tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3693155408667992232024-03-13T23:31:16.367-06:00Gold Country Meets Big SkyCalifornia has been my home since I was 5. My husband was born in LA. Our 3 kids were born in the same city, in the same hospital, in the same ROOM!
Trading our shorts and beach towels for shovels and snow boots, we moved to Montana this summer. It's a whole new world up here.
Join us for action and adventure, laughter and an occasional tear...as Gold Country meets Big Sky!Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.comBlogger214125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-68098322539667675622015-01-31T17:45:00.000-07:002015-01-31T17:48:18.153-07:00A Long Deferred Privilege<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">Having gone to bed unreasonably early, it wasn’t a surprise
when I woke up promptly at 4:00 am. I
made myself stay in bed another hour, trying to compromise as much as possible
between time zones. Why compromise? Why not just keep to my own schedule even
in a new place? Because I would get up at 2:00 am and go to bed before sundown,
that’s why! Not the best way to maximize a tropical respite.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With only 6 days on the ground, we planned to make the most
of every minute. But ah, the best laid plans of mice and women… First, we
reckoned without several days’ worth of getting lost. We also hadn’t accounted
for the possibility of a hurricane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By the time the wheels went up on our Hawaiian Airlines jet,
we already knew that the storm currently known as Tropical Storm Ana would
impact our plans, and might even strengthen into a hurricane. Forecasters
weren’t entirely sure about the timing, but it looked like we could only be
sure of one full day and a few hours of the next for any swimming or other
outdoor activities. So we wanted to be out and about early. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">David wanted to leave by 6:30, so we were all up early. At
6:32, horrified that my dawdling had already caused me to be 2 minutes late, I
put on my backpack, said good-bye to Mom and Tina, and went out. I thought
David would just leave with whoever was ready first (me!) and the rest would
follow after a few minutes. Well, he was still waiting 20 minutes or so later,
when I finally went back up to see what was keeping them. “We were waiting for <i>you!</i>” they exclaimed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So we got lost 20 minutes later than we would’ve otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqEzZ60HR6eAPatb88wyk4qmwFXjw_Gbo44o0smVWVo8mXwyy4JjzO5jZAs6l04r4XpD8pjO7tN5GovsYw4PxN3u981GHKvxh9elmOyDsGDyxxDN0OYEweLm7rMazJtU0ec4LNMjMg0wP/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqEzZ60HR6eAPatb88wyk4qmwFXjw_Gbo44o0smVWVo8mXwyy4JjzO5jZAs6l04r4XpD8pjO7tN5GovsYw4PxN3u981GHKvxh9elmOyDsGDyxxDN0OYEweLm7rMazJtU0ec4LNMjMg0wP/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+1.jpg" height="320" width="201" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">First stop, Pearl Harbor. That one was pretty easy to find.
It was our first time out on the Arizona Memorial, a sobering reminder of war,
death, and heroism. It also put Grandma’s and Grandpa’s lives into a little
more perspective, since they came to teach in Hawaii only 11 years after the
attack on Pearl Harbor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At a time when anti-Japanese sentiment was still high, they
invited numerous students into their home without asking to see their passports
first. Many of those students, now grown and with their own families and even
grandchildren, became so much a part of the family that they’re still our
aunties, uncles, and cousins (and always will be!). We delighted in the
mystification of our classmates when they saw us with our cousins, since we
didn’t look any sort of Asian at all. These American genetics can be tricky
things!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It all just goes to show that love is thicker than water or
blood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Arizona Memorial sank just off Ford Island, which was another
heavily bombed area. I didn’t realize so many locations were hit and some of
them twice. The boilers still rise above the water, and cute little tropical
fish still swim only a few feet from the bubbles of oil that rise to the
surface every few seconds, then spread in a rainbow ripple that drifts out to
sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVfjRrJePl6x38U40b5aVczpSTDiv6e_Rb_4uDXwjkz6J-P9rs6tRqf5e5MhkRjnjb6Qzromu4WlOTWBgn2xPNV8mK3p9mxynvHeuQ2ik3wOiJGPVisX9q8-lrdWNE2SsGrxPdRqHpQk1/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVfjRrJePl6x38U40b5aVczpSTDiv6e_Rb_4uDXwjkz6J-P9rs6tRqf5e5MhkRjnjb6Qzromu4WlOTWBgn2xPNV8mK3p9mxynvHeuQ2ik3wOiJGPVisX9q8-lrdWNE2SsGrxPdRqHpQk1/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+5.jpg" height="320" width="227" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGElIUET0wieEmIN8pv_DvKsI7Fl376A2wep-Or2LMLpgSywSzdaliyuxeEHi_SNwboTt8lSpi-AYZfS5TVaQQ77lGSpxuv1ptswUr18X9BDeKZb4LdwWnhUlcpttlvBUS6pNKQHUkZZUj/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That one site is a burial place for not only the thousands
that died that day, some in the explosions and some trapped in unreachable
pockets of dwindling air, but also for many of their fellow servicemen who died
as elderly veterans, and chose to be cremated so they could rejoin their
friends.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORDuEW3vGS_fiqp6Ddz7fpohQf-wrd6YgcX_GLDSrHVBx2hpNniHa3s0sdbEDwrrWggDDLXaLLA-dciNwDd2eLblcIy7j11GiKZ3aKCjLF9Dau3CNJme52hIKu0IuZV1kooonTzVz239M/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORDuEW3vGS_fiqp6Ddz7fpohQf-wrd6YgcX_GLDSrHVBx2hpNniHa3s0sdbEDwrrWggDDLXaLLA-dciNwDd2eLblcIy7j11GiKZ3aKCjLF9Dau3CNJme52hIKu0IuZV1kooonTzVz239M/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+8.jpg" height="320" width="248" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfEHcEX1RYs3PR0IkbfQqtnPMNXwq4xUWulmCL3oBTsdsRE_SYFc_JYDWhvApGp7rf5Zz2v2j5aVh9ShzoHYXfGgTv_AA4fvo_2flPNhpqkKgn2YeYBm6PpOiQgZOwRCwck2Tcr9h9UE0/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfEHcEX1RYs3PR0IkbfQqtnPMNXwq4xUWulmCL3oBTsdsRE_SYFc_JYDWhvApGp7rf5Zz2v2j5aVh9ShzoHYXfGgTv_AA4fvo_2flPNhpqkKgn2YeYBm6PpOiQgZOwRCwck2Tcr9h9UE0/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+9.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd1YvAujBNCdB1RZ153NGdfZCrvgfkZMVSlDVx8vOPEd-yC8EZ0kIY4-4-pI_RAKhnQiQ7t-lVYuka4uT5lbjoD8NP_Hueql_WkKUVQnzSxVBoklRzhKdkfM-KrzP7E7QM86oJcSmyPWd/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd1YvAujBNCdB1RZ153NGdfZCrvgfkZMVSlDVx8vOPEd-yC8EZ0kIY4-4-pI_RAKhnQiQ7t-lVYuka4uT5lbjoD8NP_Hueql_WkKUVQnzSxVBoklRzhKdkfM-KrzP7E7QM86oJcSmyPWd/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+6.jpg" height="118" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Memorial Chapel</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s a peaceful place today, with only a few stark, rusted
reminders of the violence and death that warm December day. Over the shadow of
the great ship float the scattered petals of pink plumerias, bobbing their way
around the spots of oil as they journey to the Pacific. Each day, Japanese and
Americans stand side by side to silently honor the dead. It’s a far cry from
those not-so-long-ago days of surprise attack, death, suspicion, and egregious
civil rights violations of our own citizens. The lessons are still there for us
to learn, of what the finest nation on earth is willing to do in the name of fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJn6P6_LMBIxqnEINbQpr6_7XM9Xidg0xQLTW99wugKcYQ9FCD8u0wsPr6_O7CgPCJ9evemJlt5sTuQQiIyEFA3tN-C70Qh5sORO_gYcw-Z9_HdVJ81r5uQhWuKbzv6gCbsdKw2ywNfWL/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJn6P6_LMBIxqnEINbQpr6_7XM9Xidg0xQLTW99wugKcYQ9FCD8u0wsPr6_O7CgPCJ9evemJlt5sTuQQiIyEFA3tN-C70Qh5sORO_gYcw-Z9_HdVJ81r5uQhWuKbzv6gCbsdKw2ywNfWL/s1600/At+Pearl+Harbor+7.jpg" height="320" width="188" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And how much has changed since then. At least back then, the
lines in the conflict were clear-cut. Each side knew whom they were fighting.
There was a clear-cut goal, and a well-defined victory. Where today the enemy
hides among us, among our allies, often concealing themselves among women and
children, and can’t be fought or defeated using the old standards of warfare.
Where, indeed, there isn’t even any way to be sure that we’ve won, or ever can
win. And the greatest weapon isn’t guns or bombs, but stark terror. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Definitely a quiet, thought-provoking place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-74329102413215203662015-01-31T16:09:00.001-07:002015-01-31T16:27:17.725-07:00Upon the Hallowed Shore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdzRP39d7zJDthgqEBckQnxmnG88wOwWnXPbgbP2XFCMBcI1ut6reauditOlYsVKYeuLjZycfFQC5gZ8DHF8wsb7Uku7rkm9qy_k8eHrQcjpBj5p6NS9RxInszR2gk0QldzyWuAKVNZar/s1600/Beach+at+Waikiki+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdzRP39d7zJDthgqEBckQnxmnG88wOwWnXPbgbP2XFCMBcI1ut6reauditOlYsVKYeuLjZycfFQC5gZ8DHF8wsb7Uku7rkm9qy_k8eHrQcjpBj5p6NS9RxInszR2gk0QldzyWuAKVNZar/s1600/Beach+at+Waikiki+1.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Also known as, </span><i style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">No
Swimming for You.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We landed upon the steaming shore of Oahu, stepped off the
plane, and began making immediate plans to join a nudist colony. Montana sweaters were
cast aside and spat upon. It’s a good thing we didn’t have clippers, or we
would’ve shaved our heads before even reaching the car rental. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As soon as we got in our car, we cranked the AC all the way
to Arctic, so we could get lost in full comfort. That’s important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If we’d only gotten lost once, or twice…..or even only three
times, we probably would’ve made it swimming that day. But we had to pick up
our Amazing Special Treat of homemade-from-scratch BBQ veggie shish-kebabs, plus meet to
finalize the details and sound checks for the memorial. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom spent much of the trip explaining, as we wandered around
involuntarily exploring, how very much the road system had changed since she
was last there. They’ve added in all sorts of freeways and bypasses, mazes of
ramps, swirls of over- and underpasses…it can be a little intimidating to the
uninitiated. Especially since there’s a surplus of traffic and a shortage of
exits. If you miss it, you’re going to see a fair amount of new territory
before turning around. (On the other hand, if you miss the same exit more than
once, you may be seeing familiar territory. It’s all relative.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The freeways are a trifle different than what we’re used to
in other ways, too. Not that there are any freeways very close to us, but the
ones that are less distant are pretty much 75 mph. And you get on them, and you
actually go 75 mph. The majority of Hawaiian freeways we went on had a speed
limit of about 45. Some of the time you even got up to 45. If you’re comparing
that to our idea of a freeway, it doesn’t look so good. But if you compare it
to the previous system of painfully working your way through clogged surface
streets and several million traffic lights, it’s quite an innovation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So that if you miss your exit and have to go 10 miles before
you can exit again, the 20-mile detour only takes you a little over a half an
hour, even in rush hour. The traffic is a small price to pay for the experience
of going to Paradise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite the delicious in-flight vegetarian meal, we were
starving by the time we landed—just after noon local time, and just past
breakfast Montana Stomach Time. And what better place to go than Andy’s
Sandwiches, a terrific little diner owned by former students of Grandma and
Grandpa? There was no better place, so to Andy’s we went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom and Tina got cucumber sandwiches so fat they had to be
held together with decorative toothpicks. I ordered the burrito, which included
a veggie meat so realistic that one customer had come back to complain angrily
that her vegetarian meal wasn’t vegetarian. (Even though it was.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a few minutes, Andy himself stepped from behind the
counter to talk to Tina and me a little more. He turned to me first. “Which one
are you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thinking he was about to serve our food, I answered, “<i>I’m</i> the
burrito.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a long pause. When my dear, loving sister could
compose herself, she choked out, “No, he means WHO ARE YOU?” The whole rest of
the meal, Certain People could be heard cackling to themselves. <i>“I’m the burrito! Aaahahahaaaa.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uQuQO1viw6fjvDNW8kxVb-fZzQN33o_JJKAUJ-c_1otcR7LSI_68CTCmY0EUJFsXrhooy1KSlwJWlZii5v1q5ggNztTcEyQsLbtlG6K8eN439CPvWhVAqnqRjqfV9WA0Luo3PFctaZmB/s1600/Beach+at+Waikiki+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uQuQO1viw6fjvDNW8kxVb-fZzQN33o_JJKAUJ-c_1otcR7LSI_68CTCmY0EUJFsXrhooy1KSlwJWlZii5v1q5ggNztTcEyQsLbtlG6K8eN439CPvWhVAqnqRjqfV9WA0Luo3PFctaZmB/s1600/Beach+at+Waikiki+2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I maintain it was a perfectly understandable mistake. </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeKTvN4cbq6Gko8Nrb9EM3zvO8b5VSu8wecapNxeFB969g3TaUgeAuFt-6MQsp_RMEQNr95RH1yzdvhQWEgOfA1VvuTz39soOU8jjk-umefac8Z2BxuvULeficX2aTHG0XB_LMnUFuK2y/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeKTvN4cbq6Gko8Nrb9EM3zvO8b5VSu8wecapNxeFB969g3TaUgeAuFt-6MQsp_RMEQNr95RH1yzdvhQWEgOfA1VvuTz39soOU8jjk-umefac8Z2BxuvULeficX2aTHG0XB_LMnUFuK2y/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+3.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">Even though we didn't get to go swimming, at least we had a few moments to catch the sunset at the Ala Moana beach. I even got a few fun time exposures of some paddle boarders out on the calm ocean waters, and even more fun time exposures of Waikiki and Diamond Head.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDZX1PzTFqA5G2DUwlObiShu7hEgmK13ZnXA3yhJ5xrnrvO_ZKSzHrBjOjfz6Cc1yh_rS-FLGnHczpNWfiFlfr5srKuKT60-0ivBmuBcJa3sIdcXNZPUEGthI4uQdGM5IrGUpZoVtAVGN/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDZX1PzTFqA5G2DUwlObiShu7hEgmK13ZnXA3yhJ5xrnrvO_ZKSzHrBjOjfz6Cc1yh_rS-FLGnHczpNWfiFlfr5srKuKT60-0ivBmuBcJa3sIdcXNZPUEGthI4uQdGM5IrGUpZoVtAVGN/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+2.jpg" height="246" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">With a great struggle, I kept my eyes open till shortly after
midnight. Which was only 8:00 pm local time. Four-year-olds were just finishing
their baths when I started snoozing. But it was dark, and that’s all I cared
about.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Roused briefly by a burst of noise from the dorm students, I
groggily wondered, “Don’t they even give them a <i>curfew</i>?” A few moments later, I remembered the four hour time
difference, and that for them it was only 8:30. <i>It’s going to be 2:00 am for me before they go to bed, </i>was all I
remember thinking before falling asleep again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3VVsfuMvjm80SlvG0aGZunHR7sN58Q7G4PMtt4AL96R3JAGJ6F8bziA84r0Wrd3ghT9GqiLVk2Puxoxd-jvcO3GQfBhyphenhyphenabDrs40a_cg6IY0f7UtxaZVC7NvtMeL7j4TDDoBguXOV-eul/s1600/Diamond+Head+by+Night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3VVsfuMvjm80SlvG0aGZunHR7sN58Q7G4PMtt4AL96R3JAGJ6F8bziA84r0Wrd3ghT9GqiLVk2Puxoxd-jvcO3GQfBhyphenhyphenabDrs40a_cg6IY0f7UtxaZVC7NvtMeL7j4TDDoBguXOV-eul/s1600/Diamond+Head+by+Night.jpg" height="166" width="400" /></a></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-28464163010265663432015-01-31T13:09:00.002-07:002015-01-31T16:29:24.555-07:00Nagging Coughs and Angora Elbows<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-vrO7lE8zWrwNjjcqRKDRbHM1Mu5JSEHJygh0BddQdaCHucQqd1Hd-SC-uN46DNmm276N3iuOL68liI2esT-WZx5X6DMo9lnN_-KCrko0e3PxJbGmSJabFMIcZAN-ZGYERBevA2txQHO/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-vrO7lE8zWrwNjjcqRKDRbHM1Mu5JSEHJygh0BddQdaCHucQqd1Hd-SC-uN46DNmm276N3iuOL68liI2esT-WZx5X6DMo9lnN_-KCrko0e3PxJbGmSJabFMIcZAN-ZGYERBevA2txQHO/s1600/Ala+Moana+Beach+1.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><i>Note: The following tropical series is from October. It is now January. No one who knows me will be surprised, since my Christmas letters alone are running more than a decade late. Besides, I thought it would be fun to wait until a frozen, snowy day and then visit Hawaii all over again, at least in my memory.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><i>Very kind family members and friends chipped in so I could go on this lovely trip, since Hawaii is not in my normal operating budget. And, as you'll see, it was a mission trip. Really. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><i> * * *</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We’ve already had our first snowflakes here in Montana,
though not enough to stick. It’s been well below freezing almost every night.
