tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-124214722024-03-07T15:12:08.343-05:00tranquility in the chaosI love stories and memory-keeping and beauty and truth found in people and places and moments.Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.comBlogger365125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-86702183341436125482017-05-27T21:20:00.006-04:002017-05-27T21:26:11.368-04:00Baccalaureate 2017: Make Your Music<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grateful for the opportunity to share some words at our Baccalaureate Ceremony this year... so here's a surprise post (since it's already written, it's easy to "publish"), just in case anyone ever checks back here. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">(It's only been about 3, 4 years?) </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">C</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ongratulations graduates, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">parents, family members, colleagues, friends. What a big moment this is...and what an accomplished group of humans! I am proud and grateful to stand here with you this evening as a part of this community to celebrate you and hopefully to encourage you to use your unique gifts as you leave this place. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two weeks ago, my 4th and 5th graders were preparing for their spring concert. They were especially excited to play the electric song </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=stir+crazy+moxie+strings&oq=stir+Crazy+moxie+strings&aqs=chrome.0.0j69i57.4039j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">Stir Crazy</a></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> that the Moxie Strings taught them earlier this year… One particular student, CJ was counting down the days before this concert. He’s bright and enthusiastic, but also kind of an old soul, articulate, with big vocabulary and even bigger ideas. For him, making music, (especially playing the violin) is basically like breathing. While most people click pens or mindlessly fidget with their hands, CJ incessantly plucks his violin. He’s the kind of 10 year old that shows up a week in advance before his own concert, just to be a helper for the younger kids. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So last Tuesday, moments before our performance, as the lights dimmed and I walked through the side door onto the stage, I was startled to find him behind the curtain in tears, struggling to articulate anything through his sobs. He simply held up his violin….in two pieces. It was ugly, the scroll was completely detached, splintered wood, strings hanging. So I sprang into action, gushing reassurances about rental instrument insurance and rushing to my classroom to get a replacement violin he could play. But he still wasn’t ready to walk on stage...he needed to see his parents, who were, of course, sitting dead center in the front row of the packed house. He ran to the front row, holding up the two broken pieces for his parents (and the entire audience) to see, unashamed of the tears, his sorrow was so deep, so heavy, his love for his violin and the irreparability of the instrument he loved. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> CJ has great parents. Really great parents. In fact, I probably won’t ever forget what his father said to him. Actually, I wish </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">had these words for him...and I wish I’d had these same words for my own daughter when, that same night, her violin ended up missing. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">CJ’s father looked him in the eye and told him to go on stage with the borrowed school violin. He said it would be hard, but it would be okay. And then he said, “CJ go on stage and play. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This isn’t your instrument. YOU ARE YOUR INSTRUMENT.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">those words, I am going to try to remember.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I want to remember them to tell my students, to tell my children, and actually… to tell myself. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“YOU are your instrument.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Things break. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Circumstances will be awful sometimes. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even horrific. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And life will be overwhelming. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes you will fail. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Expect all this. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;">You cannot change it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you can still make your music. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You don’t know how many days you will have in this life, but use each one to practice and master your music and share it with the world. Don’t let a broken violin keep you from making the music that only you can make. Even when you feel broken and suddenly unprepared or out of your league…or when you doubt that you have what it takes. Or when it seems that everyone else has it figured out except for you. When you doubt that you belong. Perhaps that small (or large) crisis will happen for you at the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">worst </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">possible moment. When, like CJ, you tried so hard to be prepared and “together” but everything actually falls apart. It may feel like stepping on stage is impossible. In those difficult moments you have a choice: to quit or to make your music. And I hope you choose to make your music. Even if it means you have to improvise, or use a different tool than you expected. Don’t crumple under the shock of a broken violin. Don’t accept defeat (and miss the moment you’ve been waiting for, preparing for)...go step back on stage and play. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes, you’ll even have to improvise the notes. Like o</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">n January 15th, 2009, when Chesley Sullenburger, or “Sully”, the pilot of US Airways Flight 1549 was forced into a high stakes improvisational performance that shocked the world. A flock of Canadian geese took out both of his engines just minutes after taking off from LaGuardia...suddenly floating with ZERO engines, with little control, seconds away from an impending disaster and destruction, ... and 155 people on board...he had a daunting choice to make. Should he try to make it back to LaGuardia? Attempt a landing at Teterboro Airport? or make a crash landing in the Hudson River? Sully didn’t have an hour to decide. He had seconds. In those seconds, he had to process years of knowledge and practice and apply them to the present. The flight manual had guidelines for engine failure, but no definitive answers to his immediate question. He had to create his own solution… he had to improvise. He decided to head for the Hudson River, to attempt a crash landing in the water. And incredibly, he did it. The plane landed on the water without breaking completely apart. It floated on the water long enough for the passengers to evacuate and wait on the wings until they were rescued by ferry boats.. And all 155 lives were saved. We can easily imagine the outcome if “Sully” had succumbed to the overwhelming horror of the moment, if he had delayed just a few seconds longer... or spent his time panicking or wishing away the circumstances. “Sully” had practiced his instrument, mastered it even. But he had never dreamed that he would have to play </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">this</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> music. It hadn’t been done before. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You’re going to have to make split-second decisions as well. And while most of yours won’t be life or death, they will have consequences. Know that you have years of experience behind you to make the right call. Process the information and choose your direction. In a book about his experiences, Sullenberger wrote, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We need to try to do the right thing every time, to perform at our best, because we never know which moment in our lives we’ll be judged on.” ― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2901015.Chesley_B_Sullenberger" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chesley B. Sullenberger</span></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There have been so many defining moments in history...so many heroes who in moments when you or I might have been overcome, they chose to overcome, to improvise and make a brave choice despite the odds being stacked against them… </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martin Luther King Jr</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oskar Schindler</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ludwig van Beethoven,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>Rosa Parks, </i></b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Albert Einstein, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alexander Hamilton,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Malala Yousafzai, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marie Curie,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Itzak Perlman</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And yet, despite all these inspiring examples...and all our best ideals, it is still easy (at least for me), to be overcome. When little girls (little, like the age of my own daughters) ...when little girls walking out of a concert become the target of deadly explosions….inexplicable acts of violence no longer shock us. Terrorism is now a frightening possibility to be prepared for anywhere at anytime. Racism still divides our country, everyone does not have equal opportunities….or even clean water in America, young children and teenagers suffer from depression in staggering numbers, poverty and hunger and even slavery are closer to us than we like to acknowledge. Each week, sometimes each day, we could choose a tragedy that overwhelms us. We know too much, the stories and statistics are so overwhelming and the information feed so constant on our screens, that we protect ourselves by tuning it out, sometimes we tune it out with mindless entertaining distractions, or busy-ness, we protect ourselves with numbness, superficiality, or cynicism. And despite our values of kindness and empathy, sometimes we actually feel nothing and do nothing because we don’t know what to do, because we can’t fix it and we feel powerless.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But we are not powerless. We are instruments, and in the face of evil, we practice our music, we use our voice, and we love the people around us. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After hearing that John F. Kennedy had been shot in 1963, Leonard Bernstein, (the American composer) was devastated. Bernstein not only esteemed Kennedy as an American President who valued the arts and believed in the enduring power of learning and reason. But he had also been a friend. As he processed his grief, he wrote a letter:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “We ...are...</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">numb with sorrow at this murder, and with rage at the senselessness of the crime. But this sorrow and rage will not inflame us to seek retribution; rather they will inflame our art. Our music will never again be quite the same. This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before. “ </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">~Leonard Bernstein</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 24pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whenever disheartening news or world tragedies or personal sorrows threaten to overcome me, I remember his brave and practical response to violence… </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“to make music intensely, beautifully, and devotedly.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I am unable to see past the darkness, this gives me something to do, to lead me toward light. It helps to remind me of what is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">good</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: making our own music...in our own unique way.. That is a good that overcomes evil. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Around 56 AD, the apostle Paul, wrote a letter to the church in Rome, with a similar message: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do not be overcome by evil, he said. “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But overcome evil with good.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In that same letter, Paul wrote an inspiring list of actions to overcome evil with good… a kind of guide for how to live in the world as a non-conformist... Instead of conforming, he said, be transformed by renewing your MIND. Practice your unique gifts:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> If your gift is service, devote yourself to serving. If it is teaching, devote yourself to teaching. If it is encouragement, devote yourself to encouraging. Give with no strings attached. Lead with passion. Show love without pretending. Love each other like the members of your family. Be the best at showing honor to each other. Don’t hesitate to be enthusiastic... Be happy in your hope, stand your ground when you’re in trouble, and devote yourselves to prayer…..Be happy with those who are happy, and cry with those who are crying. Consider everyone as equal, and don’t think that you’re better than anyone else. Instead, associate with people who have no status. Don’t think that you’re so smart. Don’t pay back anyone for their evil actions with evil actions. If possible, to the best of your ability, live at peace with all people.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (Romans 12 paraphrased)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is how it is to overcome evil with good. It’s daily. It’s usually quiet and small, unnoticed actions and decisions. It’s how we do our work, how we talk to people, how we spend our days. Mother Theresa said “Be faithful in the small things, for in them your strength lies.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What are these small things? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love with sincerity. Show up and be present. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Look up </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and notice each moment. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Look up</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> from your screens and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">notice </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and honor other people. Listen to the music</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> they </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">create. Be creative and brave and improvise with them. Be inspired by one another. Stand your ground and d</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">o what is right.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Be curious and take risks. Use your gifts. Use your voice. Pray. Help people in need. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Live in peace. Express gratitude as often as you can. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Practice your instrument every day. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Be faithful in these small things, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for in them your strength lies.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And with that strength, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you will overcome whatever lies ahead. </span></div>
Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-20205239319583212762014-11-27T22:00:00.000-05:002014-11-27T22:00:46.676-05:00<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Spiced Cherry Pear Pie</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">6 pears</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1 can tart pitted cherries in water</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1cup sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">2 TBSP instant pectin</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1/4 cup tapioca (dry)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1tsp cinnamon</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1tsp nutmeg</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">1/2 tsp apple pie spice </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">2 pie crusts</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mash 1 pear (peeled and cored) with cherries (in water), add sugar, spices, pectin, stir. Add extra sugar or spice to taste. Add dry tapioca.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Prepare pie crust (I use Bon Appetite's recipe). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Poor fruit filling into small sauce pan and simmer on medium till it begins to thicken and flavors heighten. (Add sugar and/or tapioca as needed)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Peel and slice pears. Arrange pear slices inside of pie tin on top of unbaked crust. Add butter slices (about 5 tbsp).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cool fruit mixture and add sugar/spice to taste, if needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Pour fruit mix on pears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lattice weave top of pie crust and pinch edges together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brush top crust with egg wash and sprinkle with sugar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Bake for 15 minutes at 425.... Then reduce heat to 375 and continue baking until crust is golden but not burned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Inspired by a fall weekend escape to northern MI wine country with my love. We met a cherry-pear butter that broke our hearts and left us feeling deprived (when the jar was empty). The spicy warm sweet flavors of pear and cherry... With a flaky buttery crust. </span></div>
Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-88354534268542602402012-12-18T21:07:00.001-05:002012-12-18T21:07:40.345-05:00Slow-cooked Mushroom Sherry Chicken4 Chicken breasts<br />
1 8 oz. package cream cheese<br />
3/4 cup dry sherry<br />
2 tbsp. butter<br />
mini-bella mushrooms quartered<br />
garlic (minced)<br />
2 tbsp. dry italian dressing mix<br />
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Briefly brown chicken. Lightly <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">sauté</span> mushrooms and garlic in butter. Place chicken, mushrooms, garlic, cream cheese, sherry and italian dressing in slow cooker. Cook on low 5 hours. <br />
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Teach four violin lessons...then eat.<br />
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My only mistake...I only made half of this recipe. Never underestimate your family. We all wish there were leftovers. <br />
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We're trying to savour these sacred days of Advent....telling stories of God's provision, finding beauty and joy in our daily lives, lighting candles, waiting with expectation, preparing, trying to make space. Celebrating our abundance with gratitude...trying to hold "things" loosely (while at the same time, frantically ordering more and more boxes to be shipped from Amazon.com to fill our dining room). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99MHBy3XTVRi0NKbUdXkAT6-MoA5tnfrIu7_806QP00BnAvE_h4fhvE1zQ1K76HJmUU8BIxohxkArcYO2bgoGvzRbRt4SEkN5yhnmI2B5hMPXV_Qg0My4ecSx7KFOcnI4-cFF/s1600/1225091941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99MHBy3XTVRi0NKbUdXkAT6-MoA5tnfrIu7_806QP00BnAvE_h4fhvE1zQ1K76HJmUU8BIxohxkArcYO2bgoGvzRbRt4SEkN5yhnmI2B5hMPXV_Qg0My4ecSx7KFOcnI4-cFF/s320/1225091941.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
It seems like most efforts to carve out space...are foiled...by piles of (important?) papers, busy-ness: that 'badge of honor' we wear so nobly and think <i>it</i> will release <i>us </i>eventually, by stressful complexities in our work or by the hopelessness of relational chasms, by minor disappointments, by daily irritations, by guilt, by less 'worthy' expectations that cloud the truer ones, by whining and grumbling children and adults (self included). <br />
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Now that my school concert is over, I'm trying to clear some much needed 'space' inside (my brain)...preparing my heart for advent, but I'm also expectantly waiting and preparing our house for our first overnight houseguests in our new home, so I'm trying to carve out some physical space in my house...it'll start with a place to walk in my laundry room (that room that is currently completely covered with mountainous baskets full of clean clothes). <br />
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Well, actually I'm avoiding that task by blogging. My excuse...a really good dinner experiment that I needed to remember. <br />
<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-347136997226593482012-11-19T00:05:00.000-05:002012-11-19T00:05:15.358-05:00renewal <div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF68tUSWNDqGduKc4VikNNDr8wJUKrbAVyKsGvizpgRJ_UC_TLbp1Xg0fd9rl9-5aMrCUNktVPxmRiPY4Ds0yLr37_pq9PxkigYv46yytBjJJudrXK8SX9XU3J1VlcEz8ncEl/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF68tUSWNDqGduKc4VikNNDr8wJUKrbAVyKsGvizpgRJ_UC_TLbp1Xg0fd9rl9-5aMrCUNktVPxmRiPY4Ds0yLr37_pq9PxkigYv46yytBjJJudrXK8SX9XU3J1VlcEz8ncEl/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a><i>Be responsible for your own interior life. </i></div>
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<i>***</i></div>
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<i>Renewal is not a passive 'vegging.' To be renewed, change your activity. </i></div>
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~Jill Briscoe</div>
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These themes roll around inside of me often. As simple as they are...they struck me so profoundly this summer. They seem to appear and reappear constantly...in conversations, in writing, in sermons, and... from my yoga instructor. Once an idea really strikes you though, I think it echoes all around you...so obvious that you see it everywhere. <br />
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I <i>think</i> about these things often. But maybe writing them down will bring me one step closer to actually practicing them daily. <br />
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<i>Be faithful in little things, for in them your strength lies. </i> </div>
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~Mother Theresa</div>
Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-54972937360495116612012-11-05T21:32:00.002-05:002012-11-05T21:37:07.069-05:00afternoonI'm treasuring these last few sunfilled afternoons.....before that long darkness comes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27sfPpOVyooDK2YV_qM3R-IQvmQv8yUKQOl5xLvVKQXny3iCzI1x7CzInm7S3tTUZitW3pgWbpAZshCV7JE1y67ERnG2Ip_zY1194vNVdqeVdCgpbSF0USd4Kws4EsWANbhEM/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27sfPpOVyooDK2YV_qM3R-IQvmQv8yUKQOl5xLvVKQXny3iCzI1x7CzInm7S3tTUZitW3pgWbpAZshCV7JE1y67ERnG2Ip_zY1194vNVdqeVdCgpbSF0USd4Kws4EsWANbhEM/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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It's my favorite time of day... when I'm home and it's sunny. Afternoon light fills our house more than at any other time of day...the kitchen glows. The light always seems to double the amount of energy I have left after work and running errands. That's when I love my house the most. Sunny afternoons. (Especially when the house is clean and doesn't present an undending list...of laundry, dishes, cleaning etc....)</div>
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Today at 3:30, I was feeling extra content and happy, waiting for Maya to arrive home on the bus. Sophie and I had filled our mid-day with productive and fun adventures, and we were about to go on our next adventure with Maya... riding our bikes to Maya's violin lesson together. AND to add to our Monday bliss, we were expecting a quick visit from my Aunt and Uncle later in the evening too. <br />
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But.... I still wasn't quite sure what our dinner would be. Too often (since moving this summer...and then since school began,...this late afternoon dillema leads me to the freezer for an easy made-ahead meal...or to the phone to order pizza... or to make sandwiches or breakfast for dinner.) Don't judge me. Meal planning is not a skill I've mastered yet (but believe me, I've come a long way!).</div>
