej1hL-Nry1uN4K6NNSIDQpxM7ZE9fRk5xKu8sy68xnoQBu_TBLJxdw/s1600/Beth1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfzOxZQZvhNlntal3fLjOWzID_Ryk6yAuPvgzXSZ2K_nf6OWz0Zjn28bg93BJZc8SOpRakM6qSRnePej1hL-Nry1uN4K6NNSIDQpxM7ZE9fRk5xKu8sy68xnoQBu_TBLJxdw/s320/Beth1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549875583563761026" border="0" /></a><br />Happy Birthday, Beth. Under normal circumstances, I would have called - and the kids (or at least Caroline) would have sung that familiar birthday tune to you.<br /><br />I know your family is missing you today. (They've missed you every day since you left) They're remembering you, and the joy that you brought to every day.<br /><br />Your friends are missing you today, too. We remember and celebrate a life lived to the very fullest -- to the very end. (Which was all-too-soon)<br /><br />In honor of your birthday, God is giving us snow. You would have loved this. What started as tiny, little delicate flakes has turned into bigger, puffier flakes. I expect that the ground will eventually be covered. <br /><br />And then, all by myself, I'll sing you a birthday tune. . . .because I know how much you loved the snow, and the significant imagery that it brought your heart.<br /><br />Thanks for telling me about it. . . .I always liked snow. Now, I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I miss you. <span style="font-style: italic;">Just in case you wondered.</span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-65929196736926221612010-12-05T22:29:00.002-05:002010-12-05T22:34:41.999-05:00To Bake or Not to Bake. . . .this year, that <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the question.<br /><br />I'm not opposed to holiday baking, per se. In fact, I quite enjoy it. I'm just afraid that I'll do a mammoth amount of baking, and then the treats won't go any further than my living room.<br /><br />Not a good plan.<br /><br />If I do bake - and I'm sure I will bake <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span> this season.. . . (For heaven's sake, we need something to set out for Santa Claus!) it will most likely be a reduced list from previous years. <br /><br />Here's what I've done in the past:<br /><br />Molasses Cookies<br />Sugar Cookies (cut out - and drop)<br />Gingerbread Men<br />Coconut Bonbons (these are amazing)<br />Austrian Chocolate Balls<br />Candy Cane Cookies<br />Snickerdoodles<br />Fudge<br />Peanut Butter Fudge<br />Microwave Peanut Brittle<br />Thumbprints<br />Shortbread<br />Biscotti<br /><br />There are lots of things I've made in the past . . . .but this year, I really don't want to bake a ton of cookies - unless they're going out the door to someone else.<br /><br />I'll work on this. Maybe I can send a tray to Mark's work. I don't want to bring a tray to my work -- it's a church, and lots of people end up bringing us stuff. We don't need it.<br /><br />I don't know. . . I have to think about this for a while.<br /><br />Results of my thinking to follow. . . .Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-5300204369375097422010-12-03T12:38:00.003-05:002010-12-03T12:46:54.915-05:00Be Still. . . . .I have trouble with this. I don't find myself being "still" very often. In fact, when find myself running in 15 different directions, I wonder when I'll ever find time to slow down, or even (gasp!) stop.<br /><br />Today - I was reminded of this while driving through town. Mind you, this has felt like a week where all I've done is drive. I've been chauffeur, taxi driver, and a delivery service this week. I even let Edison drive into South Knoxville on a very busy, dangerous road -- at night just as it had begun raining -- so I've not sat still for very long.<br /><br />But today, while driving home from the grocery store (had to get groceries for tonight's staff Christmas party), I came upon a "new" stoplight that will soon be installed about a mile from our house. It's going to make things interesting for the first couple of weeks, but it's going to make things safer in the long run.<br /><br />Regardless. I was at the light. There was one car coming - but I could've turned ahead of him. For some reason, <span style="font-style: italic;">that little voice</span> told me not to do so. <br /><br />Note: This is not one of those "angel on the shoulder" moments, where I just missed a car wreck -- don't get excited. <br /><br />It was just actually an opportunity to stop. To be still. To wait. I actually consciously took a breath while I waited for the car. And, can I admit this?