The trees are almost naked. A few weeks ago, I would’ve told you that it
couldn’t be a better time for a tropical trip. That was before the Ebola
outbreak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our risk of actually catching the disease is very low, but
our risk of being mistaken for someone with the disease is somewhat higher. See,
it’s harvest time. And not only that, but after our catastrophically late
spring, it’s frantic harvest time. Farmers are in their fields day and night
unless it’s raining, trying to get their just-ripened crops in before it’s too
late. And since the weather people are
predicting an early winter, “too late” is coming down the pike like a greased
log in a flume. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom and I live on each side of the grain elevator. Usually it
blows her direction, but a couple weeks ago the wind shifted and sent all that
chaff my way. Suddenly, I also sounded like an escapee from the local
tuberculin ward. Hard to breathe, coughing day and night, even once the wind
shifted back toward Mom again. And in case you’ve been living under a rock for
the last several months, coughing, fever, and aches are some of the earliest signs
of Ebola, before it passes on to serious vomiting, diarrhea, hemorrhage, spots,
red eyes, and death. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">People are terrified of coughing people. Just the other day,
a man on a plane sneezed, and jokingly said, “I have Ebola!” He was removed by
the Men in Blue Suits, and later found to have nothing worse than a nasal
tickle. Bad time to have a cough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With careful nurturing, I got my cough under control just in
the nick of time. Which was extra fortunate, since some of the nurturing
involved strenuous exercise which has left me aching in many areas. (Yes, also
a sign of Ebola, remember?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom didn’t do quite as well. Despite her own nurturing, and
frequent doses of dextromethorphan, she’s been coughing and sneezing like
crazy. We’re trying to be thankful she doesn’t have a fever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The trip to Billings went swimmingly. By that, I mean
swimming in fur. It was the furriest Cadillac I’ve ever ridden in, in my whole
life. Also the only Cadillac. (I’m more of a
pickup-truck-with-no-AC-so-the-windows-are-always-down-except-in-winter kinda
gal, though I’d settle for a van if need be.) Tina fared the worst. She
wore a dainty traveling outfit, classy flowing black shirt with dark jeans. When
I saw flowing, I do mean that it hung in attractive, rippling waves. I also
mean it was flowing with border collie hair. Dripping with it. Her elbows
wafted in the breeze. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Being a kind sister, I tried to cheer her up by comparing her
to famous people in the Bible. People like John the Baptist, and Esau, who
was “hairy all over like an garment”. I even offered to braid her elbows, all
to no avail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mindful of planks in my own eye, I did take a moment to
lightly brush off the few hairs that clung to my nether portions, but only
shook off enough for several eagles to use in their nests. Tina could have
knitted a life-size model of the Ark. Oh well, the youngest child usually gets the largest portions, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite a few white knuckles in our group, the flights to
Oakland were uneventful. The shuttle ride to the nearby Motel 6 was more
eventful, because there WAS NO SHUTTLE RIDE! Mom had called the place directly
about a week before to arrange transportation from the airport, and the man
told her not to worry – that the airport had a free shuttle that would bring us
to the Motel 6 along their route. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After waiting in the post-midnight chill for over a half
hour, Tina finally called them. The lady informed us that there was no shuttle
of any sort that went there, and we’d have to take a taxi. After we found out
how much the taxi was going to be—each way—we spent the rest of our time
calculating how big of a hotel upgrade we could’ve gotten, and still paid less
for the night. Turns out it was a pretty big upgrade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We made the best of it, and the heavily manned guard shack at
the entrance kept the Motel 6 from being unsavory. Still, we determined to
cancel our return night, and stay somewhere more expensive (yet cheaper), with
a REAL SHUTTLE THAT ACTUALLY PICKS YOU UP. Not that I’m bitter. None of us are
bitter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing remained but to make the last leg in the morning, and
begin looking for some sunscreen, preferably SPF 3000. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bon voyage!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-48989584674181639022014-04-12T22:10:00.000-06:002014-04-12T22:10:07.115-06:00Shoulda Known Better<div style="text-align: justify;">
You would think after Grandpa that I would've given up predicting - incorrectly - the ETD (Estimated Time of Death) of anyone in the family. You would be wrong. After that sweet and loving good-bye to the beautiful Isabella, she actually began to improve for a bit. In fact, she lived a full week and 3 hours after we woke Devon up at 2am to say his farewells.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Most of that time was spent in a cat bed on my bed, feted and fawned over 18 hours a day. Up until the last 2 days, anyway, where Wannabe became so concerned about her that he kept sitting on her and trying to hatch her. We had to move her into the bathroom at that point. She finally slipped away just after 5am on Sunday morning.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since she ended up so quickly an only kitten, and with a pretty inept mother (sorry, Squishy - love ya anyway), there were many aspects of catness that she had to learn from the other cats. We got a big kick out of watching her copying the bigger guys. She learned to curl up on our bed and sleep from Wannabe. Also how to bathe. Pretty much, Squishy's idea of bathing is to stand in front of one of the other cats till they give up and wash her. I'm glad there was someone else to teach Isabella how to keep clean.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She learned how to sit erect and stare disapprovingly from Expensia, though she was too cute to be really intimidating. She learned how to play from the terrible trio I still call "The Kittens", even though they're fully grown. Several are fully over-grown. But the one thing she still didn't do was purr.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pretty much a cat that doesn't purr is disabled. Practically defective. Bell-bell had a lot going for her, but no matter how much we lavished attention on her, not even one little brrt could be heard. We'd long since given up any hope, figuring she'd always be a non-purrer like her mother. It was the only thing that kept her from being purrfect.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then she got sick again, and I took to mixing her antibiotics in milk. It was like magic! She even knew when it was time for the next dose, because she would follow me into the bathroom, jump from floor to toilet to drawer, and PURRRRR as loudly as she could to let me know she was ready.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's how I'll always remember her - brave, funny, and coming into her own.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-F-OuffszWc" target="_blank">One Month Old</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjvAmWkgjxg" target="_blank">Learning to Purr</a></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-32789904650358929042014-03-23T15:04:00.000-06:002014-03-23T15:04:34.644-06:00The Fair Isabella<div style="text-align: justify;">
She was born on my bed. It was awkward.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jack, aka The Cat Whisperer, is used to all the family's felines glomming onto him like a giant fur blanket. But even he was unprepared for Squishy's devotion. One day, she was lying next to him on the bed, stretched along his forearm, with both arms wrapped around his elbow, when he felt an odd firmness in her abdomen. "Hey, Dear! Come quick; I think she's in labor!"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so she was. All over his side of the bed. When efforts to move her failed, we got a bunch of towels to put under her, trying to preserve the dignity of our comforter as much as we could. Good thing it was burgundy to start with. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Before you know it, two little bullets were deposited onto the bed, one white, one black. The white one was dead the next morning, leaving little Isabella the sole recipient of all the kitten love in the house. As soon as she could walk, she figured out how to climb up onto the bed - Jack's side, of course - and curl up. Once in a ball, she was only about the size of an orange, and we were terrified we'd crush her in our sleep. She solved that problem by sleeping across Jack's neck. </div>
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As she grew, she became the darling of all but 2 of the bigger cats. Elsie took the longest to win over, but even her fortified heart was at last conquered. Here is Isabella helping Elsie with a favorite pastime, on the last day of last year.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOpPFeOPfqA" target="_blank">Isabella Makes the Bed</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From the time she was a few months old, she was quite sick several times, needing to take antibiotics and still not doing super great. But one Friday afternoon about 3 weeks ago, she walked into my room, her hind legs not quite walking like they were supposed to. A long story and several vet bills later, we found out that she has FIP, Feline Infectious Peritonitis. It's a virus that attacks white blood cells, and there's no cure. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cheerful in spite of her death sentence, Isabella flopped from one part of the house to the next, still hanging out with all her big buddies, not only the other cats, but Clancy, too. She was too weak to jump off the bed without getting hurt, so she could no longer sleep with me. Many nights, I put Wannabe, our oldest tomcat, in with her for company. He's a good momma cat, and curled up with her so sweetly so she wouldn't be lonely. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Finally, a couple nights ago, she was too weak to move around, and I let her sleep next to me, blocked in with a body pillow. Before long, she had tucked herself under the covers, draped over my shoulder like she always used to. Potto decided she was rather lacking in cleanliness, and did his best to change that.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Br-nObGMDAQ" target="_blank">Sweet Potto Washes the Dying Baby</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday morning, Bella was still sitting up eating her food enthusiastically. By nightfall, her kidneys had almost entirely shut down, and she was almost gone. I was shocked that she lived through the night, and even more surprised that she's still sleeping quietly next to me as I write this. When she opens her eyes, she's not happy till she sees that I'm there with her. The kids are helping me make sure she's never alone when she wakes. </div>
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Soon, probably later today or tomorrow, our precious Bella will leave us. Till then, we'll be right here. Watching over her. Making sure she knows how much we love her. Letting her fall asleep in peace.</div>
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Sweet dreams, little Bella. We'll see you again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7PJVlcxBB7X3d_2wnhDhpB4MLxT2kymJ6Kxe1pWnsjm6nP61fBLLN-p5e7J5WP4o7rEMbQAnTBfFGmW0s24OiN5sVry4r8t8KmMxH8PBHD8-gV-kyYWWePq0qVdkbbmiBIgZE5uc1nWv/s1600/IMG_2935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7PJVlcxBB7X3d_2wnhDhpB4MLxT2kymJ6Kxe1pWnsjm6nP61fBLLN-p5e7J5WP4o7rEMbQAnTBfFGmW0s24OiN5sVry4r8t8KmMxH8PBHD8-gV-kyYWWePq0qVdkbbmiBIgZE5uc1nWv/s1600/IMG_2935.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 Days Ago</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-78296463500641834082014-03-07T21:00:00.000-07:002014-03-07T21:05:00.989-07:00P90G - Weeks 7B-13A, B, and C<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPStU8ZrlBhFS7WOep3fYYHwjStx98Mr7F6uYh0vEuBXm9JK_XVv4lVNJVYUOornb8-OQ9eIsRQPWxF64UjDMN_Kh9UEe9iSmyTDKtFNuUfKxXVxNZD03zFOZfEbvPW6H8BBJjouxAOdA6/s1600/Weights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPStU8ZrlBhFS7WOep3fYYHwjStx98Mr7F6uYh0vEuBXm9JK_XVv4lVNJVYUOornb8-OQ9eIsRQPWxF64UjDMN_Kh9UEe9iSmyTDKtFNuUfKxXVxNZD03zFOZfEbvPW6H8BBJjouxAOdA6/s1600/Weights.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">At
long, long last, P90G has come to an end. By the time I got done repeating
numerous weeks due to illnesses and tragedy (the kids’ grandpa on Jack’s side
of the family died unexpectedly of liver failure), it was considerably longer than
90 days. At times, it was considerably divergent from Gentle, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
mentioned that for the last section, I would be making some adjustments to add
some difficulty to my workouts. One of those was to phase out Air Pullups, and
do Almost-real Pullups. Frankly, Air Pullups were hard enough at first. I’m now
up to 8 Almost-real Pullups per set, with one toe on a chair to give a bit of a
boost. (With legs the consistency of pudding by that part of the workout, it’s
not as much of a boost as you might expect.) Anyway, the P90X guy said that was
ok, so technically it’s not cheating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">This
last change gave rise to a new event in the Feline Olympics. You already know
about the Swinging Leg Dive, where the contestants wait until I’m mid-kick
before trying to dart between my legs without getting hurled across the room. </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">I've</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"> nearly perished more than once as my flying foot met fur instead of floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While
Jack was home, he got to see the Double Shoulder Balance Lounge, where Jax stepped
onto my back while I was doing a sad imitation of pushups, draping himself
across my shoulders. Let me tell you, having a tubby tabby aboard increases the
difficulty level quite a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tP0fIguzNDLhyphenhyphenWf5WIe0AKT8dHUGEqd67ave6mvNE9QzRtoPiU4_Z2Q4q1C2QTsNwmjztqhIiJgvGgsObXshxK3aHf8yf1RtyTVdSxkrx39F66xEBdOeW9FubzOezu6nuB7L8LfrGHTv/s1600/Potto+on+the+Bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tP0fIguzNDLhyphenhyphenWf5WIe0AKT8dHUGEqd67ave6mvNE9QzRtoPiU4_Z2Q4q1C2QTsNwmjztqhIiJgvGgsObXshxK3aHf8yf1RtyTVdSxkrx39F66xEBdOeW9FubzOezu6nuB7L8LfrGHTv/s1600/Potto+on+the+Bar.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
new event is the Screaming Death Pullup. Damon’s enormous fluffy gray cat,
Potto, is the only contender. Potto’s favorite hangout is atop the pullup bars.
He lies along them, paws hanging down leopard-style, and beach ball belly
hanging down sumo wrestler style. A gray sumo leopard. If you watch all the way to the end of<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yltlJEdSAHw" target="_blank"> thisclip of Rollin’ Safari,</a> you’ll see a leopard that looks just like Potto.
Actually, most of the animals look like Potto in one way or another. </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Po7RpGzFEIY" target="_blank"> (If that made you laugh, you might also enjoy this clip of a vulture family.)</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">How
this works: Potto, aka The Silver Bullet, dashes across the room, vaulting
neatly onto the pullup bars, and then ravages the hand invading his domain. He
seems to be playing, but for a cat of his size, playing feels a lot like
falling down the garbage disposal. Here I can’t even do a pullup with two
hands, and Potto is already trying to motivate to use only one. Be very glad
he’s not <i>your</i> personal trainer.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><u><a href="http://goldcountrymeetsbigsky.blogspot.com/2011/09/epidermis.html" target="_blank">Potto as a Baby</a></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Another
interesting change was that, at the same time I got my cute little workout
outfits, I also got cute little weights. Pink ones. They’re only 3lbs each, but
3lbs is more than 0lbs. Lifting something besides air totally revved things up,
though not as much as if I’d used pasta sauce cans like Tina.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">P90X
Guy: I’m grabbin’ my 40 pounders. What about you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Amazingly
Musclebound Man (with a hint of a sneer): I’ve got my 50’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Trim
and Beautiful Woman: 30’s for me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Me:
THREES, OKAY??????? AND THAT’S PLENTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">No,
I’m not ready to post “after” pictures yet. I feel hugely better, and my
overall health has already improved noticeably, but the 5 lbs I lost (without
trying to lose weight—I’m only trying to get strong and fit, with weight loss being
a happy byproduct over time) don’t make a visible difference yet. Let me just
assure you that there are some muscles getting toned underneath the layers of
fat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What’s
next? Well, I’m already a week into
P90M, with M for Medium. That means I’m working out for 30 minutes a day
instead of 20—a 50% increase! Did it make a difference? Well, by Day 2, I
couldn’t walk or lift my arms again. And Plyometrics, that fearsome jump
training workout…don’t ask me how this works, but 30 minutes of Plyo comes out
to exactly twice as long as 20 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
first Sunday after school gets out, I’m going to take the plunge to full-out
P90X. Once that’s over, if I can still get out of bed, I’m going to do a totally
different exercise program for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gFz2OcrpyZ9vUTNO5E-0bWOjRJxPleRxk1py1kP8jegc1kj2bC3DHOwHgdeeVQLVzqbGy1csEJsgi06v6hwsPApK54YQ8b8eyEQvfuGeoFf4-KFkgJ3SUX5s4ixAJs0_EApc9FlqPywK/s1600/Potto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gFz2OcrpyZ9vUTNO5E-0bWOjRJxPleRxk1py1kP8jegc1kj2bC3DHOwHgdeeVQLVzqbGy1csEJsgi06v6hwsPApK54YQ8b8eyEQvfuGeoFf4-KFkgJ3SUX5s4ixAJs0_EApc9FlqPywK/s1600/Potto.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If
there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s this. Exercise isn’t the good
china, that you only use once in a while on special occasions—it’s a way of
life. So eat well, exercise hard, and feel great! And someday you, too, might
be able to almost do a pullup. Just like me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-36364837929292555302013-12-31T11:52:00.002-07:002013-12-31T11:52:58.994-07:00P90G - Weeks 6 and 7A<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Days 39-49: </b>The book is blazing right ahead (though I didn't type even a single word for the week Jack was here - so much for finishing by New Year at the latest!), and the workouts have continued faithfully. Almost.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the time vacation arrived, I was barely holding onto the tatters of health. Fine, I was sick. But not as sick as I could have been! There was a time I would have already had several major cases of bronchitis by this time of the year, and I've been doing MUCH better compared to that. Thanks to the magic of zinc, I nearly fought off the cold that would once have consumed me, and was only down a few days instead of a few weeks. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
During that time, I did, most ashamedly, miss 3 workouts, covering Friday, Sunday, and Monday. By December 25, though, I was back in such fighting form that I did plyometrics till I couldn't walk. I am woman, hear me roar! (I am woman. Hear me whimper as I slide limply to the ground and take a nap.)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being the annoyingly perky sort of person that I am, I didn't let my utter FAILURE of those 3 days get me down - I simply re-did the numbers. No problemo! And decided to repeat Week 7, to make sure I milked the full benefit from it before moving on to the next workout stage. So last week was Week 7, and this week is also Week 7. ("Hi, I'm Larry, and this is my brother, Darryl. And this is my other brother, Darryl.") ((If you don't get that last joke, ask someone who lived through the 80's. Except for Tina, who tried to pretend she didn't really exist until 1990.))</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I digress.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While Jack was here, I had to shake up my routine a bit. For one thing, though I still often woke up at 0530, I couldn't bring myself to actually get up. Warm, snuggly husbands are very addictive. Some mornings I had to work out in the kitchen while monitoring breakfast, and sometimes I'd sneak out to the living room with the computer, and exercise out there. These changes completely renewed the cats' interest in what I was doing, and I accidentally kicked and whapped them a few times as they tried to creep very close and smell me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"And one, and two, and MROOOOOAAAAAWWWWWWW, and two, and....."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Also worthy of mention is my first trip to the community exercise room, during Week 6. Not worth actually bragging about, but useful as an objective standard of improvement. I ran for 20 solid minutes without slowing or stopping (not too bad), going an uninspired 1.3 miles during that time (not great, but at least I know where I stand). It was my first time on a treadmill, and I did better once I stopped trying to fight it and make it go faster by pushing. Also helpful, halfway along, was Devon's instruction to clip the emergency shutoffer-thingy to my clothing, so that if the treadmill sprayed me off the back end, it would turn off automatically.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been a productive 2 weeks. I'm so pleased, that this year, I have only one New Year's Resolution.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. Keep up the good work!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
Make that two resolutions.<br />
<br />
2. Finish a book. Any book.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Looking forward to another year of adventure,<br />
Noni BethNoni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-54964342976833540702013-12-15T07:19:00.003-07:002013-12-15T07:20:52.112-07:00P90G - Week 5<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 32: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some mornings I really don’t want to
get up, but as soon as I hear the music, I’m ready to get some blood circulating!