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But happily, today, I spotted the butternut squash sitting on my counter, looked up a few recipes for inspiration, checked the freezer and the pantry and found the motivation to make up my own dish of coconut curry chicken with squash. (I make no claim of Indian authenticity, or culinary 'correctness'....since<i> I </i>made it up:) But at the first bite, I decided it was my favorite food....possibly the best meal I've ever made. </div>
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It was one of those make-it-up-as-you-go-along meals that could go either way.... So I usually wait until after dinner to decide if it will go into the archives or not. I was pretty confident about this one though, once the house started smelling like roasting garlic and curry. </div>
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Ryan loved it too, though I'm not sure he would quite agree with my exaggerated claims above ALL other food I've prepared....or eaten, EVER. But it was good and it made the 'better-write-that-one-down' cut. So....</div>
<h4>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIigZnGz8_pcXmdlaYmR1qDR7klzWYDk4hrv8NDTNhBFE6_5OfV-dUlWKVTjU8YBOctxkkBuNNO2gEGph_i8ejgfTHFsd_TbxfmdR5RHRSp_yfI118lBRFwp9tvA103qgitz4X/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIigZnGz8_pcXmdlaYmR1qDR7klzWYDk4hrv8NDTNhBFE6_5OfV-dUlWKVTjU8YBOctxkkBuNNO2gEGph_i8ejgfTHFsd_TbxfmdR5RHRSp_yfI118lBRFwp9tvA103qgitz4X/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a><b><br /></b><b>Curried Coconut Chicken with Butternut Squash</b></h4>
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<i>1/2 (or a whole) of a butternut squash (peeled and cut into cubes)</i></div>
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<i>2 cloves garlic (minced)</i></div>
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<i>16 oz. chicken broth</i></div>
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<i>3--?? (depending on the desired number of servings) boneless chicken thighs</i></div>
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<i>1 can of coconut milk</i></div>
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<i>butter</i></div>
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<i>curry powder</i></div>
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<i>ginger</i></div>
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<i>paprika</i></div>
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<i>garlic powder</i></div>
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<i>pepper</i></div>
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<i>salt</i></div>
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<i>brown sugar</i></div>
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Peel and slice squash (into small cubes)</div>
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Sautee minced garlic in butter briefly.</div>
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Add squash cubes and chicken broth to the garlic and butter.</div>
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Reduce heat, cover and simmer.</div>
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Season chicken thighs with curry, ginger, paprika, garlic powder, pepper, and salt and brown in butter or olive oil in a seperate pan. </div>
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Add browned chicken to squash, and continue to simmer for 15 minutes (or until squash is soft and chicken is thoroughly cooked)</div>
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Add coconut milk and (about 2 tblsp.) brown sugar and gently stir.</div>
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Serve over basmati rice. </div>
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Creamy and buttery and warm and slightly sweet and delicious. I'm sure there are many other ingredients I could (or should) add or change next time.... I just used what I had in the house today. And I don't want to forget the happy accident that happened this time. </div>
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Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-80629446719923434162012-10-27T22:49:00.000-04:002012-10-27T22:49:53.711-04:00Pie for dinner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">That's not my image...but it's about right)</span></div>
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Butternut squash.... sliced, sauteed with butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg...baked on top of a flaky buttery pie crust. <div>
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At the end of a day like this one, I could write a lot about the weight of all the sadness in the world, all the things that are endlessly breaking, all the darkness that seems to never go away but continually gets bigger and scarier. </div>
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But there were just way too many beautiful things today that deserve mentioning (far more than all the ugliness)...Buttery pie crust was just one of the many delights I could celebrate... waking in the morning with nothing scheduled for the day, conversations with people I love, a surprise afternoon visit from my parents and grandparents, a cool morning run, breakfast at our little local tavern on the water, feeding the ducks, yoga on a dock, folding clothes by the fire, my girls reading together in the corner for over an hour, Maya's violin playing, baking, cousins laughing together, pumpkin carving, dinner around a packed table, siblings, a few fun and loving text messages from friends and family, and a late-night pumpkin spice latte delivery from my husband. </div>
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And after all that, it was that perfect Autumn pastry that was my real inspiration to blog tonight. Butter is good like that. <br /><div>
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Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-57164502173824372152012-10-22T00:02:00.001-04:002012-10-22T13:55:03.336-04:00Paris Journal: Day Four<h3>
Ten days in Paris might last forever on this blog. I'm stretching out the memory, because it's one of my favorite stories to tell. I'll just keep savoring it one day at a time...recording every sweet detail. </h3>
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Are you sure you're ready for this? It's a long day in Paris.</h3>
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Early in the morning on our fourth day in Paris, I wrote a list of my (ideal) hopes for the day. And though I dreamed big, I also had a pretty realistic perspective about my dreams. Having all my wildest expectations already far exceeded merely by BEING in this city, I tried to reserve few expectations about what each day <i>must </i>include. I was happy to just wander around, hearing people speak french. But I did come prepared with a LONG list of 'dreams.' Knowing that I might not ever get to return, I wanted to make the most out of each waking moment, so I had lots and lots of ideas. My travel journal list of (unrealistic) 'hopes' for our fourth day included:<br />
<ul>
<li><i>wander Montmarte</i></li>
<li><i>see the famous city view from le Sacre Couer</i></li>
<li><i>taste macaroons from one of the great Parisian makers</i></li>
<li><i>find Les Deux Magots and have cafe (where Hemingway liked it)</i></li>
<li><i>buy bread and fromage at a market and get photos of fruits and vegetables and flowers in the market</i></li>
<li><i>get postcards and stamps and send them to a few people at home</i></li>
<li><i>see Notre Dame</i></li>
<li><i>wander le Jardin de Luxembourg</i></li>
<li><i>see Place de Vendome and Boucheron's jewelry</i></li>
<li><i>visite le Grand Magazin or Le Bon Marche shopping center</i></li>
<li><i>eat more Berthilon glace!!</i></li>
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Full of anticipation, we left our hotel to seek out our last adventures in the city. After our first stop for croissants et cafe au laits, we ewre off on the metro to Notre Dame. It was still early morning when we arrived at Notre Dame, and unbelieveably, there was no line! (Every other time we had walked by the cathedral, there had been a ridiculously long line, just to get inside.) We walked right in and wandered around the cathedral, taking photos and quietly taking in the details. We were both awed. And I couldn't help but pray, giving thanks for this experience, these blessings, this <i>belle</i> city and to pray a blessing for the people of this city...for their hearts to know the depth of the love of the Creator of this beauty.<br />
We walked alongside the cathedral, through the gardens along the river admiring the flowering trees draped over the benches, branches heavy with pink blossoms. Whenever I imagine that scene again, I can't help but hear "April in Paris..."<br />
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Across the bridge...<br />
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and into the Latin quarter's winding streets, </div>
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we walked and walked, stopping to study our map every once in a while... we eventually arrived just outside the Luxembourg Gardens (one of my priority destinations for the day). Before entering the tall iron gates, we explored the area, purchased some post cards and asked for directions to a market.<br />
We returned to the garden and entered through the gate. The shady garden was as peaceful and quiet and beautiful as I imagined. At first, we were surrounded by trees, all perfectly spaced apart. <br />
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Then, the shady area opened up, and the great fountain appeared in a large round pond surrounded by people and Paris-green chairs. I imagined that this was the place where, in the summer, children put sailboats in the water (as in the book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/This-Paris-Miroslav-Sasek/dp/0789310635">This is Paris</a>). We sat for a while and talked about our plans for the day and walked around the palace before leaving the garden. On our way, we accidentally found the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medici_Fountain">Medici fountain</a>. It was a startling discovery, incredibly old and grand.<br />
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A starbucks along the way provided the necessary (American sized) dose of caffeine for Ryan (and a little WIFI time). Then we walked along <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boulevard_Saint-Germain">Boulevard Saint-Germain</a> to a market.<br />
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There, we found a fromagerie, a boulangerie, poissonerie all in a row. We bought one long baguette, some soft cheese and a piece of roasted chicken wrapped in foil. We walked back down the boulevard (toward St. Michel) with our treasures and ate our picnic in the shady garden next o St. Michel cathedral. Some overly friendly birds seemed ready to steal our lunch, so we guarded our crumbs as we ate, watching the people walking and lunching in the garden.<br />
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After lunch, we walked some more, down the bouleveard, purchased some timbres for the post cards and found a beautiful patisserie full of beautiful easter eggs and chocolate creations and macaroons.<br />
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We bought a pretty little box of assorted macaroons (7 flavors) and walked until we found Les Deux Magots and Cafe Flore and LE Brasserie Lippe. Too full to eat anything more, we consumed only the view, a few photos, and the thrilling feeling of being right where Hemingway once was, outside the cafes he made famous.<br />
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Feeling accomplished and full, we took the metro back to our hotel for a brief stop before heading up to Montmarte.<br />
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Montmarte: As we walked up the crowded cobblestone streets, Ryan commented, "I thought we'd already seen the 'dirty part' of Paris today." It was funny and true. These noisy, crowded streets were filthy with rubbish and puddles and filled with vendors selling cheap souveneirs. We moved with the crowd up and up the narrow cobblestone streets avoidng the shouting vendors. The steps leading up to the Sacre Cour seemed to go on forever. But my excitement made me briefly unaware of my sore feet and legs. <br />