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I enjoyed just sitting there, waiting.</span><br /></div><br />Why am I sharing this? Because I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one that is always in some state of motion. Don't get me wrong -- there's nothing wrong with being busy. There's nothing wrong with movement. In fact, I'm trying that familiar <span style="font-style: italic;">eat less, move more</span> way of life. There's nothing wrong with moving.<br /><br />But, trust me -- there's also nothing wrong with being still.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mgob5afanUg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mgob5afanUg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-55231258794727280022010-11-15T20:40:00.005-05:002010-11-15T21:06:12.302-05:00Sixteen? Seriously?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQlaYMAphEyBhrF8KBhNIF-MZAvAskwMuISad32r335BTpozkd_LkR9nWIYkhTLrGOt0keN5YaL4b0FXU4yupu2EMYOIH1_EkVu_OQXgJVUytQcoQ-OHpHXqPgbf-ti7Rapg/s1600/edison+%2526+caroline.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-size:180%;">Happy Birthday, Edison!!!<br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-i6LxS_kFYliMJFVPGuFmmshKYCOGy8z-t5mXuwPlok0F_MTHmTZ22ln3-1PxV9KePKtkZkewvSwPiZ63UjVwN-E5zSsy4_Y8HsaOTF47oTXYJBn7ZnaYDVswiuowjf8MMg/s1600/kids.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkf8dp2Y37tzZP0tMss3Hodb2Ts2Ehu3SZJsvMfXQgdr4GCJhhMytT46KPjCEwD-epNkmjy-Gmx24gXt5orqiJVw5OJj-0Tytz1ZztuHIFvNA6bIBuCwznoAsjVNM401EZtA/s1600/DCP_1821.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkf8dp2Y37tzZP0tMss3Hodb2Ts2Ehu3SZJsvMfXQgdr4GCJhhMytT46KPjCEwD-epNkmjy-Gmx24gXt5orqiJVw5OJj-0Tytz1ZztuHIFvNA6bIBuCwznoAsjVNM401EZtA/s320/DCP_1821.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539957771361329202" border="0" /></a><br />Sixteen years ago, on a cold, November day - Edison came into our lives. (He was born before digital photography, so I'm kinda limited by my selections on here) He was really a cute baby!<br /><br />He's a kind, compassionate, talented kid. He keeps us laughing. . . most of the time. Emphasis on the word <span style="font-style: italic;">most.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWou-EtXAnjp7vjp6Ja1ovnuUG_Pc9ZhCmvBLc9mQ4Bn-6gJnJ2CM1OKq73BjP9sEQkwKmH1FJnkN16NQG17eEW4Yc8v4HoxtyAwUIkaNPEsk_m2MCyc0qcn55VX4BZGvu9E/s1600/101_0015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWou-EtXAnjp7vjp6Ja1ovnuUG_Pc9ZhCmvBLc9mQ4Bn-6gJnJ2CM1OKq73BjP9sEQkwKmH1FJnkN16NQG17eEW4Yc8v4HoxtyAwUIkaNPEsk_m2MCyc0qcn55VX4BZGvu9E/s320/101_0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539957776972018530" border="0" /></a><br />He enjoys playing football <span style="font-style: italic;">nearly</span> as much as he enjoys playing music. I keep thinking he gets that from me, but who knows?!?!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMyd3mJFozeXlfj4ylF1obFaOmgils0klpd_ChJY3jddTKu87kvwV0hoRBYqXRp8gK4Zx4tzNLaaAbD8DSxp0K1GIPN8B6SJIDwiCuBwoua6BzFTsPxmzxlBvvk4GZka84rg/s1600/100_4643.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMyd3mJFozeXlfj4ylF1obFaOmgils0klpd_ChJY3jddTKu87kvwV0hoRBYqXRp8gK4Zx4tzNLaaAbD8DSxp0K1GIPN8B6SJIDwiCuBwoua6BzFTsPxmzxlBvvk4GZka84rg/s320/100_4643.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539957793691177634" border="0" /></a><br />He has always had a strong (fierce**) love for his sister.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-i6LxS_kFYliMJFVPGuFmmshKYCOGy8z-t5mXuwPlok0F_MTHmTZ22ln3-1PxV9KePKtkZkewvSwPiZ63UjVwN-E5zSsy4_Y8HsaOTF47oTXYJBn7ZnaYDVswiuowjf8MMg/s1600/kids.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-i6LxS_kFYliMJFVPGuFmmshKYCOGy8z-t5mXuwPlok0F_MTHmTZ22ln3-1PxV9KePKtkZkewvSwPiZ63UjVwN-E5zSsy4_Y8HsaOTF47oTXYJBn7ZnaYDVswiuowjf8MMg/s320/kids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539959510963729426" border="0" /></a><br />Always has. . . .always will.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQlaYMAphEyBhrF8KBhNIF-MZAvAskwMuISad32r335BTpozkd_LkR9nWIYkhTLrGOt0keN5YaL4b0FXU4yupu2EMYOIH1_EkVu_OQXgJVUytQcoQ-OHpHXqPgbf-ti7Rapg/s1600/edison+%2526+caroline.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQlaYMAphEyBhrF8KBhNIF-MZAvAskwMuISad32r335BTpozkd_LkR9nWIYkhTLrGOt0keN5YaL4b0FXU4yupu2EMYOIH1_EkVu_OQXgJVUytQcoQ-OHpHXqPgbf-ti7Rapg/s320/edison+%2526+caroline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539961332125299346" border="0" /></a><br />I told him that I'd get sappy. . . but, since he's sixteen, I'll refrain from anything remotely close to emotional. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Happy 16th Birthday, Edison. <br />We love you.<br />We are extremely proud of you.<br /><br /></div><br />**<span style="font-style: italic;">fierce love</span> is how my sweet, wonderful friend <a href="http://20birds.net/concealedstars/">Beth </a>referred to the love between her girls. As I have watched Edison's adoration grow for Caroline over the past six year, I can't think of a better word to describe or define it. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(Just another example of why I love and miss you so very much, Beth!)</span><br /></div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-19745777119137794262010-11-05T11:38:00.002-04:002010-11-05T11:42:11.087-04:00Not Even Sure Where to BeginIt has been almost three weeks since I have had a day off - by myself - here at home. I have run errands already this morning, and have had two phone calls - each about 45 minutes. Now what do I do?<br /><br />I have quilt projects that need to go from one step to another. <br />I have a house that needs to be cleaned.<br />I have company coming back to our house at some point this coming week.<br />I have a soon-to-be 16 year old's birthday to plan.<br /><br />But for now, those things are going to wait. Because, I have a chocolate mocha cappuccino (with just a hint of french vanilla non-fat creamer) sitting here, and at least four (4) seasons of The Office on DVD. And right now, those are taking precedence over any other things on my to-do list.<br /><br />Until next time. . . stay warm and enjoy the fall weather!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-44298539877782690622010-11-04T17:27:00.003-04:002010-11-04T23:01:25.800-04:00I Will NOT Become That Mother. . . .edited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZjxxzUii37LfPZ1eC1RIXnILSex0mDaBSs4xYhgT-4Gp2L5YwuUD9P6aO34MWzmz7a_qj8kS0hM5oU_NBJwWJl-kyCs2zhVXubA4FzHjlB1sARcIztCrbpYXc5NIHaqlFbE/s1600/673599etch.pdf+-+Foxit+Reader+-+%5B673599etch.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 454px; height: 108px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZjxxzUii37LfPZ1eC1RIXnILSex0mDaBSs4xYhgT-4Gp2L5YwuUD9P6aO34MWzmz7a_qj8kS0hM5oU_NBJwWJl-kyCs2zhVXubA4FzHjlB1sARcIztCrbpYXc5NIHaqlFbE/s320/673599etch.pdf+-+Foxit+Reader+-+%5B673599etch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535810225547415634" border="0" /></a><br /><br />. . . okay, maybe I already <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> become that mother! You'll have to forgive the buttons popping off and flying all sorts of directions. But, I'm doggone proud of Caroline!!<br /><br />This ad will be featured in the Saturday Sports section of the Knoxville News-Sentinel. And yes, we WILL be getting some copies for the scrapbook!!<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Edited to add. . . Mark pointed out the irony that Caroline will be undergoing eye surgery in less than two weeks. We have thought about taking this ad in - hoping the surgeon will treat it as a coupon. . . ? </span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-25329293601960985412010-11-01T13:57:00.002-04:002010-11-01T14:18:45.217-04:00Which Recipe Do You Use?Last week, while publicly living out my life on Facebook, I admitted to making Chex Mix. My status actually said, "(Angie) just made chex mix and my house smells yummy!" (Or something to that effect) A reply to my status update made me laugh.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Which recipe did you use?"</span></span> <br /></div><br />Normally, a reply like that wouldn't necessarily make one smile, I suppose. But if you know me - or have been around me when I've been cooking - you understand why I would laugh at that question.<br /><br />You see, like my wonderful mother, I have this knack. I call it a "knack" rather than referring to it as a character flaw for obvious reason. (ha!) <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I usually follow a recipe one time - and then "adapt" it according to my mood, pantry inventory, or opinion.</span></span><br /></div><br />Sometimes, this works in my favor. Other times? Not so much. I think it drives certain members of my extended family a little crazy when they ask for recipes, and I admit that I really don't use one. I mean, there are some things (sloppy joes, spaghetti sauce, etc.) that you just make by feel. . . not by a recipe. <br /><br />You don't? Well, I do.