Chest, Shoulders, and Triceps, a brand new workout. Since it was Sunday, I
splurged and went a full 30 minutes this time! My arms were totally shaking by
the time I finished. Oh well, it’s not like I had to play the piano or anything
afterward. Oh wait. I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 33: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Plyometrics again, ACK! Ironically,
10 minutes at my new fitness level (meaning not taking a break 30 seconds out
of every 60), actually wears me out much more than 20 minutes did at first. I
guess that’s progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 34: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back and Biceps. Honestly, my arms
don’t know the difference between biceps and triceps. *I* know the difference,
but that doesn’t do my arms any good. They think it’s time to work the legs for
a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 35: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today was slated for yoga. As I’ve
mentioned before, I don’t do yoga or other New Age type of exercises,
meditations, etc. So I either substitute in another workout for it, or just go
on to the next day. Guess what, arms – wish granted! It’s finally the legs’
turn after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 36: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every once in a while, my bus kids
will have a little contest while they’re waiting for the other passengers to
arrive. Putting a hand on the seat on each side of the aisle, they will hoist
themselves into the air, feet dangling, and see who can last the longest. This
time, I decided to join them. Even with my arms still weak and shaky from their
brutal workouts, I managed to beat a 6<sup>th</sup> grader, a 4<sup>th</sup>
grader, and a 3<sup>rd</sup> grader, CONSECUTIVELY all on the same dangle,
without my feet ever touching the ground. I finally had to jump down and answer
my radio.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 37: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Stretching still makes me sorer than
just about anything else, though that may change shortly. There are a few
changes on the horizon…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 38: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another week gone already…unbelievable!
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By way of
general announcement, I’m going to be putting a pause on the daily exercise
blog for a bit. No, I haven’t run out of material. In fact, it’s just about to
get even more interesting, and slightly less Gentle. But I’m going to try and finish the book I’m writing
by Christmas. Failing that, finished by New Year, so I don’t have to have
another year with an unfulfilled resolution to “finish a book – any book”. After
5 or 6 years, that level of failure gets a bit old. I’m ready for a new
resolution. A new book, too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-21344220753466245942013-12-14T22:47:00.000-07:002013-12-14T23:00:48.917-07:00Westby Skunk Flash Mob<br />
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was almost time to go. I waited, bundled in pajamas covered by sweat pants and jacket, ready to go and sing carols for some of our neighbors in town who aren't able to get out very often. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of the boys let Clancy out for a last potty break before leaving. Usually he stays outside and shivers silently if forgotten, but tonight he let out a small whuff at the front door. As I went to let him in, a strong odor of rotten garlic assailed me. It only grew stronger as I opened the door and the misbegotten mutt charged through.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shaking his head, frothing, and drooling, he tried to rub on the carpet until I cruelly sent him out onto the linoleum. I might as well not have bothered. The malodor soaked into every pore of the house within nanoseconds, firmly sealing my status as a pariah forever.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://scontent-b-sea.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/1520733_10152148962896477_1360025111_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://scontent-b-sea.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/1520733_10152148962896477_1360025111_n.jpg" width="300" /></a>Lucky Damon got to stay and wash him, while the rest of us went caroling. The music was sweeter than the smell, but none of the dear souls asked us to leave. Though none of them requested more than one song, either!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For our grand finale, we attempted to film the first-ever Westby Flash Mob. Technically, we succeeded. It was in Westby, and it was a flash mob. There ended all resemblance to those heart-warming or spectacular videos that circulate through Facebook and email.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The moment we stepped out in the silent and snowy street to begin filming, everyone in town decided to drive about. Even the sheriff - you'll see him in the background occasionally. We kept having to halt production and dash off to the side of the road to avoid going viral for all the wrong reasons. That was only the beginning of our trials. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
See for yourself.</div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=id5s2fQKA3o" target="_blank">Flash Mob</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxe2tkLo9Xo" target="_blank">We Try Again</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaieCtm5Cq0" target="_blank">It's Just No Use</a><br />
<br />
The next time we plan a flash mob, guess who is NOT invited!!! My only comfort is that the 3rd time through,we did actually make it to the end. More or less. For sure, we were finished. Next year we'll go for heartwarming. Next year we'll do this differently.<br />
<br />
Next year, we'll go to the bathroom first. Next year we won't smell like skunk.<br />
<br />
Or so we hope.<br />
<br />Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-3762195176433981442013-12-10T20:28:00.000-07:002013-12-10T20:28:04.318-07:00P90G - Week 4<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 25: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today marks the beginning of Phase
II. I’ll be moving on to the next round of workouts, some the same and some
different. Apparently a program is more effective if it incorporates “muscle
confusion”, meaning you never work the same place long enough or in the same
way for it to get used to it, and begin to slack off. Personally, I think my
muscles were pretty confused by exercise at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 26: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A brand new workout today – Core
Synergistics. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even have a core, but it got worked
anyway. And whatever it is, now it can’t move, either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 27: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was supposed to do this lovely martial arts workout
throughout the entire process, but had lost the DVD. After searching
everywhere for WEEKS, I finally sent for a replacement. Within 48 hours, the other disk
was found. I wasn’t too surprised – that’s how it always works. Now I have 2 to
lose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 28: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This should have been easy. It’s all lovely stretching. Piece
of cake – not! Whatever was left after the core workout is gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 29: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And….back to the core. Really,
peoples? This is just cruel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 30: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was supposed to have been another
round of Stretch, aka I-Always-Wanted-to-be-Rubbery-and-Green-Like-Gumby.
Awaking with a sore throat, I opted to sleep in and try to fit a workout in
later. It didn’t quite go according to plan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The end of
the day found me at the store, nearly sundown, no workout, and with way too
many groceries to carry. Just then, Tina arrived to save the day! Or so I
thought. She saved part of the day, giving the groceries a ride home with Devon
and Tiggy. I told her to go on ahead, and I was going to walk home in the
obscenely cold weather in lieu of a formal workout. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Have you
ever heard of that wacky diet idea where you drink a gallon of ice water a day?
The theory is that you burn X number of calories warming yourself back up, so
you don’t have to exercise. Personally, I suspect most of the calorie burning
comes from running to the bathroom every 2.9 seconds. I’m not down with all
that, but one of the most effective ways to consume fat around here is to turn
YOURSELF into an ice cube. Your body will have to work overtime warming back up
from…oh…-47F, and voila! Burnt calories! (The only small flaw in this program
is that your body then swears, “Never again!” And goes into overtime producing
72 more layers of fat for protection.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, it
was all I had left. As the cold began to sink in, my walk increased to a
shuffle, and then a jog. Well, as joggy as I could be with full snow gear on.
Picture a penguin running at warp speed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just then,
Tina’s van rounded the block, stopping to wait as I crossed the street. Instead
of driving my children and food home, she crept along, keeping pace with my
frantic waddle. “This is even worse than exercising in front of Jack,” I
thought to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I saw
that my little workout was being captured for posterity. Curse you, iphone
inventor! Even at his most ANNOYING,
Jack only took still photos. Trust me, video is much, much worse. Tiggy is
going to be lucky if she’s ungrounded by the time she’s 30. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4pkh7IzDGM" target="_blank">The closest to a "before" picture you're likely to get.</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I was
pretty cold all right, even with enough fabric to wrap an entire walrus. It
took a long while, and many calories, to restore me to some semblance of
warmth. It felt so good that I hardly minded the extra 36 pounds I gained by
morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 31: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is it! The end of one full
month. I don’t look much thinner yet, but I feel different…better. I like it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-29092737515832085762013-12-01T17:39:00.001-07:002013-12-01T17:59:06.926-07:00P90G - Week 3<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 18: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> Since it’s Sunday, I got to sleep in all the
way to 6:15! I used to be able to make it till 8, if nobody else woke up and
started racketing around. Working out is better than sleeping in. At least that’s
what I keep telling myself.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 19: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead of Oh-Dark-Thirty, I ended up
working out after I got back from the bus. This led me to break my vow to only
do the jump training thingy on holidays or weekends. Tina came over shortly
afterwards, as I was trying to figure out how to walk. Awkward!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 20: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I must be making progress. Even
though I’m still only lasting about 20 minutes, I’m taking fewer breaks and
getting most of the reps in. Of course, that also means I’m still generally In
the Can’t-Walk-or-Move Category, but I have to work just a <i>little </i>harder to get there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 21: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Only time for the abs today, since
Thanksgiving is coming up awfully fast. Whatever doesn’t get cooked today will
have to compete with the (shudder) turkeys (shudder shudder) for my attention
tonight and tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 22: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll get my Thanksgiving workout in
if possible. But with those TWO turkeys hanging over my head, I don’t have to
worry about overeating. I hope I can eat at all. Besides, if I get sick to my
stomach, that’s kind of an ab workout, isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 23: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Temporarily, it’s much easier to work
out. I’ve been painting my bedroom floor, so my bed is out in the living room
to make room to shuffle all the rest of the furniture around. With no bed,
there’s a nice clear area in the middle of the floor. Even when the bed goes
back in, I’m going to turn it the other direction and rearrange the dressers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The new
arrangement may have a bit more space, I’m hoping. It was sure hard to do the
lunges around the corner of the bed. Lunge-pivot-lunge. Stop, turn.
Lunge-pivot-lunge. Stop, turn. I had to turn sideways just to run in place, and
suck in my stomach to do jumping jacks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, our
bedroom is small, but that is only a challenge, not an impediment, to someone
who is determined to get in shape. (Any shape besides round.) In case you’ve
been over and are wondering why I’m no longer working out in the living room, we
had too much trouble with unauthorized use of our living room TV, sometimes
even in the middle of the night. So I moved it into the TV Protection Program,
or TelSec for short. Thus the need for Corner Lunges and other adaptations –
the only TV we still have is in our bedroom. Don’t even get me started on the
Side Kicks. Crash! Kabang! Oops. Oh, and I almost forgot – the 45 Degree Side-Bend-Wrap-Around-the-Bed
Pushup! That one is a real toughie! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey, nobody
ever said fitness was easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 24: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another rest has rolled around
already. Thanksgiving doesn’t count. Yes, I can make up my own rules as I go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The End of
Week 3. Can you believe it? Almost a month already. Eventually I may run out of new things to say, but it hasn't happened yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-47032183488815365872013-11-24T08:23:00.001-07:002013-11-24T08:23:37.104-07:00P90G - Week 2<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 11: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jack is home, and it’s harder than
you might think to sneak in a workout when he’s not looking. I managed it,
though, while he was in his Special Office with Running Water. You might wonder
why the secrecy. Aren’t good marriages supposed to be transparent and open? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, yes.
Mostly. I’m considering this to be under the “surprise gift” category, which is
one of the few acceptable exceptions to the Transparency Rule. And he will be
surprised, a year or two from now, when he notices that I’m looking much trimmer.
(Unless he reads this blog post, but I’m taking my chances. I can’t wait that
long to update the rest of you.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The last
attempt to participate in a strenuous exercise program involved Tina. Jack’s
idea of participation mostly included sitting on the couch, laughing
hysterically, and taking unflattering pictures of us. Granted, his abs got a
killer workout, but the rest of us sent big frowny faces in his direction.
(Muscles which do not need ANY extra workouts at all.) I can’t fool myself into
thinking I look any more graceful now, so this regimen is going to stay a
strictly solo act for some time to come. You won’t tell, will you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 12: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Special challenges attended this
workout. I didn’t want Jack to wake and find me hopping about in the bedroom. I
didn’t want his brother, sleeping on the couch, to wake and find me hopping
about in the living room. The bathroom is far too small. Only one option
remained: the laundry room, with no DVD help at all. That was ok, since the cats
decided they would be my helpers instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Days 1 and 2
they were quite fascinated, even swatting playfully at my arms and legs as they
waved wildly. After that, they lost interest, until I invaded their domain and
leaped about by their food and litter box. Suddenly, all the old interest
returned, and I had uncounted glowing yellow pairs of eyes following my every
move. On shelves, the washer and dryer, behind the door, even from the
litterbox itself, they all attended the splendid entertainment extravaganza I
thoughtfully provided for their benefit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 13: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">See Day 12.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 14: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This has been the only morning so far
that I slept in past my workout, barely dragging my sorry derriere out of bed
just in time for the bus. Jack had to leave out extremely early in the morning
to fly back to Texas and begin working. When he woke up at 3, it took me a very
long time to go back to sleep. I just
couldn’t quite make it up at Oh-Dark-Thirty, as Jack calls it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In lieu of a
formal workout, I went for an evening jog in the snow, with my phone called
into use as a flashlight. At one point I started to slip on the ice, doing a
clever little jig to maintain my footing. The flashlight began to turn off and
on, baffling me for a moment until I realized that it was set to automatically
flash SOS when shaken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 15: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Though challenging, twenty minutes no
longer seems like quite enough. I barely made it through the warmup, and was
just getting to the good stuff when it was time to quit. Tomorrow I’m going to
try something new, just to shake things up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 16: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">CANNOT MOVE LIMBS HELP ME AM TYPING
WITH MY NOSE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 17: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, look! It’s already time to take a
break again. How will I even manage until it’s time for the next wonderful
workout? Yeah, right. I NEED A BREAK!!! I console myself that it’s not just
being a wimp – that exercise on the rest of the days will actually be more
effective for having a rest. Tomorrow’s a whole new day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-58571010603875685642013-11-17T17:09:00.002-07:002013-11-17T17:09:27.757-07:00P90G<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been needing to resume a regular
exercise program. With the many unplanned events of the summer, a whole bunch
of important things fell by the wayside, and that was one of them. With some
trepidation, I’ve decided to restart a certain intense fitness program, for the
simple reason that I already have it in my possession.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Originally, I decided to re-name it
P90L, with L for Lazy. But this program is so intense that even 2 minutes a day
is way above laziness. At the same time, there’s no way that my version could
be called Xtreme, either. So I’ve settled on P90G, for Gentle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 1: </span></b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(November 7, 2013)</span></i><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">20+ minutes and I feel great! Why didn’t I start doing
this a long time ago? I can hardly contain my rush of energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 2: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday was arms, today legs.