The view from the top was worth it...as promised...it was priceless.<br />
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We could see so far that it was difficult to identify the familiar (but very distant) shapes..of Notre Dame, Musee D'Orsay. But off the beaten path, a little way over to the right of the "grand" view, Ryan spotted the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, hidden behind some trees. <br />
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A little further down the street, I found my long narrow Parisian staircases with the romantic lamp posts. One more dream come true!<br />
If only it had been dark, and the lights were lit...<br />
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It started to rain, as we stopped into a perfume shop to buy Nana some Parisian 'eau de toilette'. Next, we hunted down the famous Moulin Rouge.<br />
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One quick photo of the Moulin Rouge exterior was enough for us...before we ducked down into the metro station. <br />
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As we climbed the steps, emerging from the next metro stop, the Arc de Triumph towered over us. From this landmark, we began what may have been our longest Parisian walk. We started strolling down Haussman, walking all the way to the Madeleine, where we finally took out our macaroons from Larnicol and ate them on the steps as it started to rain again.<br />
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We had an umbrella, though the rain was so light and sporadic we hardly needed it. We discovered endless beautiful store fronts through winding streets....eventually finding la Place Vendome, the site of some of the most elegant, historically important, and expensive residences, hotels, and retailers in Paris, including Frederic Chopin, Coco Chanel, the Ritz, and Boucheron's jewelry. Boucheron's was an important Paris stop in order to prepare us for our stay at le Manoir de Beaumarchais (the Boucheron family's country home). Tired, happy, sore, and a little drenched, we window shopped until we eventually found our way back to more familiar territory, near the Louvre, the Tuilleries, and the Seine.<br />
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For our last night in Paris, we returned to our cafe from day one, the Pont Neuf Cafe for dinner, cafe, and free Wifi. We chatted with the girls for a very long time, sometimes just looking at one another. They ran out of things to say and ask, but they didn't want us to go just yet. We were all so grateful for the ipad and 'facetime' to ease the pain of distance. <br />
After dinner, we crossed the bridge again to Ile de la Cite and returned to our favorite corner vendor (for Berthilon glace). This time, I tried carmel glace (not my best choice) and Ryan (who is ever lucky...or wise... in his ordering) got a banane et nutella crepe. This crepe.... made<i><span style="font-size: large;"> all other </span></i>crepes seem pointless. When I tasted it, I suddenly wondered how I could possibly fly back over the ocean, SO far away from those crepes. So he shared...but not enough.<br />
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In front of Notre Dame, a corwd was gathered around a large screen, streaming a live mid-week mass for Holy Week. We listened for a while, but it was too difficult to continue trying (mostly failing) to translate or understand. We bought a few souveneirs on the way back to our hotel. <br />
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Looking at the map later, we could hardly believe how far we walked that day! And I was shocked that we had pretty well covered my entire list. By some beautiful miracle, the day just seemed to go on and on, always allowing for one more adventure. A little pensive and dreamy with intoxication with Paris and its endless beauty, I thought about leaving the city the next morning. I couldn't really grieve though, because of my excitement for our next destination, Beaumarchais. <br />
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Since that moment, that last night in Paris, I've become more and more sure that we planned our trip about as perfectly as possible, to have spent five days soaking in the museums, and people, and restaurants, and gardens, and history, and excitement of the city...followed by five peaceful days in a quiet country estate, roaming the villages of France. That night, I remember laughing with Ryan that I liked to imagine ourselves to be old Parisians, long familiar with the city, escaping in the morning to a lovely holiday in the country. It's pretty easy to dream...when you are in PARIS!! In fact, it's hard to differentiate dreams from reality at times. When everything around me was so often beyond all of my most beautiful dreams, I could hardly believe that I was awake. <br />
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In the 'silliest' of all my Paris dreams, when I tried to imagine being really a part of it all, I stretched the dreams the most. I realized that night, that deep down, as I walked the streets and rode the metro and ordered my meals, I longed to just blend in a bit more...to not look and sound so sorely out of place. In my travel journal I wrote... (and toward the end, my writing got bigger and sloppier as I fell asleep)<br />
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<i>"It's rather a lonely feeling, to be misplaced, to be enamoured with a beautiful culture, yet to know that I'll never actually be a part of it. But to be here, to see it all, is enough, I think. I have far more at home to love and to be....in fact, I don't even think I will be sad when it is time to leave. I hope I will return someday. I really hope so....But when Tuesday comes, even though the first few days back will be tiring and shocking and exhausting to go back to work and reality, I will be so glad to be home, to be a Mother again, to hold my girls and laugh with them, to tuck them in at night and kiss them. I am <span style="font-size: large;">so full of belssings and hope and gratitude. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bon nuit."</span></i><br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-73210907416435016392012-10-18T19:16:00.002-04:002012-10-18T19:16:34.789-04:00should've repeated those words even more.Totally just blew my resolution to 'keep calm'. Everything started falling apart around 4:30. Just after posting my new house pictures....the perfect afternoon of playing, reading stories and giggling with Sophie, a quiet naptime until Maya's bus arrived, cookie-making and after-school chatting with Maya.... somehow turned into a relentless sister fight, screaming, an accidentally (but excessively) scratched hardwood floor (in three different rooms!?), a reminder of frustrating circumstances was reignited (through the internet) which always tend to steal my peace, husband had to work late, and 2 girls were late for soccer practice and crying. <br />
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And even after all my preaching, I totally blew it. I did not keep calm...or carry on. I yelled. And I quit. Whined a little to my mom and my husband. Breathed deeply. Prayed for help. Apologized. And hit the restart button. Again. And again. <br />
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It turned out that....both soccer practices were cancelled...my favorite biscuit recipe baked perfectly tonight, we had extra time for a chicken noodle soup family dinner (a frozen meal made by some of my sweetest friends), and now, two girls are sweetly repeating a tiny excerpt of a song stuck in their heads.... "thank you, thank you, Jesus, thank you, thank you, Jesus...." Homework is done, it's bath and bed time, and Ryan says that the Tigers are winning, and we have molasses cookies for dessert. <br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-61118417303234820872012-10-18T17:08:00.001-04:002012-10-18T17:08:22.088-04:00our new house<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been wanting to post for a while. But I always want things to be just a little more settled before I take pictures. It's now been almost three months since we moved in. The previous owners were still loading up in the driveway at 8 AM when we arrived as the owners at the end of July. They looked tired, maybe having spent all night loading. I circled the block a few times and watched them drive away. Some very generous friends walked in the door right behind us... with paint brushes and rollers. They spent days painting and cleaning with us. The 'to-be-painted' list is rather small now. So I guess I might as well share. These are just cell phone photos. And they don't even include a fireplace picture (my favorite cold-weather feature). The lists of projects are endless, but I just keep falling more and more in love with our home. It feels like a place to stay for a long time. </div>
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The 3 minutes to school in the morning allow just enough time to catch the sunrise over the lake, think about the day ahead, pray with my girls, and get ready to teach. The walks under tall trees are as romantic as I always dreamed they would be. I am full of gratitude and still a little childishly delighted about how excited I am to be here. Hopefully you can come have some tea or coffee...or molasses cookies here soon. </div>
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-14526200291806832662012-10-17T14:30:00.000-04:002012-10-17T14:30:00.243-04:00words i need to repeat.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Not so much today. I'm already calm. Some days it's just easier. But one of those desperate moments could always be lurking around the corner. Maybe you're having one today. One of those days when breathing gets too tight and the brain won't stop... When everything begins to seem less manageable, and people and circumstances are incomprehensible. That's when I'll need these words. You never know, it could be moments from now.<br />
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When those moments come.... I'm actually quite good at pulling up a whole list of things to be angry or worrisome about, once I start to go down that road... I can wallow in misery and decide to quit, unable (or unwilling) to carry on with the things I'm supposed to be doing. <br />
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Or, I could actually decide to control my thoughts. I can choose to meditate on what is true and noble and right.... I can keep calm and carry on. <br />
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So I wrote these words on a little note card. I have lots of these notecards with different reminders, prayers, quotes, scripture. <span style="font-size: large;">Words I need to repeat. </span><br />
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Keep calm and carry on. These signs are everywhere these days. But I haven't tired of them yet. I'm not sure that I'll ever lose the need to hear them. The signs as decor are a little cliche, I suppose. But I'm tempted to jump on the bandwagon anyways. <br />
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Jill Briscoe was the first person to tell me the WWII story behind those posters. She also said this, about 'carrying on:'<br />
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"Be obedient to the priority that God dictates on a daily basis. It's usually obvious. But you must recognize His voice. And you must muddle through, doing the best you can. The better you know God, the better you'll know what to do." <br />
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As a mother and a wife and a teacher (and sometimes student) and a daughter, sister, friend (etc...) sometimes it's hard to balance the list of priorities. Knowing what to do...and when to do it usually means NOT doing something else. But I like her words of wisdom about how to know 'what to do.' Usually the 'what to do' that I pretend to be unaware of...is simply cleaning the kitchen.... or folding laundry. But sometimes it's listening to a student who seems to be interrupting me, but needs my time. Or one of my daughters who is worried about a missing toy. Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-56929446313174751512012-10-09T21:53:00.002-04:002012-10-09T21:55:08.906-04:00love notesI've been getting love notes every day. In fact, I usually get about ten or twenty tiny little notes in a day. I'm not the only one, either. Everyone in our house gets them daily (and most visitors too). But I get the most. Today, Sophie's preschool folder was also stuffed full of her familiar style of art work. <br />