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Disclaimer here: When baking, I always follow the recipe. Too much chemistry involved in rising/falling cakes & breads. I don't claim to know </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">that</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> much about baking to make adjustments.</span></span><br /><br />But Chex Mix? That, my friends, depends entirely on what is in the pantry. Usually, I try to follow the recipe -- but I fudge a little on the amounts of contents. I mean seriously? I don't count out nine (9) cups of wheat, corn, and rice cereal bits. . . in fact, when Crispix came out - I all but gave up on the "mixed cereal" idea. (Although, I really do like the little wheat chex bits - so I sometimes buy them.) But when it comes to CM (chex mix) I always opt for:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cheez-it crackers </span>-- they somehow get yummier with the butter/Worcestershire mixture.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pretzels </span>-- nobody in my family really<span style="font-style: italic;"> likes</span> pretzels in there, but I put them in out of duty.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nuts </span>-- here's where things get interesting.<br /><br />**If I'm making Chex Mix for our family -- I use the nuts with NO peanuts<br />**If I'm making Chex Mix to give away -- I buy the can with "less than 50% peanuts"<br /><br />I admit it - I am a nut snob. You always get WAY more peanuts than you want, if you're honest -- or from Georgia. Give me a good cashew, pecan, or almond any day -- and you can keep your precious peanuts!<br /><br />On rare occasions, I will add cheerios, bagel chips, or french fried onion rings. But typically, I stick to the recipe above. <br /><br />As for the "sauce" I know the players (butter, Worcestershire sauce, onion salt, garlic powder, seasoned salt). And sometimes, I use the correct ratios. Other times I have guessed. And when I really want to get crazy, I'll add a dash of cayenne pepper. (I know. . .I'm now just giving away the key to the mint!)<br /><br />Okay. . . so getting back to this most recent batch. Yesterday, while watching football, baseball, or the NASCAR race, (honestly, I can't remember which one) Mark said to me: "Honey, this Chex Mix is really good. I could do without the Cheez-It crackers, but it's really good."<br /><br />My reply was something like: "Well, I'll always use Cheez-Its because I like them. I'm not sure <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> I put pretzels in -- because no one seems to like them."<br /><br />Here's the irony: This particular time. . . no joking. . . <span style="font-style: italic;">I followed the recipe exactly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Chex Mix: 1</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">My Pride: 0</span></span><br /><br />So what about you? Which recipe, if any, do you use? And, are you fastidious about recipes, or do you make stuff up on the fly?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">And, by saying "on the fly" I am NOT suggesting that you have flies in your food. Just sayin'. . . .</span></span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-35487262432236560292010-10-30T22:36:00.003-04:002010-10-30T22:50:16.455-04:00Sometimes You Just Don't Wanna. . .That's been me and my on-again/off-again relationship with blogging. Sometimes I just don't want to do it.<br /><br />It's been hard - coming up with things to say - that didn't center around Beth. And, honestly, when I think about her now -- I still mourn, but I'm also rejoicing. It's been just over three weeks since she got to meet Jesus face to face. <span style="font-style: italic;">And, if I'm honest, I'm a little jealous.</span><br /><br />Please don't get me wrong -- I have lots of things here (on earth) that I still want to do. Not necessarily a bucket list, mind you. . .but there are things that I want to see and do and experience before I leave the earth.<br /><br />And, deep down, I'm starting to get that feeling that I think you get when you realize that the things of this earth are just that: things of this earth. And, to be quite honest, some of the "things of this earth" are really starting to get on my nerves. What are some of those things? Well, let's see. . .<br /><br />1) Charlie Sheen & Lindsey Lohan (feel free to insert any male/female actor or performer that is in the news more for the crap they put into their bodies than for any actual God-given talent(s) they might pretend to possess)<br /><br />2) Election Years. (Do I really need to say more?)