That’s good, since I can hardly lift a glass of water. All went well until I
got a large splinter while leaping around in my bedroom. All efforts to
retrieve it were in vain. 20+ minutes again, and feeling so alive, except for
my throbbing foot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 3: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The splinter has become infected, and
putting any weight whatsoever on it is proving extremely painful. Oh well, it’s
not like I could walk anyway. Thankfully, it’s Sabbath, so I don’t need to
worry about exercise. The actual program calls for a day of rest anyway, and it
just happens that my day of rest coincided with day 3. Lucky me! Maybe by
tomorrow I’ll be able to not only walk, but lift my arms high enough to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 4: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey, I can walk! It hurts a little,
but how nice to have that shard o’misery out of my foot. Today was plyometrics,
which is basically jump training. I think I’d better confine plyo to Sundays
and holidays, so that when I can’t lift my head off the floor afterwards it
doesn’t affect work. About 13 minutes in, the workout clock got stuck. I’m
pretty sure it was only counting off about 3 seconds per minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Workout guy:
You’re doing great! Go even higher!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me:
***whump***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Workout guy:
Ok now! Double time!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: I’m
pretty sure that means half as many as before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Staggering
grimly, I gritted my teeth and kept going. I think it’s mean to make a
one-legged man be part of the workout team on the video, so I can’t even feel
sorry for myself. Will 20 minutes never end?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly, I
glance at the clock. It has been 22+ minutes! I made it! And in case you wonder
what all these +++ mean, it means + about 3 seconds. Not that anyone is
counting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope I don’t
get any splinters in my nose down here. Prone is the new perky. Go team. I feel
great. Really. Room fading. Blackness. Only 86 more days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 5: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For some reason my legs are beyond
sore. Fortunately, today was mostly upper body. All the rest of the day, I keep
finding myself frozen into weird stalagmite formations. I think tomorrow I’d
better just work my abs. It’s the only part of my body that’s still functional.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 6: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">CANNOT MOVE HELP ME<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 7: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What can I do? The only thing that
doesn’t hurt is my eyelashes, and I’ve never heard of a workout for eyelashes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 8: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slightly better, I suppose. Maybe I’ve
finally turned the corner, but I’m not going to stop and find out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 9: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not too bad, actually. Did a combo of
arms and abs today. My clothes all still fit the same, but I’m starting to feel
better overall. Still have a nasty habit of waking up about 0430, but that’s
not surprising. Time changes are stupid, and yes I am talking to you BENJAMIN
FRANKLIN!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day 10: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I thought this break would never come. Only 80 more days
until I finish this round of torture, and start something even worse! (I’m
considering upping the ante to P90M, for “Mediocre”.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">PS I have
taken some “before” pictures, but there is no way they will ever see the light
of day until there are some “after” pictures, too. So don’t even ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-52196699351294756592013-10-14T15:13:00.000-06:002013-10-14T16:55:18.233-06:00Prepping for Disaster...<i><span style="font-size: large;">...Without Becoming a Prepper</span></i><br />
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Pitiful descriptions have made their way into news articles about the 15-state EBT system crash. Women stood in the supermarket, weeping because they couldn't buy food for their children. Many large grocery stores reported near-riot conditions as people found out that they couldn't use their cards right then, right there. </div>
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This time, it happened to be EBT cards, but I suspect the same thing would happen in many cases if any sort of disaster interrupted the normal flow of food to our stores. Or even just interrupted the store's continuous satellite access to the Visa/Mastercard systems. What would you do if you were suddenly unable to buy groceries for a few days, or even a few weeks? Hopefully after you read this post, the answer will no longer be, "Stand in the store and cry."</div>
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If you're a very organized person, you'll probably benefit more from this <a href="http://www.redcross.org/prepare/location/home-family/get-kit" target="_blank">Red Cross emergency kit list.</a> Personally, I'm a black hole of organization. It's never been my specialty. So anything I prepare for has as little preparation or maintenance as possible. I heard the saying, "If you want to know how to do something efficiently, ask a lazy person. They'll be able to figure out how to do the job with the least effort possible." The same thing applies for a disorganized person. Something this important can't be ignored, but I sure don't want to spend one more minute - or one more dollar - than I have to worrying about it.</div>
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One last note before we get down to business. Each part of the country has its own personal type of most likely disasters. My list may not exactly apply to your situation, but I know you have enough common sense to adapt it to whatever you may face.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVtLWDVUET6xUVCVsn8sY2Lr2MxC00HuhuR98Fojkhx7DnwyQtA_qX2sVTh3ZfdcI7zK6IWcLiBx9DeG8DGdAZjsZRMMUZj37aa9qqQMd-q0FZEARol8U973nAWjQIXf_658SZpdnhBJb/s1600/IMG_8230.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/AVvXsEiSVtLWDVUET6xUVCVsn8sY2Lr2MxC00HuhuR98Fojkhx7DnwyQtA_qX2sVTh3ZfdcI7zK6IWcLiBx9DeG8DGdAZjsZRMMUZj37aa9qqQMd-q0FZEARol8U973nAWjQIXf_658SZpdnhBJb/s320/IMG_8230.JPG" width="213" /></a>1. <i>Buckets of bulk food. </i>We use what's readily available, which around here is stuff like wheat and lentils. Most years, we can get several gallons just given to us by kind local farmers. Sure, we have to carefully pick the grasshopper bits out ourselves, but it's free! Wal Mart has some other key items in bulk, such as flour and beans. </div>
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I was fortunate. Dad bought me my set of buckets when we first moved up here. But even if you have to shell out some money for buckets right at the beginning, it's well worth it. They'll last for many years, and you won't have to worry about them again. They can stack neatly in your pantry or basement, available whenever you need them.</div>
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Because I don't want to have to keep a big, formal list to try and rotate stuff, I put a bunch of beans, or whatever, in its bucket, then use that to fill a smaller canister, which is what I use on a daily basis to cook with. Don't spend a bunch of money on canisters if you don't already have them. It's almost Christmas time, and you can get cans of popcorn for about $5 each. Instead of throwing away the cans, put them to use storing food for easy access. </div>
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Once the 5 gallon bucket gets low, I add that item to my regular shopping list, and replenish the bucket. No fuss, and no extra work, since I just add it to my regular shopping list.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JZ0WC6FDYdD5Bsm3bZ3A690xK6WYxCRQ03i30As_2mB_5J8332LMm00m4kMhYqAyVyngvXrigowAEvjCkDrFFS1jbJTzZQDCWK0yIu1QJaN2ATWv1lSZyG7o7g8TVyozfkV-WMjaNMpv/s1600/IMG_8229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JZ0WC6FDYdD5Bsm3bZ3A690xK6WYxCRQ03i30As_2mB_5J8332LMm00m4kMhYqAyVyngvXrigowAEvjCkDrFFS1jbJTzZQDCWK0yIu1QJaN2ATWv1lSZyG7o7g8TVyozfkV-WMjaNMpv/s320/IMG_8229.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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2. <i>Canned foods. </i>If you're anything like me, you're on a limited budget. In fact, on the few years that we've earned enough money to reach the poverty line, we've felt quite wealthy. We feel wealthy even during the poorest years, because we all love each other sooooooooo much!!!! But since you can't actually eat love, it's important to have a well-stocked pantry, no matter what the state of your checking account is.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Most of you will not be able to plunk down the many thousands of dollars per person for a towering year's supply of MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat) advertised by so many disaster preparedness companies. (If you are, then <a href="http://beprepared.com/?sc=GOOGLE&oc=GOOG069005&gclid=CLzynYadl7oCFYU5QgodBmQAWQ#default" target="_blank">Emergency Essentials</a> is a great place to start.) What you CAN afford to do, (get it - "can"?) is get a few extra cans of food each time you go shopping. Each time you go, get a few more, until your supply of non-perishables is comfortable.</span></div>
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Your definition of comfortable may be different than mine. Around here, just to survive an average winter, it's a good idea to keep AT LEAST one month's supply of the bare basics. Two months is better. Up here, winter qualifies as its own disaster, and arrives regularly every single year. </div>
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If the power goes out for a month, as happened just before we moved up here, we can't count on outside supplies. We may get tired of beans, rice, and oatmeal, but we don't have to worry about starving.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHn-wWJivDXAiSJ11BoEUIERydm7mKRHp8gV7D7NLJ2qI8hb8svajQs7o0VUUWcNRF6Y0VJD13VU4muPqxnNTpdYoDQ95HV6vAzSfX3bCKJ50BcyR9cgi_t8ueXGluEnHPdzgdxH3Xhu22/s1600/IMG_8224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHn-wWJivDXAiSJ11BoEUIERydm7mKRHp8gV7D7NLJ2qI8hb8svajQs7o0VUUWcNRF6Y0VJD13VU4muPqxnNTpdYoDQ95HV6vAzSfX3bCKJ50BcyR9cgi_t8ueXGluEnHPdzgdxH3Xhu22/s320/IMG_8224.JPG" width="213" /></a>3. <i>Water. </i>This is a bit easier for us. The water up here tastes so awful that we have to drink bottled water anyway. We get the big 5 gallon jugs, and refill them as needed. During the winter, especially, we keep our stock of water high, since we never know when a blizzard will strike and leave us stranded. If you don't already keep water at home, you can get 1 gallon jugs at Wal Mart for less than $1 each. Stick them in a cool, dark place and forget about them. If you're efficient, you can trade them out as recommended, and if you're more like me, still no worries. It may not taste the greatest, but it won't actually spoil if left to sit too long. If you're desperate enough to drink it, you'll just be thankful that it's wet.</div>
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4, <i>Matches and batteries.</i> Around this place, easier said than done. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menehune" target="_blank">menehunes</a> come out at night and steal every single battery they can find. These pilfered sources of energy are then quietly inserted into children's toys and wasted. Far better to have one of those neato shakable flashlights, so you never have to worry about it. And matches are nearly as popular as batteries. Do your best to keep some on hand, anyway. That way you can light any candles that the menehunes don't filch. Or, if you want to be really fancy, you can get some of those cute little kerosine lamps for about $10/ea.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpbzbp0VFmz8IDNFNPXCd7ONraaWHs43M1YHB82ztmHrgUqJyTtoX3R9OnixRtf85Nz_HRdnqZPDMG8PGPHX6JS4LD7TCzq0XUp2_rfcljATXAGHfE6ahw1J0Nn4QoTvVohbGkCKpk8le/s1600/IMG_8233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpbzbp0VFmz8IDNFNPXCd7ONraaWHs43M1YHB82ztmHrgUqJyTtoX3R9OnixRtf85Nz_HRdnqZPDMG8PGPHX6JS4LD7TCzq0XUp2_rfcljATXAGHfE6ahw1J0Nn4QoTvVohbGkCKpk8le/s320/IMG_8233.JPG" width="213" /></a>5. <i>Emergency heater. </i>For us, this is a must. It may not be quite as important for you. The coldest weather I personally have been in was Christmas Day of our first winter here, where it was -62 and Devon got frostbite on his ear. Our emergency heater runs on propane, and can be started with a match. (Which is another reason it's important to keep at least a few matches out of the reaches of menehunes.) A small heater has only a small risk of producing enough carbon monoxide to be harmful, but a detector is still a great idea. As we found out a few years back, even with a perfectly respectable propane furnace, a CO2 detector can still be a lifesaver.</div>
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During the month-long power outage that I mentioned, there were many elderly people out on farms, and who did not have a backup, non-electric source of heat. Good Samaritans in 4WD vehicles were going 24 hours a day at first, driving from farm to farm with a generator, running the heaters a bit for these folks, and then going on to the next place. They succeeded in keeping anyone from freezing to death, but some were extremely uncomfortable for quite a while.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rhFctZa898I6pCe3q5Ix0hJqkqOW1r8mcSQCLSLqK4TQGqCRniGXvERtpl-aauwKuwykT-JyohYB0RJECGUVk3dyG5DBhqgMePSAkNMmZi7ZiXZyyXfY7zBqJcKadIqbXvx_zVOTDaMa/s1600/IMG_8227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rhFctZa898I6pCe3q5Ix0hJqkqOW1r8mcSQCLSLqK4TQGqCRniGXvERtpl-aauwKuwykT-JyohYB0RJECGUVk3dyG5DBhqgMePSAkNMmZi7ZiXZyyXfY7zBqJcKadIqbXvx_zVOTDaMa/s320/IMG_8227.JPG" width="320" /></a>6. <i>A generator. </i>This lovely piece of equipment is worth mentioning, but if you have the above categories taken care of, this is a strictly luxury item. We went through a number of years without one, and did just fine. A generator makes things more fun, but if you're depending fully on it, you have a host of new things to think about. Maintenance, fuel, fuel, more fuel... it's much easier and requires less thought if you have your basics in place, and save the generator to watch the news while all the other houses in town are dark. But then again, if you live in an area where a disaster might require speedy evacuation, you might NEED to have a couple cans of spare gas on hand. Along the same line, cash on hand might be useful in many cases, and vital in case of evacuation. Not our main problem, but it might be yours.<br />
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It's important, when there's a disaster, to make sure you're a part of the solution, and not the problem. If you aren't having to scramble around just to survive, you're then freed up to take care of the needs of others, and perhaps even save lives. </div>
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Here is what has happened on numerous occasions, in the dead of winter, and often with no warning:</div>
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A raging wind howls around the house, driving the wind chill down to -40F. We're going about our evening, lights blazing, Jack watching Duck Dynasty in the bedroom. kids doing homework, with me washing dishes and starting to think thoughts of supper. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, the lights flicker once, come back on, then go off for keeps. "Noooooo," comes a doleful voice from the bedroom. It was a new episode. "Hooray!!!!" comes from most other parts of the house as the homework is set aside.</div>
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I sigh. I was going to bake something for supper, and the oven will only work with electricity. "Oh, well." I reach in the drawer for the matches, and find the candles easily by touch in the top of my closet, which is conveniently located just off the kitchen. The light of one candle guides me to get out the kerosine lamps, which I place on the table and out in the living room. I light a burner on the gas stove, and begin to think what I can boil for supper. Macaroni sounds good.</div>
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"Here, Damon, light the emergency heater." I hand him the matches and calmly go on with supper. All this has taken 2-3 minutes, and then our evening goes on without a hitch. If the power stays off, the kids bring down their blankets and sleep in the living room, where it's warm. Life changes a little, but the only actual weeping comes from the interruption of Duck Dynasty, just as Willy was about to find out who put honey in his hunting boots. </div>
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Before the evening is over, we fill the tub with water to flush the toilet with, just in case the power is off long enough for the town water tower to run out of water. If the power company doesn't know how many weeks it will be till the power is back on, we look through our stash of bulk non-perishables, and get out our "500 Ways to Cook Beans Cookbook". (Just kidding about that last part.) </div>
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Then there was the time the tornado siren went off without warning, right in the middle of summertime. Just as we were hastily grabbing whatever animals we could find and heading to the basement, there was a knock on the door. A grandmother and her grandbaby were there, seeking shelter. They didn't have a basement. We all headed down together, where we played with the baby on blankets and a little toy until we found out all was clear. It was a relief to be safe - even though it's not nearly as bad as Tornado Alley, several people have been killed in recent years by tornados and microbursts, very close to us. Blizzards aren't the only things we have to be ready for.</div>
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If I had been one of the EBT people waiting in line last week, I like to think my story would have gone more like this:</div>
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Clerk: I'm sorry, but you won't be able to use that card to buy groceries. The system is down. Do you have an alternate method of payment?</div>
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Me: Nope, this is it.</div>
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Clerk: I'm sorry, but no one has been able to use the EBT system at all. You'll have to purchase your groceries when it's working again.</div>
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Me: No problem, I'll come back whenever it gets fixed. </div>
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And then I go home and make spaghetti, or stir fry, or bread-from-scratch, or any of a host of things I have the ingredients for already in stock. I certainly do NOT stand around weeping that now my children will have to go hungry. Not because I'm rich - I'm not. Far from it! Most anyone but Tina would laugh at my food budget. But by doing a little at a time, ANYONE can be prepared, no matter how poor. </div>
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Anyone, including YOU!</div>
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Note: In the Bible, Daniel 12 speaks of a terrible time of trouble. The best preparation to make for that is to become really wonderful friends with Jesus. No amount of earthly prepping is enough to live through the worst time ever! But in the meantime, bad things happen on an alarmingly regular basis - bad things for which we can, and should, make a sensible preparation. Happy non-prepping prepping!!!</div>
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Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-54545947759130510432013-09-28T19:35:00.002-06:002013-09-28T19:36:11.533-06:00A Moment Apart<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last year, for the first time ever, Mom, Tiggy, and I attended a women's retreat. Held at the Rock Creek Resort just outside Red Lodge, MT, it was so near to perfection that the only improvement we could think of was to have Tina along. (And Jack and the boys, too, but after all, it was a <i>women's </i>retreat. Despite Devon's promises to wear a wig, he didn't get to come, either.) Now that she's no longer caring for Grandpa, Tina got to come this time.</div>
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Last year we all signed a card for a 92-year-old woman who had fallen and broken her hip just before the retreat. This year, we were delighted to get to meet her, and to find out what lay behind her injury. Probably she is one of the older people to collect Workman's Comp, when she fell while working at the nursing home taking care of the old people. Now she's 93, and going strong again. </div>
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I led out in the music for both years, which was oodles of fun, joy, and blessings, and enjoyed the speaker tremendously. Tina already put quite a bit of info on <a href="http://westbylife.blogspot.com/2013/09/short-sheets-and-lemonade.html" target="_blank">her blog</a>, so I won't repeat her. Though let me clarify that I was short-BLANKETED, not short-sheeted. And short-blanketing just doesn't work so well. A beautiful hotel in the mountains, with maid service and someone else doing all the cooking for me, was amazing, but the privilege of music didn't leave much time for photography. </div>
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Still, early Sunday morning I managed to slip away for a short while in the fog. I came back soaked to the knee, damp head to toe, and purely delighted with my walk. Hope you enjoy it, too!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rock Creek Resort</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7kF-NfCaNxKMeHXS1PteEWqu1KOETWgj3jrI_x87RHDn4nh_cRs12D5UvhccuTYyda4CKQ5Ld5nX7k01kXrSb04TSpgh1-IVWfrpFISH6GcFH9qSAKvNg1lyO5kwrGS2rEFOejyqdfdi/s1600/A+Creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7kF-NfCaNxKMeHXS1PteEWqu1KOETWgj3jrI_x87RHDn4nh_cRs12D5UvhccuTYyda4CKQ5Ld5nX7k01kXrSb04TSpgh1-IVWfrpFISH6GcFH9qSAKvNg1lyO5kwrGS2rEFOejyqdfdi/s320/A+Creek.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock Creek - after more<br />
than 24 hours<br />
of hard rain.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dewdrop Landscape</span></td></tr>
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And all too quickly, the moment of respite was gone.<br />
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Until next year, at the Yogo Inn in Lewistown, MT, September 12-14. Hope to see you there!Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-45911801296639510252013-09-28T16:03:00.002-06:002013-09-28T16:09:37.416-06:00The Fair<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ok, so in retrospect I probably should have done this a little closer to the actual event, but if I accidentally forget what I won for some of the pictures and end up showing more first place ribbons than Tina, who's actually counting? (Besides Tina.)