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Sometimes they are cut with fancy edged scissors into tiny squares. They could be made from printer paper, construction paper, sticky notes, or old scrap paper. Sometimes they are letters, stuffed into repurposed envelopes sealed wth stickers or scotch tape. Other times they are messages taped to doors or folded into cards. Sometimes they are "tickets," or maybe books... several pages long (like this one) taped or stapled together. But on every page, the message is always the same. It is Sophie's earnest reminder every day. And I'll never get tired of it. I hope it comes from the knowledge deep inside of her that she is LOVED. I can't bear to get rid of them, but then again, if I saved every one, I'd be swimming in them. I have quite a collection. Plenty of love notes to ensure that I'll never forget this season of life with Sophie. It's too sweet.<br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-66423642372365310282012-08-29T01:35:00.001-04:002012-08-29T01:44:29.365-04:00Summer deserves a postBut I was too busy doing summer to stop and tell you about it. <br />
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Someday I will tell you all about my summer of yoga, novel reading, running my first 5K in 10 years, buying a house, running through new streets, beach days (more than I can count), pool days, library days, cabin trip up north, Chicago weekend by train, packing boxes, unpacking boxes, painting, cleaning, making new friends, dinner parties, overnight guests, wild campfires, s'mores, moscato, nieces, nephews, rare walks with sisters, crepes, Nutella, Maya's piano practicing, Sophie's sermons, Maya's reading, getting my own classroom, moving in to said classroom, blogging about my Paris trip (oh, wait... I didn't finish that), soaking in my new hot tub, meeting new neighbors, making new friends, knowing old friends better, learning to study the Bible all over again, learning to pray, making almost every meal at home, picnics, peach pie, deep dish pizza, laughing a lot, crying too much, being a better friend (sometimes), failing at being a better friend (sometimes), never blogging like I thought I would, obsessing over beautiful paint colors, dreaming of old house charm, living in an old house and painting it, long walks and bike rides, organizing (but never enough), walking to dinner with friends, running with neighbor friends, Anne of Green Gables and popcorn movie nights with my girls, playing with doll houses and horses, meals in the porch room, one spontaneous garage sale, crazy all-nighters spent painting and unpacking boxes, waking up in a new house, being surrounded and loved by helpful friends and family, reading through Proverbs with my 2 little wisdom-seekers, living in a house forever free of Pull-ups, violin, viola, cello lessons echoing in a new living room, walking to work, staying up too late the night before teacher's meetings start. <br />
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So that was summer. And now, school. <br />
<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-90017855477388585812012-08-21T22:55:00.000-04:002012-08-21T22:55:19.943-04:00Sometimes the layers of sadness and brokenness and despair make it too hard to see all the beautiful. The brightness and glory of all the good is clouded. And all the overwhelming blessings, though they remain, seem less tangible than the sorrow. The cynicism and darkness and pain of the world is sometimes just too thick. <br />
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Strength of heart and coldness of heart are hard to distinguish sometimes. But eventually, both resources fail. And my heart is just bare. <br />
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The things (and the people..and the Person) that are true and noble and lovely and right and pure and admirable and praiseworthy...are there in great abundance. And my gratitude holds me up. And I will think about such things.Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-83299219077394148402012-07-08T09:43:00.001-04:002012-07-08T10:28:30.008-04:00old music<br />
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My grandparents are moving. They've lived in an apartment here in town for six years, and now they're moving in with my parents. Last night, they visited their new place. While we chatted in their new sitting room, my Grandma gave me a tea cup and saucer. She and I spent a long time looking through old photo albums. If the photos were from 1970 or before (especially the black and white ones from the 40's and 50's)....she told me about the people and places. If they were from 1980 or after, I told her the names of the people she pointed to. T<span style="background-color: white;">here was a bit of a gap between where her memory faded and mine.... hadn't been born yet. But looking at old photos with her was a fun way to hear a lot of stories....and to remind her of the ones I remember too. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBLx_cSj67omhoEf5Oq83Vs8kQ-1CybDA2mLV8r12vulJ1fU3Y5_Pqfb0A64wwChNCJX_KS_K7IgrcriKigcxD89fG7X81Mjkn-EkpMHyqkeVSwELOoCHXaRQFy8LUvP22hnO/s1600/DSC01953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBLx_cSj67omhoEf5Oq83Vs8kQ-1CybDA2mLV8r12vulJ1fU3Y5_Pqfb0A64wwChNCJX_KS_K7IgrcriKigcxD89fG7X81Mjkn-EkpMHyqkeVSwELOoCHXaRQFy8LUvP22hnO/s200/DSC01953.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sophie's dress used to be mine. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Even though she's one of the most flexible, easy-going, fun-seeking, playful adults I've ever known....I think that these days, she feels more comfortable there, in that part of her memory where the places and people and times don't move so quickly or fade away or change. Conversations and large groups aren't quite as fun as they once were, I don't think. This move is one more change, probably a little unsettling. It's going to be a good thing. But the transition must be pretty daunting. I'm moving too...in a few weeks, to a different house across town. And the 'in-between'...it's daunting. And I'm 30. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY52FNS2WLComc9N2OzL0r-y_vLlOCvdYLWpFCBMUjfxK2rzcm-lQ966kHKOmG7zW31pqH3l7qLqtI63YlKb2vSaTxTNZIL4udLck9RQ0uS_WczvPwP2TIHCa7dgx5ANUEVju/s1600/imgres.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY52FNS2WLComc9N2OzL0r-y_vLlOCvdYLWpFCBMUjfxK2rzcm-lQ966kHKOmG7zW31pqH3l7qLqtI63YlKb2vSaTxTNZIL4udLck9RQ0uS_WczvPwP2TIHCa7dgx5ANUEVju/s200/imgres.jpeg" width="132" /></a>We found a picture of her and me (at age 2 or 3 in pink footie pajamas), having a tea party at my old retro-style play table. (I can't believe we sold that table at a garage sale...that and my Strawberry Shortcake play kitchen). We returned to the picture at least three times. Every time, she'd point to the people in the picture, and I'd say "that's us!" We'd both smile. She pulled it out of the album a couple of times, checking for writing on the back. No writing. <br />
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We took about 10 steps in a short tour of their new little apartment, sitting room, bathroom, bedroom, eating area with a round table, four cupboards, fridge and microwave. We ended up sitting at her organ, each commenting on how nicely it fit in the new space. She turned it on and started to play... something old and playful that I didn't recognize. When she stopped, I pointed to a list on the music stand that looked like my own handwriting...a list of hymns we both knew (and probably played together years ago on violin and organ). She leaned forward to read the names or I'd play the first two notes of just the melody, and she jumped in. We played at least a dozen hymns that way. Whatever key I started in...she'd catch it-- in at least 2 notes. Once, during <i>Just As I Am</i>, she reached up to play on the upper keyboard with her right hand, and switched from Db to D. I think I'd started in a key she wasn't used to. She played it fine, the chords just easily falling under her fingers....until her memory kicked in...and she played it the way she always had. For a brief few seconds, I'm pretty sure she was playing it in two different keys, her left hand in Db and her right hand in D. Eventually, all three of our hands were in D. We laughed a little bit when we finished that one. Most of the time, I watched our hands, I tried to follow hers. Hers move so gracefully, barely moving. Sliding casually from note to note. Mine seemed so...jumpy and hasty compared to hers. But we did play alot of the same little riffs and harmonies and endings. She commented too, that we ..'do the same stuff'. We're both "weird" musicians. I told her that I'd just been listening to her for a long time. She laughed in consent.<br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-10975010164505639432012-06-03T22:24:00.000-04:002012-06-03T22:28:16.333-04:00Paris (Photo) JournalSo excited. I just ordered <a href="http://www2.snapfish.com/snapfish/projectshareewelcome/l=14708332013/p=88431338775139589/g=131742248/cobrandOid=1000/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish/otsc=SYE/otsi=SPBKlink/">this album</a> from Snapfish. It tells the whole story of our trip in pictures. <br />
Editing over 1,500 pictures down to 'just' 437 photos and 86 pages took a lot of hours. Even though I had to delete pretty ruthlessly, those hours were pretty decadent. I avoided accomplishing a few other tasks for a few days, because this project was so fun. <br />
So many pictures were left out, but the remaining 86 pages capture a lot of timeless moments, trigger deep emotions, and fill my mind with happy memories. The images on the pages still feel magical to me, making me jittery and happy every time I look at them (even on the screen). The real, leather bound, actual paper...printed book version won't arrive for another ten days. <br />
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Stay tuned for <i>Paris Journal: Day Five</i>. It won't be long. Well...it probably <i>will</i> be long....a long post, that is. That's just how I roll. But, you shouldn't have to wait long to read it.</div>
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Just checked my link....looks like you'll have to log-in to Snapfish to view the book. Sorry about that. </div>
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If you decide that you don't want to give them your email address and sign your life away to Snapfish forever, you'll just have to come visit me soon to see the real thing. </div>
<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-81901196599648498802012-05-30T00:48:00.003-04:002012-05-30T00:49:34.590-04:00almost summerWe've had so many summer-like pleasures lately. Just this weekend, we've had cook-outs, beach walks, ice-cream, a parade, back-yard kiddie pool splashing, sprinkler adventures, tree planting, grass mowing, eating breakfast and dinner on the deck, even eating the first few strawberries from our garden. <br />
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After tomorrow, I'll have just one official teaching day left. Quite a few organizing, planning projects to do as well, but the school year is disappearing quickly. Tomorrow, I'll have my fifth graders for the last time. Being an elementary-only music teacher has its sacrifices. Saying good-bye is one of my least favorite. Last week, those fifth graders shared some special solos and I had a few specific words of appreciation and affirmation for each of them. There were tears and hugs and lots of loving words from the students. Tomorrow might be even worse. It's hard to say good-bye to students.<br />
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I grew accustomed to keeping them....from first grade, right on up to graduation day. I was spoiled, but it was one of my favorite perks of being a multi-age music teacher. I loved the longevity of my relationships. That was hard to give up. And it was very, very hard to say good-bye to those students. Before I had my own daughters, they were 'my kids'...and I think I'll always feel a little of that protective love.<br />