<br /><br />3) Gray hair.<br /><br />4) Achievement test scores for kids.<br /><br />5) Cancer. (Add Alzheimer's to the list, too)<br /><br />6) Halloween. Not a big fan.<br /><br />7) Senseless arguments over stuff that doesn't matter.<br /><br />8) Tissues with lotion and/or the Vicks Vapo-Rub stuff on them.<br /><br />9) Alarm Clocks. (Feel free to add watches, calendars, day-planners, and bathroom scales)<br /><br />10) Telemarketing calls.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >The irony here is that I used to be a telemarketer -- at one time, I sold vinyl siding, cabinet refacing & replacement windows. Another job had me setting appointments for Olan Mills. So, you'd think I would be more sympathetic. </span><br /><br />I'm not.<br /><br />What would I miss? Oh, I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it?<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0KkImC9HEMaYVSd4AU-VBKCTlRY0x7Gx8VZnb60NAk7XmP6Q2KV8sy12k7B2KHGTO39YXNniAddRMcTCZOsEHvk9EeIZOCzSiyUHLaQWDIm0gezaXEmKDRwa39yuAMFU9Fg/s1600/100_4658.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0KkImC9HEMaYVSd4AU-VBKCTlRY0x7Gx8VZnb60NAk7XmP6Q2KV8sy12k7B2KHGTO39YXNniAddRMcTCZOsEHvk9EeIZOCzSiyUHLaQWDIm0gezaXEmKDRwa39yuAMFU9Fg/s320/100_4658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534035975826532786" border="0" /></a>I'd miss them both - but the one on the left has completely captured my heart. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVc_fWQHGAhQGt742_34ysHD9KQZlh-QU6T2r47e4etwORqectLJaKLQYgqiuN-VNZNvcBwt67tOZRSH6_G9KEwC8DIgBBbKUzlFv476AHvbuLI93fiUH5L9dbEml1HwqFlc/s1600/100_4645.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVc_fWQHGAhQGt742_34ysHD9KQZlh-QU6T2r47e4etwORqectLJaKLQYgqiuN-VNZNvcBwt67tOZRSH6_G9KEwC8DIgBBbKUzlFv476AHvbuLI93fiUH5L9dbEml1HwqFlc/s320/100_4645.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534035969860769938" border="0" /></a>I think you knew these two were next, didn't you?<br /><br />There's still a lot of life left to live (if God wills it so). And, I've decided that I'm going to live it -- doggone it! There are things that I need to do that I've put off, and shouldn't have. (Refer back to #9 on my list) There are people to hug. Places to visit. Fences to mend. <br /><br />And today. . . I've decided that living it out to the fullest is the best way to honor those who have gone before us. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What about you? What are you going to do? </span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-91418973514635209092010-10-16T21:14:00.003-04:002010-10-16T21:21:12.262-04:00The LetterThe following letter is one I wrote for Beth's family after she passed away. I gave them the option of reading it at her memorial service, or just reading it among the family. I got a quick note from Tony, her husband, and I *think* they read it during the service.<br /><br />I wanted to post it here -- because it's a tribute to a remarkable woman. A mentor. A friend. A mother. A wife.<br /><br />Here it is. . . It's torture to post it and not "re-edit" it. So, I'm going to change the font, type color, and leave it at that. (Really, I am!)<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout ext="edit"> <o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Tony, Florence, Jenni, Melinda, Mary, Katherine, Emily and Hannah. . . .</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">How I wish I could be with you today.<span style=""> </span>My heart, for the last four years, has longed to visit Thunder Bay where I could experience the phenomenon that was Valerie Beth Cain.<span style=""> </span>What a lifeforce!<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Over the past couple weeks, I struggled with the fact that I’d one day write this letter.<span style=""> </span>I anguished over finding the right words.<span style=""> </span>How would I describe Beth?<span style=""> </span>How in the world would I be able to express my feelings?<span style=""> </span>I concluded that the only way to “sum up” my friendship with Beth would be to talk about her names. . . </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Wife – <span style=""> </span>I will always cherish her descriptions of you, Tony.<span style=""> </span>I loved the way she would write about songs you had written. . . your expressions of praise to God were always such a source of joy for her.