The Sheridan County Fair is held every year during the last weekend in July.
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What is far more important to me than how placed is how much money I won. Hey, I'm just being honest here. Most years I break about even, and it's lovely to have a hobby that pays for itself.</div>
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What is second most important to me is how I came to have the photos in the first place. Some were snapped on impulse, and others, like the one below, came at a high cost to my tender flesh. All are a part of my life, and the experience has shaped me into who I am. Because of the fair, I actually get paid for this shaping experience - sounds like a win-win to me!</div>
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The first batch of images below were all entered in the enlargement category.</div>
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1. This alkali lake is just a mile or two north of our house, barely out of town. I expected to have to fight the mosquitoes, which are usually bad by the lakes. Instead, I was mightily beset by biting flies,each trying to get their pound of flesh in the first bite. For many, their first bite was also their last. I was rather thankful that no one went by, gawking as I tried to snap photos between convulsions. 1st Place<br />
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2. Technically not a sparrow, but looking very much like one, this little bird flew out of the nest before it was strong enough to fly back. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Devon held it for a moment for me before I hoisted him on my shoulders to put it back. You'll see its green-headed parent below. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZG5WOCzAApGS0r4P028mhxpZtEFPYcKu7DIYZ5aDj8_m1pkrziTl_XN8S1CRUnkoI_DXhajYH8gQWs_9nNbWZlZqWam2ZlMmRloF_wHDIoUQB5uEKrCUeBIImcXYPdBh6LXLJZhO90MB/s1600/Baby+Bird+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZG5WOCzAApGS0r4P028mhxpZtEFPYcKu7DIYZ5aDj8_m1pkrziTl_XN8S1CRUnkoI_DXhajYH8gQWs_9nNbWZlZqWam2ZlMmRloF_wHDIoUQB5uEKrCUeBIImcXYPdBh6LXLJZhO90MB/s400/Baby+Bird+22.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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3. This boot picture was taken in honor of the young brother and sister who drowned together at nearby Medicine Lake. They both loved to wear cowboy boots on every possible occasion. Each time I see this picture, it reminds me to say a prayer for their grieving family. 2nd Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmi2bJrvCpAFacJgeRq3yx3yF-2s0YMZ8bfQeoydeopks4VA2xmy4FbhyDIKtBgxbIazz-HpxM8VSJNmMpMjDRwh7Ict1wfIoVK5Zt5ufRwky_yxErYQLjUWFLq3nr46MkU4G6QyagqW2/s1600/Boots+28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmi2bJrvCpAFacJgeRq3yx3yF-2s0YMZ8bfQeoydeopks4VA2xmy4FbhyDIKtBgxbIazz-HpxM8VSJNmMpMjDRwh7Ict1wfIoVK5Zt5ufRwky_yxErYQLjUWFLq3nr46MkU4G6QyagqW2/s640/Boots+28.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
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4. This wild shot was of Clancy yawning while wearing the Cone of Shame due to an ear infection called Pillow Ear. He had to wear this for WEEKS, and was so thrilled when it finally came off that he could barely walk straight. 2nd Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-0gcnpVdSQqAcNRx7NTxxU4jto3GbZ0mDB1lITAbvH2Yu5Y3zuhxQPdbwrVAdNmbL8hLUbdVwCZFjdS0BGQNVA6CLuJKPM6dm7NHFoce35xnqXuX3mjyH39n91KcHAZmg8FdgCc5sRWH/s1600/Clancy+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-0gcnpVdSQqAcNRx7NTxxU4jto3GbZ0mDB1lITAbvH2Yu5Y3zuhxQPdbwrVAdNmbL8hLUbdVwCZFjdS0BGQNVA6CLuJKPM6dm7NHFoce35xnqXuX3mjyH39n91KcHAZmg8FdgCc5sRWH/s320/Clancy+19.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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5. While at the farm, Damon and Devon both spent time in the pen with the bottle-fed calves. It was an entirely new experience to have their elbows, and any other bit of salty skin, slurped and slobbered on. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgct9SEMFBvJJblRlhuCuyGLlZYqq7OMBlpezYVvECDIEs_7pCKW11QpEvwp7KY4PgsQhgIhy2S2tljMPS7ZJZmN_MDp-TzSwA02nNnZ9okx0RuPIlD84Rlfr_C6ZOF3KQ7f7XqbZWWm1J0/s1600/Devon+and+Calf+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgct9SEMFBvJJblRlhuCuyGLlZYqq7OMBlpezYVvECDIEs_7pCKW11QpEvwp7KY4PgsQhgIhy2S2tljMPS7ZJZmN_MDp-TzSwA02nNnZ9okx0RuPIlD84Rlfr_C6ZOF3KQ7f7XqbZWWm1J0/s400/Devon+and+Calf+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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6. This gorgeous flag is located at one of the ranger stations in Yellowstone National Park. Tiggy gets credit for finding the shot first, but since she accidentally mixed her entries up and couldn't enter her flag picture, I got to enter mine. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG07EcOiFMH2T2cxQNEs5K1huj4Ow5gmDGHkblZUnThZNTg9Fd0EFl8fiCLuSOHOKsae35DzZNQcd_P9oWh-Leg6A7XnQR4JyB7ByHmaWD_U1YrS0Hm743_kdjAT79SJEJKGC6Kyz_6gi/s1600/Flag+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG07EcOiFMH2T2cxQNEs5K1huj4Ow5gmDGHkblZUnThZNTg9Fd0EFl8fiCLuSOHOKsae35DzZNQcd_P9oWh-Leg6A7XnQR4JyB7ByHmaWD_U1YrS0Hm743_kdjAT79SJEJKGC6Kyz_6gi/s400/Flag+25.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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7. This adorable little green-headed bird worked very hard to feed its babies, in a nest located just above the doorway of the farmhouse Mom, Dad, Tina, and assorted children occupied while in Wisconsin. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeT_q4NLMH2NfYaeunQzbrswADU4v0sujhoJfEmww2fHeeTvFWpdbWNcErlg3oOns1HdJGTSuqCjsIskzSNpKIRrje_kJC5_sNSo5BTysNrxAJ-7f6ny-kKhifOHaNUWRZbkWqYaUS_y2/s1600/Eating+Butterfly+29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeT_q4NLMH2NfYaeunQzbrswADU4v0sujhoJfEmww2fHeeTvFWpdbWNcErlg3oOns1HdJGTSuqCjsIskzSNpKIRrje_kJC5_sNSo5BTysNrxAJ-7f6ny-kKhifOHaNUWRZbkWqYaUS_y2/s640/Eating+Butterfly+29.jpg" width="440" /></a></div>
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8. As the only one with a tripod, I kinda have the time exposure slot all to myself. This sunset at the farm was made extra exciting by the field of fireflies in the foreground. Upon our return, I saw fireflies out here for the first time, along Tina's driveway. 2nd Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq_gVjSfPAnbb6uDOdIjPW4ZYyDWci6UWAZedw8A11VNNBEeTJradsmpFQDQZxKbDzSat8dw9qGqnMhkrPQEgSjpDKC0cAZ7NER5ZcoSX2xnSKlx88SpPU-QWbyH2T_gL6pZKEbMZDLsq/s1600/Farm+at+Night+31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq_gVjSfPAnbb6uDOdIjPW4ZYyDWci6UWAZedw8A11VNNBEeTJradsmpFQDQZxKbDzSat8dw9qGqnMhkrPQEgSjpDKC0cAZ7NER5ZcoSX2xnSKlx88SpPU-QWbyH2T_gL6pZKEbMZDLsq/s400/Farm+at+Night+31.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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9. Nearly all my fair pictures with a person involved contained Devon. Well, he moves really fast and is always in the middle of everything. Our spring trip to Makoshika State Park was no exception. 1st Place]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEj8svp3DXivPEdIKONmSx4NJGhRBsHLsrLCWk9M924N9xMpHNggECCZzfor2nxL55fkhCRRAxtMJpdy3u8kA8az1_43E2A3FjU0Kf2Yi_5wCE8vdmbzFK4V9sBaKlSFwCYMRl3wYwEf-/s1600/Mountain+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEj8svp3DXivPEdIKONmSx4NJGhRBsHLsrLCWk9M924N9xMpHNggECCZzfor2nxL55fkhCRRAxtMJpdy3u8kA8az1_43E2A3FjU0Kf2Yi_5wCE8vdmbzFK4V9sBaKlSFwCYMRl3wYwEf-/s400/Mountain+18.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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10. These lovely orchids belong to Eldine and Margie, our cousins who housed us in Wisconsin. 2nd Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcOBxFLBrBYifsZ297u2vJY_tzVcypryjqWaPckHWPwq2DybaBxUXGRbUToaDgOSikaf4_LcZqMfDStTM6kbQSIrSR1hOpZFhVSZbcrJMy_JFAGqazNGYIqjCbt9gfWYIQQItfEIRhQuB/s1600/Orchids+11+Take+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcOBxFLBrBYifsZ297u2vJY_tzVcypryjqWaPckHWPwq2DybaBxUXGRbUToaDgOSikaf4_LcZqMfDStTM6kbQSIrSR1hOpZFhVSZbcrJMy_JFAGqazNGYIqjCbt9gfWYIQQItfEIRhQuB/s400/Orchids+11+Take+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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11. This was the moment before Damon and Devon almost blew away with this retired smokejumper, in West Yellowstone, MT. Thanks for Entering<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1d1g80dwZ9px4AvgCGW0H7epsyN_fwqJgHtuH2M8Ilz24XG2NgDwCheuMTafdMU48OODELZnpjWkugxC9xmtttIibW585brVhGr04Rirgb7ZFAqJR8lQiVxUjr5-djwlPSQvM-6dvV1O/s1600/Parachute+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1d1g80dwZ9px4AvgCGW0H7epsyN_fwqJgHtuH2M8Ilz24XG2NgDwCheuMTafdMU48OODELZnpjWkugxC9xmtttIibW585brVhGr04Rirgb7ZFAqJR8lQiVxUjr5-djwlPSQvM-6dvV1O/s320/Parachute+9.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
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12. These miniature snow drifts from last winter still give me a chill looking at them. It must have been about 20 below, not bad but a lot colder than it is now! 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivi7kPvPJXwZorxfqJ_WWHrc0PHKCKr8wdJm8WYoikRru9-T9GyoyC9idvRRGj8GkVgBJ7_d0auOXPoVQdQgzCli-2wNENiLIHbnDtHURmRNK30mov0UOgNUUjrPNfs6Xs5a_PYkfbH8_l/s1600/Snow+Abstract+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivi7kPvPJXwZorxfqJ_WWHrc0PHKCKr8wdJm8WYoikRru9-T9GyoyC9idvRRGj8GkVgBJ7_d0auOXPoVQdQgzCli-2wNENiLIHbnDtHURmRNK30mov0UOgNUUjrPNfs6Xs5a_PYkfbH8_l/s400/Snow+Abstract+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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13. Another wintertime photo, this portrait of Tiggy evokes shivers despite its warm tones. I adjusted the color myself so it wouldn't look so completely frigit. 2nd Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZHtzlDAOb4PsquQz1UDqZTkvFGsXGVk0CdahoYxRzF27bCv2fDsZGOIMc_EtMe6goCgeeA0RUDOMxsvdE_kmZIrY0IZbtV2cLi9WadSKraW_ZRCYeagRBbzJVCu6jrUuUpSmmxbVUacf/s1600/Tiggy+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZHtzlDAOb4PsquQz1UDqZTkvFGsXGVk0CdahoYxRzF27bCv2fDsZGOIMc_EtMe6goCgeeA0RUDOMxsvdE_kmZIrY0IZbtV2cLi9WadSKraW_ZRCYeagRBbzJVCu6jrUuUpSmmxbVUacf/s400/Tiggy+21.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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14. Yo usaw this tractor from the rear at the beginning of the previous blog post, being driven by my cousin, Pat. When he was done, he conveniently parked it in front of a sunset. Thanks, Pat! 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHvnpVkI-vFtcv40LoSB8QfW2R3BzO_Uao_b1nmO282xuONU5fjcHVGkTtp-Ru6NS6lTQfWbQHBa9PbL8gBlBZjEA9Mppwk7TfkdR1KGyODZ79PHPYvTnE5B-jNeHD3loGMoNnHVkb_l_/s1600/Tractor+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHvnpVkI-vFtcv40LoSB8QfW2R3BzO_Uao_b1nmO282xuONU5fjcHVGkTtp-Ru6NS6lTQfWbQHBa9PbL8gBlBZjEA9Mppwk7TfkdR1KGyODZ79PHPYvTnE5B-jNeHD3loGMoNnHVkb_l_/s640/Tractor+3.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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15. Upon our arrival at the Wisconsin Dells, Tina was still trying to find a cooler place to park the dogs for our boat ride, since it was uncomfortably hot even in the shade. Just as she found one tiny little shady spot, we found out that if we rode the Duck Tours, we could actually bring them with us! The Duck Tours use some old amphibious vehicles recommissioned after WWII, and the dogs were just a tad bit nervous as our "cars" drove off the edge and into the water. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj01JvaVYCVdxGDyhhHj58BNV36-AeE-kcopRNKpYEjkIf8JbthjW9KPkrjNPr-EE1R54x63HyhVFpEYOhzuo-hS_dzwnKS9wvTBhI2NIfuM7YlelPCkVU28uP1Kezcr4XwQrJ72M3Wfv/s1600/Wisconsin+Dells+Power+Plant+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj01JvaVYCVdxGDyhhHj58BNV36-AeE-kcopRNKpYEjkIf8JbthjW9KPkrjNPr-EE1R54x63HyhVFpEYOhzuo-hS_dzwnKS9wvTBhI2NIfuM7YlelPCkVU28uP1Kezcr4XwQrJ72M3Wfv/s400/Wisconsin+Dells+Power+Plant+27.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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16. This picture...about my favorite of anything I've ever taken...almost didn't happen. A certain husband, we'll call him "Mack" to avoid embarrassing him, hogged the window seat. I practically fell in his lap trying to lean through and capture this image at the right moment. It was close, but I made it! 1st Place and Special Award<br />
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17. While camping at West Yellowstone, we visited the Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center. As I mentioned before, it's well worth the price of admission, especially since each ticket is good for two days. This incredible wolf posed for me in broad daylight, but a smidge of magic created the illusion of moonlight in the forest. 2nd Place<br />
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18. This photo gives no evidence of what happened just a split second later. By the time these two hit the ground, Devon had somehow managed to flip around and land on top of his opponent, neatly pinning him. 1st Place<br />
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The following photos were entered in the 4x6 category. Tina does not permit these ribbons to be counted with the others. But since the ribbons still came with cash prizes, I'm content to let the ribbon count fall where it may.<br />