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But summer is coming and <b>my kids</b> and I have some beautiful plans for our sunny mornings and days at the beach and time with cousins and friends. My time with <i>them</i> is already speeding by. That protective teacher love is so much fiercer now as mother love. And that short-and-all-too-fast-window of "first grade--on up to graduation" is now my own reality. <i>Maya is an official first grader. </i> A graduate. She reminds me of this several times a day, sometimes with teasing words about how fast she's growing up, sometimes with factual information about being DONE with kindergarten, sometimes though...my favorite...is when she just circles around me humming 'Pomp and Circumstance.' <br />
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I'm not so sure I'm ready for the pace of the fall....and first grade! I can hardly think about September now. </div>
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But I am ready at least, to embrace June, July, and August! </div>
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-89708834373017536232012-05-20T19:51:00.000-04:002012-05-21T09:21:25.310-04:00Paris Journal: Day ThreeThis morning, I was anxious to get out of bed. Tired, but eager to start the day. Our plans included both the Musee D'Orsay <i>and</i> Versailles, both of which could take the better part of a day (or more). I'd been planning my Paris wardrobe for weeks, so it was easy to get dressed...I was confident that we knew the city enough to get breakfast and take the metro. I was up and ready to conquer the day. Our two-day pass was ready to expire, and I had an agenda. However, Ryan was (understandably) exhausted....and seemed (to me) to take forever to wake up and get ready. I may have been a little panicky and nagged him just a bit. <br />
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Finally down the stairs and out into the street, we saved some euros (and time) buying our croissants and cafe cremes down in a little chain boulangerie in the metro station. It seemed every bit as delicious and magical as the cafe variety....once we we arrived at our stop and walked through the Tuileries Garden to eat our breakfast. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOQtsiRy0TBgEGxDsq0dc_PsmOrn7hWiNwiJv-TOkjo4226ywXuMJph9eM1F4NlIpkAvqi-_Um9_rWfa5dijAe1i2pf0eEQFksvs3VLo8HEKBzn6afJtFyZ7L2gMMvkI9tWCZ/s1600/pixlr.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOQtsiRy0TBgEGxDsq0dc_PsmOrn7hWiNwiJv-TOkjo4226ywXuMJph9eM1F4NlIpkAvqi-_Um9_rWfa5dijAe1i2pf0eEQFksvs3VLo8HEKBzn6afJtFyZ7L2gMMvkI9tWCZ/s320/pixlr.png" width="179" /></a>We walked through the garden and over the bridge to the Musee D'Orsay. Again, we were grateful for our Museum Pass which allowed us to skip a winding crowded line and go straight into the museum. First, VanGogh, Seurat and the other <i>neo-</i>Impressionists...then off to the Impressionists. These were the paintings I fell in love with as a child....poring over the little book of postcards of the Musee D'Orsay, given to me by my big brother Andrew and sister Lynn. Some of the Renoirs....I had also seen as a teenager in a special exhibit in Chicago for a school trip. To me they are <i>almost</i> sacred.<br />
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Degas sculptures and the paintings of Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir...breathtaking. And the view of the city, from the top floor of the museum...looking out through the giant glass clock window. <br />
A. Maz. ing. <br />
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When I first saw <a href="http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/collections/works-in-focus/painting/commentaire_id/coquelicots-8836.html?tx_commentaire_pi1%5Bfrom%5D=841&tx_commentaire_pi1%5BpidLi%5D=509&cHash=c2975e006e">Monet's "Poppy Field" painting</a>, I tried to explain to Ryan that it was <i>the</i> print..a framed painting that hung in my bedroom as a little girl and all the way through college...another beloved gift from Andy and Lynn's trip to France. As I realized how much it all meant to me, that painting, Andy and Lynn's formative roles in my life, so many of my now fulfilled dreams, being in this city, in this museum, in this room, with this painting, with the man I love...who has given all this to me...I started to cry a little. Teary eyes, filled to overflowing with joy and the knowledge of being loved.<br />
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We also saw an interesting Finnish exhibit with rugged landscapes that reminded us both of the cabin. <br />
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Leaving the museum, we descended straight to the metro station below the Musee D'Orsay....which conveniently led us to the train bound for Versailles. My exhaustion hit hard on the way and I fell in and out of sleep on Ryan's shoulder. We were part of a mob-like crowd pouring out of the metro station, descending upon the ville of Versailles. It was after 12:00, so the crowd was hungry (including us). We laughed about the strategically placed McDonalds and Starbucks, which, at first glance, appeared to be the only options for food. But as we walked up the shady rue toward the Chateau, we were delighted to discover a quaint street packed with little cafes and bars and markets. After walking up and down, we settled on the Aquarium, which was lovely and delicious and simple. Our "trois fromage" sandwiches were made on one very long baguette, sliced open and cut in two, spread with green-leaf lettuce and layered with camembert, brie and fresh mozzarella, drizzled with light olive oil. A perfect lunch. <br />
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The wait at Versailles was disappointing, especially after our "royal treatment" at the other museums with our passes. The line snaked up and down the giant outer courtyard. It was sunny and a bit hot, and fortunately, the line moved along.<br />
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Inside, the palace was beyond all descriptive terms such as elaborate, decadent, overwhelming, opulent, beautiful, ridiculous. Enormous....stretching on and on, long corridors, giant rooms, grand staircases, it's own cathedral. All covered, every square inch, with exquisite materials, precious stone, masterpiece paintings or carvings, grand sculptures. Amazing to see. Probably the only place of its kind and degree of grandeur in the world. But the shoulder to shoulder crowds, covering every square inch of space was exhausting, suffocating, and also ridiculous. <br />
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By the end of the great Hall of Mirrors, (which of course, was impressive), we were feeling quite trapped, and more than ready to escape to the gardens, calling peacefully to us from the windows. Since our pass excluded the gardens, but included the Trianon Palaces and Marie Antoinette's Estate (my most desired destination in Versailles), we were forced to decide: pay for the gardens (9 euros each) AND the tram tickets (7 euros each) to get to Marie's estate in just 15 pain-free minutes...OR take the 45 minute walk around the Palace, through the town, and around to the back of the estate all the way to Marie's cottage. <br />
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We walked. And walked. <br />
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Our sore, blistered feet and aching calves might have caused regret...but it was truly one of the most beautiful walks we've ever taken. I kept telling Ryan how dreamlike it was, how much it meant to me, how delighted I was with every view...the long straight dirt road, lined with perfectly symmetrical trees, along both sides, the rich green of the grassy pastures on both sides of the road, sheep on one sided, horses on the other. It was like walking into a film I've always loved. <br />
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Eventually, the stone fairy-tale-esque cottages with quirky turrets and towers appeared through the trees. We wandered through the paths, snapping as many photos as possible. Every moment, I felt the struggle to keep taking it in...to fight the anesthetizing effects of <i>so. much.</i> Beauty!! As we walked back towards the Chateau, we found the Trianon palaces too AND...the tram back to Versailles. For only 3.70 euros a piece, we got a full riding tour of those same gardens we'd skipped out on earlier, and...they dropped us off inside the gardens to wander as we pleased. The bargain that we had just arranged felt delightfully "tricky" and smart and made the end of our Versailles day twice as fun.<br />
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Back in Paris, we crossed back over the bridge, through the Tuileries, and wandered to a French restaurant that looked pretty traditional. A L'auberge. The eager waiter convinced us by enthusiastically waving us in. And the "Prix Fixe" menu looked about right for our budget. I ordered escargot and Supremes de Volailes and Ryan had a tomato and mozzarella salade with Confits du Canard. As is so often the case, Ryan got it right with the duck. It was so tender and buttery/salty tasting. My chicken was okay, a little dry, despite the delicious creamy sauce, I thought, but the snails were a delicious "first" for me. The shells were filled with a pesto-like sauce and melted butter...and the snails themselves were delicious and tender and salty. mmmm..<br />
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We hadn't talked to the girls yet all day (no wifi), so we headed to a cafe for some cafe creme (for me) and of course, a crepe for Ryan, and a tiny little cup of cafe (very bitter). The waiter was the only one we experienced in all of France, the kind that everyone warns you about, the caricature of french "rudeness", who seemed annoyed with our American presence, expecting us to order more than just one dessert and cafe...and waiting impatiently on us, frustrated to be wasting his time on a table such as ours. I tried hard not to feel the pressure, but it was hard for me to feel the disapproving Frenchman's smugness. So, I ordered creme brulee too. And it was delicious. But he still didn't like me.<br />
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It started to rain. It was warm under the heated canopy outside the cafe, but the wind and rain threatened to intensify. The people passing on the sidewalks and on motorcycles were getting drenched. So, we paid the grumpy waiter and huddled under our little umbrella, walking briskly back around the square to our hotel. <br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-44699706813886464632012-05-15T21:05:00.002-04:002012-05-15T21:07:16.957-04:00sickI know that life is about to get easier, more fun, and a little more organized. I just know it.<br />
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I'm honestly not feeling defeated or hopeless. At all. I'm quite hopful and excited, really. I'm just kind of sick.<br />
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And it seems lately that every day is full of long obligations and appointments and responsibilities. And the pile of clean laundry downstairs will never be folded and put away. And the scattered toys and (possibly important) papers will never be organized and under control. And so many things are about to change. And all is not right in the world, and it's very evident these days.<br />
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Today, I finally had an afternoon. And I slept it all away. Sick. The girls and I took 3 hour naps. After having slept in until 8 AM! And now, before 9 pm, I'm ready to fall asleep again. If I can breathe enough to sleep. The rain and thunder are perfect. As is the Nyquil. Hopfully the Z-pack does its magic too, so that I can be full of energy and motivation tomorrow. <br />
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I miss my Love too. He's in Georgia tonight, and my room is too quiet. But he comes home tomorrow.<br />
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With my pounding head and aching muscles and sore throat, I feel very un-ready for tomorrow. But hopeful for what tomorrow will bring.<br />
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Sheesh. I sure am whiny. <br />
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In other news....</div>