<span style=""> </span>And, her brilliant way with words always made us feel like we were part of your precious relationship – even though we were miles away.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Daughter – Her love and admiration for you, Florence, truly inspired me.<span style=""> </span>She worried about you.<span style=""> </span>She respected and revered you.<span style=""> </span>She admired you.<span style=""> </span>She celebrated you.<span style=""> </span>And, her memories and stories of her childhood always gave me such vivid images of life and joy.<span style=""> </span>And, her love of hospitality and entertaining is something for which I know you are very proud.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mommy – One of my favorite scrapbook layouts is the one where she tells about Melinda’s determination to call Beth “Mommy” for the rest of her life.<span style=""> </span>She loved each one of you girls with all of her heart – you know that. She knew your strengths and celebrated them.<span style=""> </span>She knew your weaknesses, and prayed diligently for you to overcome those weaknesses, and to learn more about your Heavenly Father through struggles and adversity.<span style=""> </span>She was so very proud of you.<span style=""> </span>To hear her talk (or write) about each one of you makes me feel like I already know you.<span style=""> </span>I can tell each of you that over the past four years, when you were facing a struggle, she would write to me – sometimes with details, sometimes not – and ask me to pray for you.<span style=""> </span>This was an honor.<span style=""> </span>It will remain my honor to hold you before the Throne until the day I die.<span style=""> </span>As a tribute to your mom, this is my promise.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Adopted Aunt – Sometime in 2006, she decided to become an “aunt” to my two children: Edison & Caroline.<span style=""> </span>C*line, as she would call her – held a special place in her heart – in the same way Jenni holds a special place in my heart.<span style=""> </span>Her immediate, strong, fierce love for my children absolutely blew me away.<span style=""> </span>And, don’t get me started about the scrapbook layouts she created of Caroline.<span style=""> </span>As we “adopted” each others’ children, the bond between us became even more like a sister relationship.<span style=""> </span>I look forward to opportunities in the future, when I can tell Caroline about her “Auntie Beth,” who loved her without ever meeting her.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Prayer Warrior – Just yesterday, I realized how much I had come to rely on Beth as my prayer warrior, and how much she regarded me as her warrior.<span style=""> </span>She held me up in prayer in 2008, as I faced the threat of cancer.<span style=""> </span>Talk about tireless prayers. . . she never stopped.<span style=""> </span>We went from “Plan A” to “Plan B” and she was committed to go to “Plan Z” if that was God’s will.<span style=""> </span>That’s a prayer warrior.<span style=""> </span>So, last month, when she called to tell me about the 3-6 month prognosis, she pleaded with me to “wrestle with God” on her behalf.<span style=""> </span>Of course, I agreed.<span style=""> </span>I’m not sure I lived up to her request, but I knew that her pleas for me to pray for her were genuine, and that I had an obligation to repeatedly go to the Throne on her behalf.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Friend – I have had friends pass away – but with Beth, I’m sure many people would agree, it was different.<span style=""> </span>Beth was a friend like no other I’ve known.<span style=""> </span>She somehow managed to get to know me in a very, very short time.<span style=""> </span>After just a few months, I felt like I’d known her all my life.<span style=""> </span>And after four years, she became the older sister I never had.<span style=""> </span>Though I miss her with all of my heart, the fact that she is singing and dancing before in the very presence of God – celebrating the joy of her salvation, and enjoying the eternity we are all anticipating – well, I wouldn’t want to take that away from her.<span style=""> </span>She has encouraged me – through her valiant fight and strong faith in the midst of utter pain & heartbreak – to emulate her.<span style=""> </span>She has given all of us the most wonderful, courageous example of someone who fought the good fight and remained faithful to the very end.