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1. Another fun moment at the Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center - one of the few places you can get close-ups of grizzly nose hairs in complete and total safety. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQN32EKUbJatKGELlBqtjLitBxjavmEaFkPMhDNXVZyjA9CF40IWmiioEmVXk0vgY5JaRLIj2lt808MhKVvJ5EAcGYvI6QI3hjalyNs4cbYDtR4dofoTYfzUWN7UIrglAKAzh5dU8bg30/s1600/Bear+Smiling+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQN32EKUbJatKGELlBqtjLitBxjavmEaFkPMhDNXVZyjA9CF40IWmiioEmVXk0vgY5JaRLIj2lt808MhKVvJ5EAcGYvI6QI3hjalyNs4cbYDtR4dofoTYfzUWN7UIrglAKAzh5dU8bg30/s400/Bear+Smiling+5.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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2. During camp meeting, some of the little girls discovered this colorful swallowtail outside our building. It must have just emerged recently, since it didn't fly away when they held their hands out to be walked on. Everyone who wanted to took their turn gently holding it, before putting it on this bush to finish hardening its wings and preparing to fly. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthBIwSGAZk3lwchzESopl097z2WitesDbWjW9VCXZOzqosmYqiykTaGY9ppb5HvfY5XVUbghKt6MwxGFH37s3-s9sdmOLvWwys7OPMsIeDqCnVFVSZa4DRS9N1c8h4OpHqQ_iMbTFo03L/s1600/Butterfly+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthBIwSGAZk3lwchzESopl097z2WitesDbWjW9VCXZOzqosmYqiykTaGY9ppb5HvfY5XVUbghKt6MwxGFH37s3-s9sdmOLvWwys7OPMsIeDqCnVFVSZa4DRS9N1c8h4OpHqQ_iMbTFo03L/s400/Butterfly+20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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3. Firework time exposures - my favorite part of the 4th of July, except for the veggie burgers. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWOxGnDHO72VHJi55rF3D3se4uGF70u27IOXZAECwXBvEy4OLX-QUDj54ptPcG3xjTNlJFGEql3AyHkcTFKckBUOsccLaZBN0NoH3CLrg5Gpe8psEOJ0Q5XUzDGvI0gh1BQGGGSpBzorH/s1600/Fireworks+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWOxGnDHO72VHJi55rF3D3se4uGF70u27IOXZAECwXBvEy4OLX-QUDj54ptPcG3xjTNlJFGEql3AyHkcTFKckBUOsccLaZBN0NoH3CLrg5Gpe8psEOJ0Q5XUzDGvI0gh1BQGGGSpBzorH/s400/Fireworks+17.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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4. From the raptor section of the Grizzly and Wolf DC, comes this cute Great Horned Owl pedestrian. Found near a highway, having blown out of his nest during a storm, he imprinted on humans and has a few odd quirks to him. Thanks for Entering<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_32mg12wCEkQ1s_MLEUfTjE4_nuJWkuwax64-futPEz0XZLoZknzmxtROpY5fc5wDVFF0cMJYs_Oy9fL1QtnLKPveegPPBlqkdR7NzpXWquodbT915yDc0bBp5Vj4dxz7jmEXSuBneNa/s1600/Owl+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_32mg12wCEkQ1s_MLEUfTjE4_nuJWkuwax64-futPEz0XZLoZknzmxtROpY5fc5wDVFF0cMJYs_Oy9fL1QtnLKPveegPPBlqkdR7NzpXWquodbT915yDc0bBp5Vj4dxz7jmEXSuBneNa/s640/Owl+10.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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5. These pink bits of wonderness grew in the flowerbed next to Eldine and Margie's house in Wisconsin. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY208C6b9C1F-YtJ7Qv9X19CTnEJWmcFI_TUcreCatpniKoyt-TZoG-19wF9RsbAcglfn518NADT61AAILB0aHAFQ3pR9n-TO6ysWYAJkptj7D0J3lh9hkbaVIOqSleJyfr8C0nGFe2A_C/s1600/WI+Flowers+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY208C6b9C1F-YtJ7Qv9X19CTnEJWmcFI_TUcreCatpniKoyt-TZoG-19wF9RsbAcglfn518NADT61AAILB0aHAFQ3pR9n-TO6ysWYAJkptj7D0J3lh9hkbaVIOqSleJyfr8C0nGFe2A_C/s400/WI+Flowers+15.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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6. By now, you'll probably be surprised to hear that these wolves also come from the G&W DC in West Yellowstone. We were just about to leave, in the late afternoon, when a fender-bender just down the street brought a fleet of vehicles with sirens. Immediately, every wolf in the place began to howl, and I left the grizzly pen at a run. This particular photo was taken through a chain link fence, but one advantage of a zoom lens is the narrow depth of field. Translation: the fence was so out-of-focus it didn't even show. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjr0YZusuMICkdt5XhNkFJFIzBrq_AiqYAy2U2rz-iLxRvQTxbhfaCz-MX-ThJRYHY_5KscC1Fij9aeQii6sPYmrT1xMWAAn28NDvWhHP6rgrezn9ujBu8qdzA_eMxaIIVbUsWjry2BHt/s1600/Wolves+Howling+39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjr0YZusuMICkdt5XhNkFJFIzBrq_AiqYAy2U2rz-iLxRvQTxbhfaCz-MX-ThJRYHY_5KscC1Fij9aeQii6sPYmrT1xMWAAn28NDvWhHP6rgrezn9ujBu8qdzA_eMxaIIVbUsWjry2BHt/s640/Wolves+Howling+39.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
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7. Without the trip to Wisconsin and the G&W DC I wouldn't have had much of a showing.This wasn't the only bald eagle image I captured, but the fair only has so many animal categories. 1st Place<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg09KAWCw25nywpCbQaaWwJ1SJKX3HRWyXex8-Um9PhWciDYzorv55JtnFeOqvxv-fFkmnEwaOvWjtNhrqYfPyH-gr0Usxlen_kMw6_cq9_mtaGpsXNYOEgUNqeblMxSCInLorRybIsJJ7/s1600/Eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg09KAWCw25nywpCbQaaWwJ1SJKX3HRWyXex8-Um9PhWciDYzorv55JtnFeOqvxv-fFkmnEwaOvWjtNhrqYfPyH-gr0Usxlen_kMw6_cq9_mtaGpsXNYOEgUNqeblMxSCInLorRybIsJJ7/s400/Eagle.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
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There was one more piece of artwork, which I don't have a photo of. It was a mixed media art piece, taken originally as a photo of a hummingbird in Eldine and Margie's flowering plant. The hummingbird turned out blurry, along with some of the important leaves and flowers, so I printed up the photo and oil painted over any parts that needed it. I was less than thrilled with the results, but decided to enter it anyway, since even if it only got a 3rd place there would still be a small sum of money involved. If you haven't already picked up on this, I'm not exactly one of those art purists who believe that art should only be for the sake of art, with no considerations of filthy lucre. Though filthy lucre shouldn't be the center of our lives, or the recipient of our love, or even our main priority, without it there would be no important things like CAT FOOD AND TOILET PAPER, okay???</div>
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The big problem was that when I went to pick up the photo/painting on my way to the fairgrounds to turn it in, the paint still wasn't dry. Oh well, I had some wood sealer spray handy, and sealer is sealer, right? It didn't say NOT FOR USE ON PHOTOGRAPHS, so I dashed outside and sprayed away. And stared in horror, mouth agape, as the picture began to melt. </div>
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Oh good, at least it was a quick-dry sealer, so the melting stopped fairly quickly. The peppery result somewhat resembled the salt technique used in watercolors. I convinced myself that it might even look better now than it had before. Surely my little mishap hadn't completely X'd me out of any chance of a 3rd place...</div>
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I was happy enough with the results of my photos that I almost didn't care how the poor, abused hummingbird had wound up...until I found out that it had not only place 1st, but won a Special Award besides!!! And if I haven't mentioned it before, Special Awards = Cash. THANK YOU LOCAL BUSINESSES!!!!!!!!!!!!</div>
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Tina was pretty happy with her Special Award, and gloating in a most unbecoming manner, up until she found out that Tiggy and I each had two, and Mom had THREE for her sewing projects. The only person who tied with Tina for Special Awards was Devon, who also had one. Suddenly, she no longer felt quite as Special. Or as Awarded.</div>
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So she consoled herself with the most number of 1st place ribbons. And I consoled myself with the most prize money. And we were both very happy!</div>
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We were already planning next year's entries before this year's had grown cold. She has some amazing portraits and landscapes already, and I have a stunning Least Weasel closeup. Cue the dueling banjos, boys, and get ready for Fair 2014, coming soon to a sibling rivalry near you!</div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-65495463406328235872013-09-28T13:51:00.001-06:002013-09-28T14:23:26.012-06:00On the Farm<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 124.5pt; text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXzreC_Lj25Tdp5fQxtq3KZDofawNyZRN9MxWteg1bGr6oAcIA3VEI-XorG9-l_vwHhnZnbfaUnhK0kQW0hLrLCPstR44bMNpSospJ6TWPGveAlWJmy9JegNqp2zx3vjo_92-dfTCpE8y/s1600/Patrick+Tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXzreC_Lj25Tdp5fQxtq3KZDofawNyZRN9MxWteg1bGr6oAcIA3VEI-XorG9-l_vwHhnZnbfaUnhK0kQW0hLrLCPstR44bMNpSospJ6TWPGveAlWJmy9JegNqp2zx3vjo_92-dfTCpE8y/s400/Patrick+Tractor.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousin Pat</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">June 23, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One
day and two nights, that was all the time we could allot for our visit. Far
from ending our day, the conclusion of the services in the cemetery signaled the
start of another round of visiting. It took only moments to change out of our
duds so we could go to The Farm. As in dairy, not CIA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOY-gjlgQeLgbIKVBHDa7IXsqZBeX9WQcY56yPHTI_WEYCYiHzfcRqbieDil1ctLqU7FyGkqELEbIB4Hdwl2a5Izm83pRPrcFIH9PBJ7KpBNL5q5rbikgBe1N7nYIBJYOGXqRFBO2RoC6/s1600/Jack+and+Pat.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOY-gjlgQeLgbIKVBHDa7IXsqZBeX9WQcY56yPHTI_WEYCYiHzfcRqbieDil1ctLqU7FyGkqELEbIB4Hdwl2a5Izm83pRPrcFIH9PBJ7KpBNL5q5rbikgBe1N7nYIBJYOGXqRFBO2RoC6/s200/Jack+and+Pat.png" width="165" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack and Patrick</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From
my earliest years, The Farm was a place of mystery and wonder. My own first
visit took place at the age of seven, with Grandpa and Grandma as my tour guides.
At that time, my cousins seemed vastly old and mature compared to me, practically
geezers, though the youngest was only twelve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
kids were 5, 2, and 6 months on their first trip, and our cousins hadn't seen Devon
since then, until he turned up for the funeral at the age of 12, and almost as
tall as I am. Jack and I were able to stop by overnight a few years back, unfortunately with no children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jack
went straight to the barn. Having lived his early years on a dairy farm
himself, he feels right at home there. You’d never know the cousins were his
only by marriage, since they all bonded immediately the very first time they
laid eyes on each other. The rest of us paid a visit to the old homestead
first, even Mom on her broken foot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphb5xoAIiEluYVZa1NSs1gtpbcuU0Xdc4s87fiCpXOHq2RqxfecPdtz16sYtX6nCYnhmouGk66ZNN0B5CSaI4tLm539217b49dPmzcliT94J74Kz2Gs17dNJ0tWpZNpuAxXyfBFO2LvSz/s1600/Mom+Crutches.png" 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/AVvXsEiphb5xoAIiEluYVZa1NSs1gtpbcuU0Xdc4s87fiCpXOHq2RqxfecPdtz16sYtX6nCYnhmouGk66ZNN0B5CSaI4tLm539217b49dPmzcliT94J74Kz2Gs17dNJ0tWpZNpuAxXyfBFO2LvSz/s320/Mom+Crutches.png" width="214" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
this time, she had crutches, not that it was much of an asset while picking her
way through near-jungle conditions to the abandoned site of Grandma’s birth.
The original house, the one Grandma kept trying to walk to in her later years,
had burned down long ago. Another house had been built on the same foundation,
just large enough to accommodate her brother, Philip. After his death, it was
no longer used. The old barn, which burned at the same time as the first house,
still lies in a delightful ruin, full of exciting artifacts. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5xgKdBy-eHOWrei6e6BUCEBJ-x72DHydJuLqd1YrJLE8LEYTxNPGeVuAXH3mKj5IA2GjUo7RwA-pzRip0Ok7WTTWP3zJ3kJPWR0c5S32qTCYQEi5BkQSNzyVNxf9xMDwm_SmNmlUjxL8/s1600/Old+Farmhouse+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5xgKdBy-eHOWrei6e6BUCEBJ-x72DHydJuLqd1YrJLE8LEYTxNPGeVuAXH3mKj5IA2GjUo7RwA-pzRip0Ok7WTTWP3zJ3kJPWR0c5S32qTCYQEi5BkQSNzyVNxf9xMDwm_SmNmlUjxL8/s400/Old+Farmhouse+2.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Old Farmstead</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrj8a5z9IVEXHK7Djf4CvU-DXKQIDiqRDUHo4BDb254m7OeGAvC2zMbVYTN7nUbyK0bsuawNnAdSJRJmVZ1mQIzjJXS8Ix4dSumN5vIwAsZrI1oszBwdhQpP7NUlOrVFhQUHBUGfdVmpZ/s1600/Old+Farmhouse.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrj8a5z9IVEXHK7Djf4CvU-DXKQIDiqRDUHo4BDb254m7OeGAvC2zMbVYTN7nUbyK0bsuawNnAdSJRJmVZ1mQIzjJXS8Ix4dSumN5vIwAsZrI1oszBwdhQpP7NUlOrVFhQUHBUGfdVmpZ/s200/Old+Farmhouse.png" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsnkQ2dyeUcIp5i3AXetKkFAlGDWNO_2MoaNFoojOFNZjqTZs5ywxEr9GvEfOyV0tKkBygtW4Vg4rAoRHEs5mbxzEbjoKB5PP95Q4VKD8ISRa9k10VcCDR4s8NtChFP7gsE9wibI_BYV1/s1600/Old+Barn.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsnkQ2dyeUcIp5i3AXetKkFAlGDWNO_2MoaNFoojOFNZjqTZs5ywxEr9GvEfOyV0tKkBygtW4Vg4rAoRHEs5mbxzEbjoKB5PP95Q4VKD8ISRa9k10VcCDR4s8NtChFP7gsE9wibI_BYV1/s320/Old+Barn.png" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burned-out Old Barn</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Our cousins' barn, which did not burn down, remains the hub of The Farm, and the family. It looks the same as when I
first saw it 34 years ago. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QIJu7yty8fMpeoEkqZni-fiM_kOICv6Ltwjvnc08ix_cSGQcr9TY8jxMtHEjZT1FMzvZ0AK5ECHp6a6YMw6ypuRMltLFv7_6h_1ZsIonuorKM4JYcNlAr7C89m6UCjJEmCA0lvFOcBPl/s1600/The+Barn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QIJu7yty8fMpeoEkqZni-fiM_kOICv6Ltwjvnc08ix_cSGQcr9TY8jxMtHEjZT1FMzvZ0AK5ECHp6a6YMw6ypuRMltLFv7_6h_1ZsIonuorKM4JYcNlAr7C89m6UCjJEmCA0lvFOcBPl/s400/The+Barn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Barn<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">Probably it looks the same as when Mom saw it
never-mind-how-many years ago. More than 34. The descendants of Tina the Cow
still roam the pastures, and come in twice each day for milking. A local cheese
company buys all the milk from The Farm, and many others nearby. Our cousins
grow their own hay and other crops, even producing their own maple syrup. It’s
all wonderful, but the best part of The Farm is our family.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg100ib7f1k2-zlnzwV_tGy40ZTt5l-ZtiLaAJOxK3-fqgVsgM6rkFBwJpTT5ZtZJE4-JzJXfehTAQVXCkDzW6GztWgt7FLqUO1hTEzR7igWJgeHFJ7SRwVPWrsD3whmeDQrsYh-6HshOi6/s1600/Family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg100ib7f1k2-zlnzwV_tGy40ZTt5l-ZtiLaAJOxK3-fqgVsgM6rkFBwJpTT5ZtZJE4-JzJXfehTAQVXCkDzW6GztWgt7FLqUO1hTEzR7igWJgeHFJ7SRwVPWrsD3whmeDQrsYh-6HshOi6/s320/Family.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">L-R: Me, Patsy, Pat, Cora,<br />Devon and Jack, Mom,<br />Caleb, Damon, Tina,<br />Peter, Tiggy, Harold, Dad,<br />and Dorothy. This was<br />only a small part of the family<br />that we saw.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">We
were up late that night, trying to crowd just a few more hours of visiting in.