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Can you <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1707386/">hardly wait</a>??</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLk-YyKEcc_XTNllp9R5yuZVWpGwE0kTHNtMoet81CuPf78RlXrhJraQ_wGjicrNcxrQWTgi88DMAIeAnlzSz4806vqinx74E97qxNnoAl5x_hP296ZJWffXLvFEMFRZ62BPpAAQ/s1600/Les-miserables-movie-poster-slice.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLk-YyKEcc_XTNllp9R5yuZVWpGwE0kTHNtMoet81CuPf78RlXrhJraQ_wGjicrNcxrQWTgi88DMAIeAnlzSz4806vqinx74E97qxNnoAl5x_hP296ZJWffXLvFEMFRZ62BPpAAQ/s320/Les-miserables-movie-poster-slice.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-22866136585467755832012-05-09T00:01:00.003-04:002012-05-09T00:01:48.622-04:00Concert WeekI love this time of year. <br />
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Not just because I have (in my part-time teaching schedule) only EIGHT DAYS LEFT of school. <br />
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Okay. That might be part of it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84jW2jBy_oR5-I5eJN6OFeHVhCe83xLAewQDyX9HBIH3FyXfA1L6UTDqo4yjoYEoYSlw4v47LUR60prPQbpY91yY1LWyTqV9Mg59_0vPJ3OrC6_sHPl9nt8aCVazieom38siu1Q/s1600/063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84jW2jBy_oR5-I5eJN6OFeHVhCe83xLAewQDyX9HBIH3FyXfA1L6UTDqo4yjoYEoYSlw4v47LUR60prPQbpY91yY1LWyTqV9Mg59_0vPJ3OrC6_sHPl9nt8aCVazieom38siu1Q/s320/063.JPG" width="320" /></a>But I really love concert time. It's so exciting and so stressful. So many details to plan, information to communicate...tasks to accomplish, loose ends to 'tie,' students to motivate and empower. But the end result (especially when it exceeds your hopes and expectations) is simply magical. Watching the excitement and focus and pride reflected in your students eyes... Meeting parents and grandparents and hearing wonderful stories about the impact of music and music education. Feeling the adrenaline rush as the students look at you full of nervous excitement, bows poised, fingers placed...<br />
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...and then that rush of relief and exhaustion when it's all over.<br />
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Final rehearsals are happening this week, and so far, all is going well. Maybe too well, actually. <i>And</i> strangely, I'm not that nervous or stressed? Maybe I should worry about that. I probably should.<br />
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Anyways, if you'd like to see nearly 75 second graders playing Mozart on the violin on one stage....<br />
Or just under 50 third graders performing together on violins, violas and cellos...<br />
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...you will not want to miss this Thursday night (May 10) at the North Muskegon FLEX center. <br />
6:00 PM Second Grade Violin Concert<br />
7:00 PM Third Grade Strings Concert<br />
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And next week, the Fourth and Fifth Grade String Ensembles will perform some Blues, Beethoven, Irish Fiddle tunes, Dvorak melodies, music from Handel's "Royal Fireworks Music," and more. <br />
Thursday, May 17 at 6:30 PM. <br />
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I love my job.Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-45386759005628426572012-05-07T21:08:00.001-04:002012-05-07T21:47:45.328-04:00Paris Journal: Evening Two (Eiffel Tower)Our first full day in Paris was like a dream. We had crossed several things (major things) off of our list: the Louvre, the Tulleries Garden, La Musee de l'Orangerie, Berthillon glace, Shakespeare & Co., sun-filled walks over bridges and wanderings along the Seine. One major list item remained. And for Ryan, it was near the top of the list, the Eiffel Tower. <br />
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After a little rest and planning time at the hotel, we took the metro back to the Opera station. We had only briefly glimpsed it as we entered the city on our first afternoon. We figured we could get a better look at the Opera, and then wander our way towards the Eiffel Tower. But before we could find the entrance to the Opera, I spotted something I knew Ryan would love...the Paris Mac store! Since there was of course, free wifi there, we spent a long time inside, 'face-timing' with the girls. On our way back down into the metro, we grabbed coffees (to go---the American sized version from Starbucks) and headed to the Eiffel Tower. <br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Author's side note: This is one of my only regrets of the trip. Side-tracked by the Mac store and our hurry to see the tower that night, we never entered the Opera....</span><span style="font-size: large;">as in "Phantom of..." </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> If I weren't so utterly full from beautiful once-in-a-lifetime adventures, I would have cried as we drove away from it on our last day. </span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaL2Etomrq-N9qfaTTgWYjwrQh9B_3yGpq5CJu3nWq8WWb2izgr_KUejmYDC1e5TbTMVW8N_sfR_2Tb1LGpV3OSIeNk5XNzTWRaG9VGa10_X731793aOBsu7P8yCd69SsD7yCjg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaL2Etomrq-N9qfaTTgWYjwrQh9B_3yGpq5CJu3nWq8WWb2izgr_KUejmYDC1e5TbTMVW8N_sfR_2Tb1LGpV3OSIeNk5XNzTWRaG9VGa10_X731793aOBsu7P8yCd69SsD7yCjg/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a>After walking for two or three blocks from the metro stop, <span style="font-size: x-large;">'it' </span>emerged... finally.... from behind the buildings and trees. We could not have asked for a more beautiful evening for this magical moment. The air was just slightly crisp, but the sky was filled with warm colors, yellows and pinks..and just a little hazy. <br />
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As we walked closer, we tried again and again....at every angle to capture its magnificence.<br />
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There were play grounds and parks, gardens, and food stands along the way. One little side-trip off the path led us to one of our favorite views of the night. (Ryan's beautiful photography and editing)<br />
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We seriously considered going up. But we knew in advance that one of the elevators was out of order...the line was hours long. And one of us is not fond of heights at all. We opted to take a River Cruise instead. A different kind of city view. <br />
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The Eiffel tower sits on the edge of the river. So we walked underneath the tower, toward the Seine. We found a sunset cruise that included a light dinner and wine, a "snack cruise." So we bought our tickets and boarded the <i>bateaux mouche</i>. Squeezed tightly among rows and rows of wooden folding chairs, we found two perfect seats on the upper deck. Everyone there was happy, of course. It was really like all the movie versions of a river cruise in Paris. Kissing and smiling and laughing and contentedly breathing deeply...we glided through the water under exquisite bridges and watched the city slowly light up.<br />
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The tower was just beginning to light up when our boat returned. We had just enough time to skip up the stairs to record the sparkling lights before they were gone. Apparently, we aren't the only YouTube contributors to think that this event is pretty cool. You can probably find better videos of this...but here is ours. Including our delighted laughter. <br />
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While Ryan captured that on the ipad, I was capturing this with the camera.<br />
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It took us a little too long to find the nearest metro station that night. Block after block of dark alleys made us both begin to feel a little uneasy in this strange city with its language and culture we did not understand. But eventually we ducked down into the warmth and familiarity of the metro station and soon we were sitting and swaying on the train, people watching, on our way to our safe and cozy little room. <br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-28377319013793494202012-05-06T22:15:00.000-04:002012-05-06T23:36:04.375-04:00I could say a lot....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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...About this man....about his unnatural generosity and humility. His <a href="http://angsblogattempt.blogspot.com/2008/06/father.html">never-ending love and faithfulness</a>. About his very abnormal ability to choose love and righteousness over bitterness or cynicism. About his love for learning and his flexibility. Though I'm certain that he is human (and allegedly flawed like the rest of us)...the typical human traits of self-promotion and self-defense and self-importance are strangely absent. He cares about being liked....I think I get that from him. But rather than try to convince you about his worth and greatness or his many areas of wisdom and experience and expertise, he'd usually rather stoop down on all fours to be your footstool for changing a lightbulb...if that's what you needed... <br />
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His name means a great deal to many people. I grew up knowing that. My last name was big in a small town. And I carried it happily, gratefully. Because without fail, wherever I went, I got to hear stories of how my father had blessed and enriched someone's life with his teaching or his kindness or his care. I got to hear about his wisdom and his integrity. <br />
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I believed them...and I felt proud. But to me, he was not important <i>because</i> of his ministry or <i>because</i> of his small-town fame... he was important because he was the one who packed my lunches and drew stick-figure pictures on the brown paper bag. He made me omelettes for breakfast and read Proverbs to us every morning. He helped me with my horrible geometry homework and listened when I was frustrated or excited or nervous. He told me long, running stories about Charlie Chipmunk every night. He loved my friends and invested in them too. He still does. I could always find him in his office reading or praying early in the morning. And I knew that often, he was praying for me. Still does. He fixed just about anything of mine that was broken, and now he fixes things for my children...even cheap dollar store things that should probably just be thrown away. It's impossible to buy him anything, because he never talks about <i>things </i>he wants. At family gatherings, when all the adults in the room are tired and just want to sit for some adult conversation, he's usually outside playing with the kids.<br />
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As an adult, I still get to hear those gushing stories <a href="http://inthespacebetween.blogspot.com/2012/05/its-my-dads-birthday.html">about my dad</a> often (though sometimes now, I get to reveal my relationship to him in my own time and on my own terms, since I'm disguised by new Corbin name).<br />
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He isn't a saintly hero to everyone. But to me he's the closest human to ever deserve that title. <br />
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Happy Birthday Dad. I love you. <br />
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<br />Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-71728163366927016732012-05-02T22:05:00.000-04:002012-05-07T21:28:36.571-04:00maya grace<div style="text-align: center;">
She is grace. A gift. Gentle and so thoughtful. She loves deeply and compassionately. She is protective and nurturing. She's funny and smart. And she loves to make people laugh. She gets so excited about the little things, that it is always fun to watch her face fill with delight with any surprise. Even if it is just a sandwich cut like a gingerbread man or a wave from teenager that she knows and loves. She's the best gift-receiver that ever lived. She 'ooh's' and 'ahs' over things that are beautiful. And she makes sure you know that she feels grateful and SO lucky to have received your blessing. </div>
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It's pretty fun to surprise her. </div>
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When she's comfortable and confident in her surroundings, she's goofy and weird and utterly lacks self-awareness...she just dives into whatever play she sees or imagines, and never thinks about how others might perceive her pretend voice or wild chirping sounds or authoritative play directions. </div>