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Over the last four years, she made me promise a variety of things.<span style=""> </span>I was to pray daily for the future spouse of my son.<span style=""> </span>I was to continue to express myself artistically.<span style=""> </span>I was to set the bar high for Caroline – and bring out the very best in her.<span style=""> </span>And, in our last conversation, she made me promise not to let go of you girls.<span style=""> </span>I promised her that I would not – and that is a promise that I will keep.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Jenni, Melinda, Mary, Katherine, Emily, and Hannah – I know you have aunts & uncles.<span style=""> </span>You have cousins, friends, an amazing church family, and an extended, blended family that loves you.<span style=""> </span>But now, I want you to remember, because of your precious, funny, wonderful mommy, you also have an aunt, uncle, and two cousins living in Tennessee that absolutely adore you.<span style=""> </span>You are our family.<span style=""> </span>We love you.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Angie, Mark, Edison, and Caroline (C*line)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> . . .and as Forrest Gump would say: "That's about all I have to say about that."<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">(I love you, Beth!)<br /></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34433535.post-78891172091639025552010-10-08T19:18:00.004-04:002010-10-08T19:37:13.811-04:00Remembering Beth<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUMC948iqz5Gmus5VVVp47mUL4tMkM2hJyntIu-FlYNVZG-Nb0V4ZoWQlZOHcEqVd6HklbQBJlFvStnWBKsk_gugFmDGrHMhq8tj7LrRv6Miyu3ynNxTm9YuuSWel_6Onk0s/s1600/beth+%26+melinda.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUMC948iqz5Gmus5VVVp47mUL4tMkM2hJyntIu-FlYNVZG-Nb0V4ZoWQlZOHcEqVd6HklbQBJlFvStnWBKsk_gugFmDGrHMhq8tj7LrRv6Miyu3ynNxTm9YuuSWel_6Onk0s/s320/beth+%26+melinda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525821996188528770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">(Beth and her daughter, Melinda)<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Earlier today, Beth went home to be with Jesus.</span><br /><br />If you have read my blog at all, you would be familiar with my friend, <span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a href="http://20birds.net/concealedstars/">Beth</a>.<br /><br />I originally wrote this blog entry a week and a half ago, but pulled it off because I wanted to be sensitive to Beth, and her family as she went through these last days. Here's what I wrote. . . with a bit of editing.<br /><br />Last week - I started rereading some of her beautiful blog entries. Starting with the most recent, and working my way backwards. Somewhere around November of 2008, I decided to do some cross-reference checking to my blog. Not sure of when she started commenting on my blog, I kept digging.<br /><br />My <a href="http://carolinesmom.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-first-post.html#links">very first entry </a>has her beautiful comments on it. . . and she became a frequent commenter on my blog (hitting nearly every entry) for the past four years.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I don't think she got to read this . . . and that's okay.</span><br /><br />Beth fought bravely in a battle against cancer. Last fall, she was diagnosed with cancer - a very aggressive cancer in her salivary glands and throat. Doctors decided to think "outside the box" for her treatment.<br /><br />I remember getting a phone call from her last December, while doing some Christmas shopping - where she was so very excited about their <span style="font-style: italic;">non-textbook</span> approach. It was a difficult conversation to have -- malls tend to be noisy places. But, it was encouraging, nonetheless.<br /><br />Time has passed. Chemotherapy and radiation treatments helped to shrink the original tumor -- she named him "Ignace," or "Iggy" for short. And, although there was a definite decrease in Iggy's size, the aggressiveness of this particular cancer reared back and went into her liver, lungs, and bones. And today, she was allowed to rest in the arms of Jesus.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cancer may have won this battle. But, Beth is going to win the war!!!