There just wasn’t enough time to say everything we wanted. I can’t wait to go
back! Plus, I didn't get nearly enough pictures of my cousins.</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Trip Home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…was
much less eventful than the trip out. No thunderstorms, no flat tires, no caskets
in the trailer. We took a boat ride at the Wisconsin Dells on our way out,
which was also my idea. Besides liking the Dells, I thought it would be a good
chance to decompress a bit after the emotional week we’d all had, and visiting
a neat place we’d been with Grandpa and Grandma seemed like it would be perfect. And it
was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d
been working on photos to enter in the fair for the entire year, but on the
trip to Wisconsin I greatly expanded my stock. Watch for the fair blog post to
see the results. I’ll tell you right now that Tina got more ribbons than I did,
and I’m fine with that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0ZVctOuH3D7bmDlbXhJM5zc9GSUwu9Y2QwI8oKRcPwSP-UfMVxaEcOeoifK7PUOT4p75g63soIoBzLH7o0tFCPZNV0rGj0LrRnqk-J2Bpx2Xy509yg8XKsDuLlrLQErSL0zUyJv7WUHW/s1600/Cows+in+the+Dark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0ZVctOuH3D7bmDlbXhJM5zc9GSUwu9Y2QwI8oKRcPwSP-UfMVxaEcOeoifK7PUOT4p75g63soIoBzLH7o0tFCPZNV0rGj0LrRnqk-J2Bpx2Xy509yg8XKsDuLlrLQErSL0zUyJv7WUHW/s640/Cows+in+the+Dark.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">WE ARE WATCHING</span></td></tr>
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Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-6896483092055674522013-09-06T10:54:00.001-06:002013-09-06T10:58:13.954-06:00Evading the Game Warden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVZIsezdQM2iL0agfXjQ08KX79INpXTZY-VhqoeSXHfKT8LAUvgqf0rt2AdVhrJnewLl0q46-IkTAs8mDU74GmEWJS0iL_KLTXX-VsYDqkd4GdPvgKYYV1r5sLuFtbet-AHuYSlI8IOLp/s1600/Deer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVZIsezdQM2iL0agfXjQ08KX79INpXTZY-VhqoeSXHfKT8LAUvgqf0rt2AdVhrJnewLl0q46-IkTAs8mDU74GmEWJS0iL_KLTXX-VsYDqkd4GdPvgKYYV1r5sLuFtbet-AHuYSlI8IOLp/s400/Deer.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Disclaimer
#1: You all know me, right? You know that I would never advocate killing sweet (or not so sweet) little (or not so little) animals illegally, right? Or breaking the law at all, </span><b style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><u>right</u></i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">? I mean, I even obey the speed limits when no one is looking. When I see a highway patrol, I don't even glance at my speedometer - I just wave. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">This post was written a
few years back, and is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least on my end. (And not
tongue-in-cheek at all on the part of my interviewee.) Bottom line: DO NOT
POACH!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Disclaimer
#2: All information has been changed to protect the identity of the person who
shared this fascinating array of information with me. I will confirm that his
actual gender was male (not that there would be any question in your mind after
reading this), but all other details have been changed. I won’t even tell you
which state he comes from. The fact that I’m thinking of him right after a
visit to Wisconsin is probably just coincidence. But even if an enterprising
game warden did correctly identify my male relative, he is now deceased, and
beyond the reach of any law except God’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Great-uncle
Danny was considered by many to be the black sheep of the family. If what he
told me a few years ago was any indication, Grandpa and Grandma probably had to
work very hard to keep my horizons from being too quickly expanded at a tender
age, when I first met Uncle Danny. Mom said they probably had to work pretty
hard when she was little, too, to keep her from learning a variety of colorful
expressions and family anecdotes. `<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When
I saw Uncle Danny last, shortly before he died, I was a little surprised to
find that he’d been carefully watching world events, and firmly believed that
Jesus is coming soon. His growing convictions were a radical departure from the
wild life he’d led. (Grandpa’s years of prayer on his behalf may have
contributed to the change.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps
sensing that his time were getting short, Uncle Danny may have wanted to make
sure that his extensive knowledge of poaching wasn’t lost to posterity, and I’m
not talking about eggs. He’s what I would consider a vestigial mountain man,
one of those old-time fellas who grew up back when you could kill anything, any
time you needed to. Game laws have grown to be second nature for most of us,
but for those who first saw them implemented, they must have seemed terribly
restrictive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some
adapted well to the increased regulations, and others went the road of Uncle
Danny, doing everything within their power to outwit the game wardens. REMEMBER,
NO POACHING!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">April
25, 2008<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">HOW TO POACH</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">General poaching rules:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Never poach in the same place twice.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Don't get caught.</span></div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">How to poach fish:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">(Note: in a certain unnamed state, spear-fishing is illegal except for Native
Americans.)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Remember that the refraction of the light in the water causes the fish to appear
in a position that is slightly off from its actual location, so aim the spear
where its head is. You should then strike it in the middle.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Don't catch more than you can carry in one load.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">3. As soon as you get back to the car, hide it in the trunk and change out of
your boots.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">4. When the game warden shows up, tell him you weren't spear fishing, but
another car pulled away just as you got there. The warden will be fooled.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">5. Quickly take your catch to your friend's house and pull into his garage with
all the windows blackened.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">6. Dress fish.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">7. Eat fish.</span></div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">How to poach deer:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Find a deer out of sight of the neighboring houses.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Shoot the deer in the heart. A gut shot, besides being cruel to the deer,
will mean that you are not able to track the deer through the woods and it will
be wasted.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">3. Scoop up the deer as quickly as possible, and throw it in the back of your
pickup.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">4. Drive away hastily, but not in a way that will attract attention.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">5. Take deer to friend's house, and pull into the garage with the blackened
windows.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">6. Dress deer.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">7. Eat deer.</span></div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">How to poach wolves:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Prepare a warm water bottle.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Make sure the wolf is not within sight of any houses.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">3. Shoot the wolf.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">4. Slip the water bottle under the collar around the wolf's neck, so the collar
alarm does not go off.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">5. Quickly put the wolf in your vehicle and drive away.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">6. Do not drive over 30 mph, so the collar alarm does not go off.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">7. Make sure no one is looking.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">8. Dispose of wolf where it will be difficult to locate.</span></div>
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope you’ve enjoyed
this lighthearted tribute to Uncle Danny, one of the last heroes of the Old
Ways, when you took what you needed—and only what you needed—when you needed
it. And there was always more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We live in a very
different world now. For good or for bad, it’s not the way it used to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">P.S. Remember, no poaching. Except eggs.</span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-9398543878785176552013-08-13T18:01:00.001-06:002013-08-13T18:01:34.972-06:00Laid to Rest<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCA-HaGweFie-Gy9yjsx0Pei6m2Pr9X1qOTbw2KoUzm5cf-uGvBDwKs1Fzlb6wVJt5K4IGCm276G2CCEdYSds9BkKWcYsZL4PCQck2PBTnbDPPQOVX_hfRV2iftc6s0mLdC9Xd-e-WngAi/s1600/7.jpg" 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/AVvXsEgCA-HaGweFie-Gy9yjsx0Pei6m2Pr9X1qOTbw2KoUzm5cf-uGvBDwKs1Fzlb6wVJt5K4IGCm276G2CCEdYSds9BkKWcYsZL4PCQck2PBTnbDPPQOVX_hfRV2iftc6s0mLdC9Xd-e-WngAi/s320/7.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">June 23, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom, Dad, Tiggy, Tina,
and Caleb all rode together, leaving early Sunday morning as we had originally
planned. They missed the worst of the weather, and arrived in due time late
Sunday night. Even with no flat tires, they were pretty tired, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Monday morning there
was time for a somewhat leisurely breakfast, before getting ready for the
funeral. As the morning ticked on, preparations became more and more rushed,
with curling irons and hair spray flying everywhere. Shortly before it was time
to leave, I came downstairs from my visit to the second story of the guest farmhouse,
in a bit of a hurry. Though almost ready myself, I had a bit of quick ironing
to do for the boys, and only had about 15 minutes left to finish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w0CxTYo8wBLTfbk9FAVf2pB4j1b2v5IgOr670FaysFw7OYTAPF5hKrKKc-N-1t7OFsEpg2OaXuQOqgASrDc8qlajI3ShkgUNsrZnUd-uUyd_1LCxNmpVT9R8aW_WYefFp9IAQrOAGdiN/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w0CxTYo8wBLTfbk9FAVf2pB4j1b2v5IgOr670FaysFw7OYTAPF5hKrKKc-N-1t7OFsEpg2OaXuQOqgASrDc8qlajI3ShkgUNsrZnUd-uUyd_1LCxNmpVT9R8aW_WYefFp9IAQrOAGdiN/s400/11.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Grandpa used to try to clip<br />clothespins on his nieces' noses.<br />They clothespinned his flowers<br />at the memory.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Passing through the
dining room, I saw Mom relaxing on the floor, one leg crossed casually over the
other. Tina stood there talking to her. It was a pose I’d seen many times,
since Mom likes to lie down on the floor just like that whenever she gets hot. Had
I not been in such a hurry, it might have occurred to me to wonder why she was
taking the time to lie down when she wasn’t even dressed yet, but no one ever
accused me of being a female version of Sherlock Holmes. I have yet to get a
deerstalker cap given to me for Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Turns out she had
actually fallen and broken her foot, and was lying there in casual pain whilst
her EMT daughter dashed by, oblivious. Awkward! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In my defense, let me
just say that if she didn’t have a lifelong habit of lounging about on the
floor in JUST THAT POSITION, I might not have made the mistake that I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My EMT skills weren’t
needed anyway, since about all I did was hold her upright as she dressed. And
then undressed, when she found out her dress was inside out, and then
re-dressed. (See? Other people make mistakes, too!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD53MeYaswPspqqSH7gdoSr_TENfiz8PknoaXYPNa7cbfzbp-SCJ6a_RBBe6K9WUMeZfaUKPwljI11-nML5YTSMlHjSEdDv1y8SXt4zEA4XvE0UooeTtpHC9X1NEwYSBiomGapqPq-xUXZ/s1600/1.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/AVvXsEiD53MeYaswPspqqSH7gdoSr_TENfiz8PknoaXYPNa7cbfzbp-SCJ6a_RBBe6K9WUMeZfaUKPwljI11-nML5YTSMlHjSEdDv1y8SXt4zEA4XvE0UooeTtpHC9X1NEwYSBiomGapqPq-xUXZ/s320/1.jpg" width="207" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The service was a
lovely effort by the whole family. Some of us sang, some of us spoke, and some
were pallbearers, and some did more than one of the above. Many of our dear
cousins from out of town had been able to attend, having just finished a family
reunion the day before. And all of our dear cousins who were local attended. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the service, Mom
had promised to deliver a kiss to Grandpa before he was buried. She, Tina, and
Tiggy gathered around the casket while she delivered it. As she stood on tiptoe
and leaned over, her broken foot gave out on her (surprise, surprise). She teetered
for a moment on the edge, barely escaped plunging head first into the coffin.
The rest of us were rather taken aback to have the teary group closest to
Grandpa suddenly erupt in hyena-like laughter. Had they succumbed to a moment
of hysteria, brought on by the stress of the event? Nope, they were just having a very narrow escape. Grandpa would have chortled at that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a delicious
family dinner, it was time to adjourn to the cemetery. My personal preference
is to get the burying done with first and then eat, but when the service and
dinner are more than 10 miles from the cemetery, such preferences have to give
way to practicality. We all climbed into our vehicles, and prepared to follow
the hearse and funeral home's car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OKUSdeP6pNGdtE4MJY4uesdzCRcVddwqnx_dCHurrp_7SYVCAedjLIkT3Bfz2ha8MEa_2skCVpwagoN3LzwQRYAAHMwbeOfNQYyu8J3oHbUu9PDYxHvfJnIFswbTg0nt_VCwMuRCgDfg/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OKUSdeP6pNGdtE4MJY4uesdzCRcVddwqnx_dCHurrp_7SYVCAedjLIkT3Bfz2ha8MEa_2skCVpwagoN3LzwQRYAAHMwbeOfNQYyu8J3oHbUu9PDYxHvfJnIFswbTg0nt_VCwMuRCgDfg/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom and Dad went
first, naturally, and we were just behind. A long train of cars queued up
behind us. They stayed faithfully with us, right up until the usual eastward
turn. Expressions of disbelief, and yes,
even a fair amount of guffaws broke out in our car as the hearse signaled to
turn down the “Bridge Out 9 Miles” road. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OKUSdeP6pNGdtE4MJY4uesdzCRcVddwqnx_dCHurrp_7SYVCAedjLIkT3Bfz2ha8MEa_2skCVpwagoN3LzwQRYAAHMwbeOfNQYyu8J3oHbUu9PDYxHvfJnIFswbTg0nt_VCwMuRCgDfg/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OKUSdeP6pNGdtE4MJY4uesdzCRcVddwqnx_dCHurrp_7SYVCAedjLIkT3Bfz2ha8MEa_2skCVpwagoN3LzwQRYAAHMwbeOfNQYyu8J3oHbUu9PDYxHvfJnIFswbTg0nt_VCwMuRCgDfg/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZ0wZc67AP_BPYKNzznvQQMxfA1hWUFee89wuplrlshv-hbg6mqjsVDJMu6ii-b-K8tEIXT_RmnWPdgRyxSzWf8fccY6VGE-z3t1EcEn6L99onG0P3rc5Xtx_02QuEo9B4qTm2cfQ4FdT/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZ0wZc67AP_BPYKNzznvQQMxfA1hWUFee89wuplrlshv-hbg6mqjsVDJMu6ii-b-K8tEIXT_RmnWPdgRyxSzWf8fccY6VGE-z3t1EcEn6L99onG0P3rc5Xtx_02QuEo9B4qTm2cfQ4FdT/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All the local cousins, well aware of
what waited over the first hill, .9 miles away, pulled around and passed us on
the right. Jack would have gone, too, but I begged him to follow the hearse.
How else could I have gotten pictures of it turning around? </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Now that it was
someone else’s problem to get Grandpa where he needed to go, my zest for
documentation had returned in full force.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eMZcwxayex17Pai7InuH3kCFn39s_awnuUKGeVLOHlGXMt9_o4mJMhBzZEKjZ-gGkQw0uK2Q-wlSBpnomeQvlyoNxsyPdI9e0bv6w1tmSnyQrJKC8hKmFQZhpSY5m331v7Xc48MPx61b/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eMZcwxayex17Pai7InuH3kCFn39s_awnuUKGeVLOHlGXMt9_o4mJMhBzZEKjZ-gGkQw0uK2Q-wlSBpnomeQvlyoNxsyPdI9e0bv6w1tmSnyQrJKC8hKmFQZhpSY5m331v7Xc48MPx61b/s400/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The hearse driver may
have wondered why his long procession had shrunk to only three vehicles, but he
didn’t have long to wait. Everyone else had long since arrived at the cemetery
before the chronically tardy Kenneth Day arrived, late himself, and late for
his own burying. Grandpa would have chortled.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZk5uvCaW3VKelKTB0uqIjb2bTr099yyIi99kJFvN1CQ_UrAaXYplpcmFxsVWfiyWrgel8FFxDZmLl9cmGOUo24DldjCNgaezPu0WxU4DbflLDWQhWSnvRpmG4UXKz3z-Hc97ypCg8cuo/s1600/6.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/AVvXsEiAZk5uvCaW3VKelKTB0uqIjb2bTr099yyIi99kJFvN1CQ_UrAaXYplpcmFxsVWfiyWrgel8FFxDZmLl9cmGOUo24DldjCNgaezPu0WxU4DbflLDWQhWSnvRpmG4UXKz3z-Hc97ypCg8cuo/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought it was sweet
that they had dug his grave so close to Grandma’s that the two liners were
actually touching. I wasn’t really expecting to get to see Grandma, so to
speak, but it was interesting. It was the closest any of us will be to her
again before Jesus comes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One final mishap yet
remained before Grandpa could be truly at rest. All his life, from his
mid-teens forward, he had believed and shared the Bible teaching that death is
a sleep, and that Jesus will awaken us at His coming.</span></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cliff notes version: <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">1. What is a soul? Body + Breath = Living Soul (Genesis 2:7) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Can a soul die? Yes! (Ezekiel 18:4, 20, Matthew 10:28) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3. What happens when we die? We aren’t aware of anything, and
no longer have conscious thought. (Psalm 146:3-4, Ecclesiastes 9:5-6, 10) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">4. When we die, what goes back to God? Our breath—in the
Hebrew, the word translated as “spirit” is “ruach”, which means “wind”, or “breath”.
In the Greek, it is “pneuma”, which also indicates breath. (Holy Spirit literally
= Holy Wind or Holy Breath, for example.) Remember the equation from Genesis 2,
above. Subtract the spirit, or breath, and you have no living soul. God gave us
the breath of life, and when we die, it returns to him. (Ecclesiastes 12:7)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> 5. How did Jesus
describe death? As a sleep. (John 11:11-14)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> 6. When will the
resurrection take place, and the dead live again? At Jesus’ second coming, the
end of earth as we know it. (1 Thessalonians 4: 14-18, Job 14:12-15)</span></i></div>
<i><o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For more info: <a href="http://www.amazingfacts.org/media-library/book/e/48/t/spirits-of-the-dead.aspx" target="_blank">Spirits of the Dead </a></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazingfacts.org/media-library/book/e/71/t/the-rich-man-and-lazarus.aspx" target="_blank">The Rich Man and Lazarus </a><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctfkvTP4ieV-aNWDok1PvfffmNGwQTH7czE6cM9GBFXUF_rRAd8KwOFnJ5ofLUka0jE8P6k2lDMmov_2ex6GNBJ-caczBTxYEOGWIIwbNdiREvVO6Tkavy0QqsN6gp4XliJpqrbtI2vsZ/s1600/8.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/AVvXsEgctfkvTP4ieV-aNWDok1PvfffmNGwQTH7czE6cM9GBFXUF_rRAd8KwOFnJ5ofLUka0jE8P6k2lDMmov_2ex6GNBJ-caczBTxYEOGWIIwbNdiREvVO6Tkavy0QqsN6gp4XliJpqrbtI2vsZ/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The very nice funeral
guys believed the popular teaching of the soul as a disembodied spirit leaving
the body and going to heaven, and their grand finale reflected that belief.