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But sometimes, she's painfully shy, completely quiet, deeply sensitive and very attached. </div>
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She loves affirmation and safety. </div>
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She knows the power of words. She had a pretty big vocabulary before most kids her age could talk. And at six years old, she really loves a great story. In either role (listener or teller), Maya could live in a story all day long. She knows how to use words. (This ability can be used for encouragement, persuasion, anger, manipulation, imagination, storytelling, expressions of love...) </div>
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Mostly, she uses her power well. </div>
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She's supposed to be in bed, but she came downstairs to use the restroom and wash her hands. She stopped in front of me, stroked my hair away from my face, and kissed my forehead. </div>
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Happy Sixth Birthday, Maya.</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-89133054180591254032012-04-30T00:09:00.004-04:002012-04-30T00:10:44.437-04:00Paris Journal: Day Two<br />
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<i>Despite my indescribable excitement upon waking (in Paris!?!?!), it was hard to get out of bed. A wonderfully hot shower helped. I put on a black lace dress with gray leggings, my gray cardigan, and my Grandma Linda's black and gray scarf. The scarf-around-my-head... a little too "Parisienne"? or perhaps even "Parisienne-wanna-be"? Maybe. But fun. </i></div>
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<i>We walked around Place de Republique to a cafe for le petit dejeuner of croissants et jus d'orange et cafe. Pricey for a croissant, but worth the euros for the table, the view, the atmosphere, and the experience....and oh, the buttery flaky warm croissant...!</i></div>
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<i>The metro took us to our first stop, the Louvre. It was magnifique. Overwhelming. dizzying, breathtaking. Every inch of visual space (for miles?) was a sensual overload of beauty and detail. It was difficult to fight the numbing effect of <span style="font-size: large;"><b>so. much. beauty</b>.</span> The courtyard itself was like a dream...hard to convince myself that I was actually there, standing beside the glass pyramid, surrounded by the Louvre. Our 2-day pass allowed us to skip the long line at the entrance, so we dove right in. Our first glimpse of the Louvre's exhibits was in the back, near the middle...a grand hall filled with creamy white sculptures, </i>Hermaphrodite, Homer<i>, and others. We roamed through much of the Louvre, checking off our lists of 'must-sees' including <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_de_Milo"></a></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_de_Milo">Venus de Milo<i> (Aphrodite )</i></a><i>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psyche_Revived_by_Cupid's_Kiss"></a></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psyche_Revived_by_Cupid's_Kiss">Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss<i> by Antonio Canova</i></a><i>, Michelangelo's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying_Slave"></a></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying_Slave">Captive<i> (Dying Slave)</i></a><i>, </i>Mona Lisa<i>, Veronese's </i>The Wedding Feast at Cana<i> (which dwarfed the tiny 'La Jaconde' facing on the opposite wall). We also found the 'other' symbol of the Louvre, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace">"</a></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace">The Winged Victory of Samrothrace<i>"</i></a><i> overlooking a grand staircase in a magnificent marble hall swarming with people. </i></div>
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<i>The apartments of Napoleon and the crown jewels seemed almost too much to absorb in the midst of our already-overloaded eyes. Nearly every 20 steps or so, we gasped with some new discovery,...a vast courtyard (several stories tall, lit by sunlight) full of Greek or Roman sculptures, a grand room with masterpieces lining the walls (and ceilings!), marble staircases... </i></div>
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<i>Even though we were looking for it, we almost missed Vermeer's (tiny) Lacemaker. But she was beautiful. Brilliant and quiet. </i></div>
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<i>When we had 'finished' our list, we headed toward the exit, accidentally discovering one more room, this one, filled with Renoirs, Degas, Monets, and Manets. </i></div>
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<i>The Jardin de Tuileries was perfectly sunny and delightful. We sat in little green chairs overlooking the fountain. A picnic lunch in the garden gave our legs and feet time to rest before we headed to Musee de l'Orangerie...</i></div>
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I was particularly excited about this museum. Though it was much smaller (and far more intimate) than the grand Louvre, I knew it was filled with the art I really wanted to see. The current special exhibit could not have been more perfect for our visit: <i>Debussy, la musique et les arts</i>. Room after room of old photos, paintings, musical manuscripts, all related to Debussy and other composers demonstrating the relationships between the artists (and art) and the musicians (and music) of that era.<br />
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The permanent exhibits were also wonderful. No photos were allowed inside this museum. But this museum deserves a picture....for no description (or even a great photo, for that matter) could really convey the sensation of entering these rooms, (two of them!), pure white and oval shaped, diffused sunlight perfectly illuminating the surrounding walls covered with Monet's Waterlilies. Ryan and I were both speachless, a little dizzy even, when we rounded the corner into this incredible space. </div>
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Since I didn't have a photo, here is an image I found at time.com </div>
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(article: 10 Things to do in Paris) </div>
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<i>After L'Orangerie, we crossed a bridge to the Musee d'Orsay, but found it was closed on Mondays. Without a plan for the rest of the day, we roamed the streets. We checked off another 'list' item, Berthillon glace (ice-cream) cones (vanille por moi, et tiramisu por Ryan) slowly eaten on a bridge over the Seine. So delicously rich, creamy and flavorful. I made that tiny cone last longer than any other ice-cream I've eaten in my entire life. </i></div>
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<i>As we wandered, we also found <a href="http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/index.php">Shakespeare & Co. Bookstore</a>! </i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcE_Eqz_0k2o6mD3X436NEGrJP3NWjE8GtLF5VtH5YEPpQixictzVA_CrpH8ZoMAJ0jiV242K2Eok7t4fsVSGIGt0heEceyguq8oXkosmDTXokRlTKJYYmTlCMFymW8-A7C5Idrw/s1600/pixlr.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcE_Eqz_0k2o6mD3X436NEGrJP3NWjE8GtLF5VtH5YEPpQixictzVA_CrpH8ZoMAJ0jiV242K2Eok7t4fsVSGIGt0heEceyguq8oXkosmDTXokRlTKJYYmTlCMFymW8-A7C5Idrw/s400/pixlr.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>The inside was just covered with books, packed tightly, lining the walls...with rolling ladders...Low ceilings and tight walls created lots of cozy and quirky rooms. You could feel the historic significance of the space, especially upstairs, rooms with old sunken velvet sitting chairs, an old Schindler piano, a tiny cove, a cubby with a curtain (only about 4 ft. tall... inside it had a miniature desk, a lamp, & a typrewriter...the perfect place to hide for a day). No pictures were allowed inside, so I tried to store the images in my mind forever. </i></div>
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Here is an image (<a href="http://johnrrogers.com/architecture/shakespeare-and-company-paris/">not mine</a>) of the inside. Having read <i>A Moveable Feast</i> just before the trip, my imagination was full... with thoughts of Hemingway, Joyce, Sylvia Beach, and Paris in the 1920's. </div>
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Full. We rode the metro back to our hotel to rest and make a plan for the evening.</div>
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<br /></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-73899275174426924162012-04-28T22:15:00.000-04:002012-04-29T14:08:21.129-04:00Paris Journal: Day OneHere, I'll share excerpts from the meticulously detailed journal I kept of our trip to France. Since the journal itself was a gift, I was extra motivated to record my thoughts. And I'm so grateful. The memories and the images of our beautiful adventures will remain with me for a very long time, but the details and the impressions are also forever mine to treasure in this book. Most nights in Paris, I fell asleep, trying desperately to catch up in my journal...my memories of the day trailing off into a squiggly line on the page...turning into dreams. But I always went back to catch up, because each day was overflowing with treasured moments and discoveries. I just couldn't bear to lose any of them.<br />
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This was our first night in Paris. We arrived in the late afternoon, checked into our hotel, and anxiously took our first metro trip into the heart of the city. <br />
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<i>Once we arrived at "Chatalet" metro stop, we wandered towards the Seine...Notre Dame appeared before us with Palm Sunday crowds and tents for a special Baptism celebration. We walked a bit, across the river and back, taking in the beauty and shock of it all...the markets, the flowers, the vendors, the language, the architecture, the shops, the bridges. We came back over the river and walked down the right bank, toward the Louvre. We were cold and hungry, exhausted and rather disoriented, but mesmerized by Paris and our first soiree in the city. </i></div>
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<i>A cafe with WIFI allowed us to finally have 'facetime' with the girls and Nana and Papa. We sat at a little corner table by the window and watched the people pass along the Seine. We had our very first Parisian crepes au nutella with cafe. </i></div>
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<i>On the way back to our metro stop, we walked along the river again, and I got to take "the picture I've always wanted" (it was the first of many) ~ Ryan and I on the bridge with the river and the Eiffel Tower far in the distance...evening light sparkling on the Seine. </i></div>
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The picture isn't really that amazing. We took a lot better ones later. But this moment was so beautiful. Beautiful partly because I was so dizzy with excitement (and lack of sleep). I also remember feeling emotional, almost upset, feeling the pressure to make every moment 'perfect', and wondering why I was feeling so sensitive... I was just. so. tired. Undeniably happy and full of anticipation. But very, very tired. <br />
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We slept soundly that night in our little double bed and awoke on Monday ready to conquer the Louvre.Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12421472.post-25208936098363606372012-03-28T09:00:00.000-04:002012-04-29T14:08:48.343-04:00"Thank you for being born and being among us""Birthdays need to be celebrated. I think it is more important to celebrate a birthday than a successful exam, a promotion, or a victory. Because to celebrate a birthday means to say to someone, 'Thank you for being you.' On a birthday, we do not say, 'Thanks for what you did, or said, or accomplished.' No, we say: 'Thank you for being born and being among us.'"<br />
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~ Henri Nouwen, <span style="font-style: italic;">Here and Now</span><br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Happy Birthday to my Sophia Marie Elise!</span></div>
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<span class="post-author vcard"></span>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17335346622663277040noreply@blogger.com3