</span><br /><br />In the next couple of days, I will write a letter to be read at her memorial service. <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> (Actually, I'm actually now looking at the possibility of going up to Canada for the service) </span>But, I've never done anything like this before. As I told my dad on the phone, I have learned that friends have died. . . but Beth is the first close friend that I've lost.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">. . . and I'm coming to grips with the fact that as I get older, it's going to happen more and more. </span><br /><br />I've been shedding quite a few tears lately. Among laughter and smiles, tears flow quite freely. And yes, there are many reasons for those tears.<br /><br />I am weeping for her husband, and her six beautiful daughters.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFFuLB4wpPSo-Co11rUUKhNRRkURLxpgFmo4kK9nDSeG3saQCcIyPi3lJYua3mrsP7rUN9DRdlV_0-04HeAPnEAfFicTgrqAcWHOt6ehUWctUfUqqy_PK_O59oJ1bOKY-rec/s1600/beth's+girls.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFFuLB4wpPSo-Co11rUUKhNRRkURLxpgFmo4kK9nDSeG3saQCcIyPi3lJYua3mrsP7rUN9DRdlV_0-04HeAPnEAfFicTgrqAcWHOt6ehUWctUfUqqy_PK_O59oJ1bOKY-rec/s320/beth's+girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521477003924476754" border="0" /></a><br />I am crying for her mother, who has lived with her the past couple of years -- and had to watch her daughter suffer from this horrible disease.<br /><br />I am weeping on behalf of friends and neighbors that love her dearly -- children that she has adopted as her nieces and nephews (two of them are my kids) -- <span style="font-style: italic;">just because they</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">are.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">And yes, I am mourning for me.</span><br /><br />I have lost a friend. . . a friend that I feel like I have known all of my life.<br /><br />This friend was someone. . . .<br /><br />. . .to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude<br />. . .that wasn't afraid to ask me to do serious spiritual battle on her behalf<br />. . .that loved my children like they were her own flesh and blood<br />. . .who disagreed with me politically, but loved me in spite of it<br />. . .who valued and celebrated my artistic abilities<br />. . .I have never got to meet in person. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />But we have two serious reunions planned. One, this Spring, when Caroline & I meet Beth's daughters in person.<br /><br />The other -- when Beth and I are united in heaven.</span><br /><br />And although that may always be one of my life's regrets -- never meeting her in person -- I will cherish every word that we exchanged. I have saved blog entries, emails, comments, facebook exchanges, and scrapbook layouts that she lovingly created. I will read them again and again and again. . .<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">and I will not be the same person I was four years ago.</span><br /><br /><ul><li>I will be a better friend.</li><li>I will become a more devoted wife.</li><li>I will encourage and challenge my children in new ways.</li><li>I will develop my inner voice--and write the words God puts on my heart.</li></ul><br />And yes, for her and those precious girls I love so much, I will learn to love Chris Tomlin's song, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">God of this City.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>Up until now, it has not been on my top-five list of songs. I'm not sure why I initially rejected it. Maybe because I couldn't get beyond the fact that I don't live in an actual "city" per se.<br /><br />But it became Beth's <span style="font-style: italic;">cancer song</span> and now, when I listen to it - I will see the greater things that were to be done through her battle. I will rejoice in the greater things that God is going to do through her girls -- and through her husband of so very few years. I will see how she glorified God - up until today.<br /><br />And as the song says, I will declare that:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You’re the Light in this darkness<br />You’re the Hope to the hopeless<br />You’re the Peace to the restless<br />There is no one like our God<br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I love you desperately, Beth.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I will keep the promise I made to you -- I will not let go of your girls. I promise.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08729503147294461398noreply@blogger.com6