They had brought a whole bunch of blue helium balloons to release at the close
of the graveside service, and handed them out generously to the large family
group. As I began to see where this illustration was going, my own reaction was
gratitude for their kindness, along with the thought that this was not
the moment to interrupt their beautiful presentation with a Bible study on the
true condition of the dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisROSuE53MFHlp7pCdEAV2emm_EVFbWASdCYCZkd6w6SWzWveo6rz4cIocY7j2X-fK0wVv_VZNW2-LVMukI41uq8jHhh1p0mMCcYfQ6XFtt855vT0xbOWcJZoBjBglboBCXLLCmtemAePE/s1600/9.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/AVvXsEisROSuE53MFHlp7pCdEAV2emm_EVFbWASdCYCZkd6w6SWzWveo6rz4cIocY7j2X-fK0wVv_VZNW2-LVMukI41uq8jHhh1p0mMCcYfQ6XFtt855vT0xbOWcJZoBjBglboBCXLLCmtemAePE/s200/9.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The handsome young man
finished with a flourish. “As the soul of Kenneth Day is ascending into heaven,
so these balloons also ascend into the heavens.” Following his lead, we all released
our balloons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instantly, a stray
gust of wind blew most of the balloons into the giant, overspreading tree that
shaded that side of the cemetery, insistently lodging in its grasping branches.
A few forlorn little balloons trailed up into the sky. I’m sure I would have
remembered sooner the words of Solomon as he described the body turning to
dust, and the breath returning to God who gave it…if I hadn’t been clutching my
sides and whooping with helpless laughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Grandpa would have
chortled at that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now the day is over,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Night is drawing nigh,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shadows of the evening,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Steal across the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Father, give the weary,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Calm and sweet repose,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With Thy tenderest blessing,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May our eyelids close.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Through the long night watches,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May Thine angels spread,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Their white wings above me,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching round my bed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the morning breaketh,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And the shadows flee,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May I wake from slumber,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To ever dwell with Thee.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-61036701206208144452013-08-12T19:41:00.001-06:002013-08-13T09:15:00.099-06:00Carry Me Home<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">J</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">une 22, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Our thoughts were too
fuzzy to realize this at first, but we wouldn’t have been very nice if we woke
the funeral director up at 3 am Sunday morning to collect Grandpa. Yes,
collect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">I am from very proud
Scottish ancestry, descended from the Wallace clan. I can pinch a penny till it
screams, and I come by that trait very honestly. When Grandma died, it cost
several thousand dollars to fly her back to Wisconsin for burial from
California. That was fine at the time, but now we were only about 12 ½ hours
from Grandpa's final resting place. Why pay a large fee for airfare—and a hearse to drive him clear from Minneapolis to Bethel—when we could drive him ourselves for about
$700? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">As long as the casket
was tarped, it could even have gone in the back of a pickup or on a flatbed
trailer. Fortunately, by the time we needed to worry about it, Jack had an
enclosed cargo trailer that he uses for carrying all his tools and equipment to
job sites. With that, all we needed was a permit to transport Grandpa across
state lines, and we were good to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">As the details began
to fall into place, we realized that, for the sake of the funeral director,
we’d need to pick Grandpa up late on Sabbath. (Sundown is
well after 9pm in the summertime.) Hot on the heels of that realization was the
one that we wouldn’t be able to just lie around and sleep all night while poor
Grandpa sat out in the driveway. Even though he wouldn’t know it, we sure
would. It didn't feel respectful, somehow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Around 4pm, Jack, Dad, Jack's brother, and Caleb went to Plentywood for the all-important loading. About 7:30 they
returned, a sad blue quilt-covered box in the back. The rest of us had gotten
our stuff ready the day before, so we wouldn’t have to wait around long. While
the kids were taking a last pitstop, my young niece eyed the closed trailer. “I
don’t like dead people,” she whisperingly confided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">The first stretch was
road construction. We felt every bump and jostle with acute clarity. “Sorry
Grandpa,” Jack called again and again, of course for our sake rather than
Grandpa’s. He had lots to say about what an honor it was to transport our
beloved grandfather, and how it didn’t bother him at all to carry him, but I
noticed that EVERY SINGLE TIME WE STOPPED it was <i><u>my</u></i> privilege to open the back and make sure that, ahem,
nothing had shifted. It was only mildly nerve-wracking at the time—some of
those bumps were pretty bad, after all—but apparently my subconscious had a few
issues. About two weeks later, I had a nightmare in which the funeral guys
accidentally spilled him out onto the railroad tracks. In my dream, as they
frantically tried to put him back before anyone noticed, I was very glad that
it wasn’t my fault!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Long about 3am, we
blew a tire. It ripped the whole fender away while it was at it. We’d been creeping
along in the pouring thunderstorms for hours, and through God’s mercy our tire
went out during a brief lull. I helped Jack jack up the trailer and change onto
the spare, checked our cargo yet again, and got back in just as the heavens
re-opened and began to dump rain. At the time I didn’t take any pictures, not
exactly being in the mood to commemorate being stuck beside the deserted
highway with a body in the back, but now that my sense of humor has returned, I
wish I had. I know </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Grandpa would have had a good laugh. Not even just a plain laugh, but an outright chortle. "Oh-hohohohohohooooooo!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">The next morning, when
Jack wound down, it was my turn to have a go at it. Passing through
Minneapolis, I hit a rather </span><span style="line-height: 21px;">sizable</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> pothole. BOOM! “Sorry Grandpa,” it was my turn
to call out, as Jack jerked suddenly awake. You would think Jack had never hit
any giant potholes at all, never mind BLOWING A TIRE, to hear him tease me. I
was a trifle more nervous than usual at the next check, I will admit, but the
fellas had done a good job fastening our cargo, and it remained right where we
left it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">It was a huge relief
to finally arrive at the funeral home in Marshfield, and leave Grandpa in their
skilled care. And they were very good, too, despite the whole railroad dream
thingy later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Totally drained, we
headed for Bethel, less than 15 miles away. When we got to the easterly turn,
an orange sign proclaimed, “Bridge Out 9 miles”. Not to worry, I told Jack.
Nine miles away was just barely this side of Arpin, and Bethel was only a few
miles ahead. So we turned down the road. Popping over the first hill, we
discovered that instead of nine miles, it should have read POINT nine miles. We
gingerly turned the now-empty trailer around, and detoured to our destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">On this trip, we
stayed with my cousine, Eldine, and his wife, Margie. (Next trip, we’ll be
staying with another cousin, Patrick.) Their hospitality was a welcome relief
after the grueling trip, with storm after storm slowing us to 45 mph, and often
even less than that. Do you know how long it takes to drive to Wisconsin at 45
mph? I hope not. I wish I didn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">We visited incessantly,
right up untzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZmA9yG6cWzKChObYfDnK8JbWO2_3L0qgvQjQwDUiwQ99J4FUiXWWVayvEi2YcaCI4BEe2QeLLW8Ants7GCmX167iw6e2QT0whDRiiZbzMe-cXecdmqVczknO-oPFgJh9DbQy2rgku8yJ/s1600/IMG_7319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZmA9yG6cWzKChObYfDnK8JbWO2_3L0qgvQjQwDUiwQ99J4FUiXWWVayvEi2YcaCI4BEe2QeLLW8Ants7GCmX167iw6e2QT0whDRiiZbzMe-cXecdmqVczknO-oPFgJh9DbQy2rgku8yJ/s320/IMG_7319.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Swing Low, Sweet Chariot</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-13326738497128402172013-08-12T10:35:00.001-06:002013-08-12T10:35:58.306-06:00Last Stop, Last Stand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeNemgDW2OgZxEyqDHC-Rk0bxuQHv2ud-mnOm9qJiYLa1u8XaP6ENJlK8F45yIVCj0_QfR05uaP9NCPLz_JR92wvWV8osBCtmHd_PfolSh_KPLC9w7gMeEhDrqUEILEbMB-NsmrwIUXJV/s1600/LS+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeNemgDW2OgZxEyqDHC-Rk0bxuQHv2ud-mnOm9qJiYLa1u8XaP6ENJlK8F45yIVCj0_QfR05uaP9NCPLz_JR92wvWV8osBCtmHd_PfolSh_KPLC9w7gMeEhDrqUEILEbMB-NsmrwIUXJV/s320/LS+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">June 18, 2013</span></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The departure for
Wisconsin was scheduled for early Sunday morning, so there was plenty of time
to make our way back. We spent the night in Hardin, so we’d be right on the
spot for Jack’s first visit to Little Bighorn, another of Grandpa’s favorite
places. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://goldcountrymeetsbigsky.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-road-again-last-stand.html" target="_blank">Here is the link fromour previous trip to the battlefield</a>, on which Grandpa delightedly accompanied
us. He grew so fragile by the end that it’s a
little hard to imagine, but as recently as 2009 Tina and I took him camping
several times. We had to help him down to his bed, and haul him up again, but
he really enjoyed travelling with his grandkids and great-grandkids! As a former history teacher who had made the
past come alive for so many students, he was always enthralled to visit these
storied places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We found the quiet
visit among the dead very soothing, just as I had suspected and planned. (Not
that I’m bragging or anything. Well, not much.) We were rather disappointed to
miss the start of the battle reenactments the very next day, but made plans to
be there in 2014. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Near the visitor’s
lodge, a retired teacher kept a large audience spellbound with his descriptive
rendition of the battle. I’ve never seen anything like it, but due to the
family nature of this blog, I can’t bring myself to share everything I learned.
Let’s just say that in the history books, it seemed a little more sanitary.
Never before had I known in such detail exactly what splattered where, and
when. And apparently Reno was so unnerved by the sudden welter of gore that
descended upon his person, that he went completely off his rocker and began to
issue back-to-back contradictory orders. On the horses! Off the horses! Back on
the horses! What are you doing up there? Get down! Aaaaaaaaaagh!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpDdPAnTqEwjEer-0ZLRCWpyZJhkvASjS5ep557D5HXyBp_ldM-uB1BywdwCyJzrw-PYzf7H7Ub3gMZW5h9ouraxX9Cpl2_urmGDCOQtEh5qYd_PeRB9bJ2SsBFcXJ5LVBPZR98i18yZM/s1600/LS+2.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/AVvXsEgCpDdPAnTqEwjEer-0ZLRCWpyZJhkvASjS5ep557D5HXyBp_ldM-uB1BywdwCyJzrw-PYzf7H7Ub3gMZW5h9ouraxX9Cpl2_urmGDCOQtEh5qYd_PeRB9bJ2SsBFcXJ5LVBPZR98i18yZM/s200/LS+2.jpg" width="141" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some body parts of well-known people in the battle were the thickness of parchment by the end. The native women took their own steps to ensure that Custer and his men couldn't continue to hunt their dead loved ones in the afterlife. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Small children listened,
wide-eyed, to the graphic account. Some
parents might disagree, and they should feel free to do so, but I found it
refreshing to have war portrayed in all its unvarnished horror, rather than
being glorified or glossed over. Nobody listening to that would feel a desire
to have been there, no matter how brave they might be. There was no glamor
there, only a tragic slaughter of
priceless men, women, and children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s been a little
over 137 years since then. Have we learned our lessons of love and tolerance?
Nope, not entirely. In Matthew 24, in the double prophecy that Jesus gave of
what would happen both before the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD, and before His
coming at the end of the world, He said that “nation would rise against nation”.
In the Greek, the word is <i>ethnos, </i>from
which of course we get words like “ethnic”, or “ethnicity”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we get closer and
closer to the Second Coming, racial tensions will continue to increase. Ethnic
groups will continue to fight each other more and more. When we see this
reflected in the news headlines, we can know that Jesus’ coming is getting very
near. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And if we belong to
Christ, we can rise above these tensions, and avoid getting caught up in
earthly labels based on our outward characteristics. <b><i><sup>“</sup></i></b><i>For ye are
all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus. <b><sup> </sup></b>For
as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.<b><sup> </sup></b>There
is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male
nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. <b><sup> </sup></b>And if
ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.”
Galatians 3:26-29<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5RV5PTSIZx1ywmArsYnqA-BhF3FBmJ-PQWgobnFb2-I8VxTRxRRxbthkkRWe5ADgXhg0aY_bWgCnhhl56HjLR5TkYYlId0VcBGUHD_GoN0QiAIBX7l_qpZrYB_Zw7CW1IugQRzfzw5OC/s1600/LS+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5RV5PTSIZx1ywmArsYnqA-BhF3FBmJ-PQWgobnFb2-I8VxTRxRRxbthkkRWe5ADgXhg0aY_bWgCnhhl56HjLR5TkYYlId0VcBGUHD_GoN0QiAIBX7l_qpZrYB_Zw7CW1IugQRzfzw5OC/s400/LS+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Native American Memorial</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-9573042580943348212013-08-11T22:20:00.000-06:002013-08-12T07:20:23.898-06:00Day of Destiny<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">June 17, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we left this
fantastic caverns the day before, we wondered aloud if we would be able to show
it to Mom and Tina next year, or whether they would still be caring for
Grandpa. It was a bittersweet question. On the one hand, we really wanted to
show it to them. On the other, we didn’t want to lose Grandpa. And back on the
other hand, he was really suffering, and we didn’t want him to keep suffering
just so we wouldn’t have to lose him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in the late 90’s,
Grandma became ill. Mom found her nearly unresponsive on the couch, which was
bad enough, but then a little later that day, Grandpa nearly passed out. It
turned out that during the last couple days when Grandma had become too sick to
bring him a plate, he hadn’t so much as walked out to the kitchen, opened the
refrigerator, taken out some food, and eaten it. It’s not something any family
member enjoys facing, but clearly both of them were no longer able to be left
alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Several days later,
Grandma came home from the hospital, to her new home over at Mom’s. Mom’s
living room was big enough to be an entire house, at least a small one, so we
remade it into Grandparent Quarters. Every day for many years, Tina or I would
go over and make them lunch while Mom slept. Working nights, Mom would get up
in time to fix them supper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a while, Grandma
began to get ants in her pants. She wanted to go somewhere, anywhere else but
there. Her preference was for the small farmhouse in WI where she was born, and
she thought she could walk there. Late one night, a nice neighbor lady brought
Grandma back after she found her wandering around by the road at the end of
Mom’s long driveway. No one in the house even realized she had slipped out. The
next level of care, 24/7 watchfulness, was now needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Grandma and Grandpa
practically had to use a wedge to fit into our tiny house, but they came to
stay with us. A short time later, Mom found a spacious rental home up in the
mountains, and Jack, the kids, and I moved up there with them to care for them.
Grandma still coveted the farmhouse in WI, and even with direct supervision
managed to run away a couple more times before her death in 2003. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Work was already
underway to build a large house back down in the valley, and Grandpa stayed
with us when it was finished. He was still pretty independent, except for what
we had come to call “The Food Fairy”. He still wouldn’t get up and get himself
so much as a banana on his own. He would sit there hungry unless The Food Fairy
brought him something to eat. We all took turns being The Food Fairy, even the
kids. It was our privilege to wait on him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">About 7 years had
passed since we welcomed our grandparents to our home, and we were moving to
Montana. Mom, now disabled after a failed surgery in her foot, was no longer working
nights. Grandpa moved back to her house, and to the living room he had shared
with Grandma. Though he had fallen badly several times, and been diagnosed with
TIA’s (mini-strokes), the true state of his health didn’t become obvious until
we were already in Big Sky Country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom noticed that
Grandpa was becoming increasingly short of breath when doing even small things,
and took him to the cardiologist. After testing, Grandpa received his first of
two death sentences. Only about 10% of his heart muscle was still functioning.
The rest had been killed off by a major cardiac event that no one had known
about till then. The doc said there weren’t any statistics for a man Grandpa’s
age with this condition, because they had all died. He said he’d probably give
a 50yo man about 6 months to live. Grandpa entered hospice, and way out here in
MT, our family wondered if we’d get to see him again before he died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Several years later,
Grandpa moved out here with Mom and Dad. We were so happy to have him close by!
Medical treatment revealed that he had yet another hurdle, a type of blood
cancer similar to leukemia. They estimated that he had 6 months to live. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDN02YmNS5bsftI1lEQKtaL1dO4oKhad6_04eBRgVZsZOdjYhyphenhyphennh2FHCEFwXCbVZGZMyPXGyxC_4QuOOwglnjPUYXVJrS_c1jhkAarSbMEmwFKYjCL9ffRqlBHI9b121J5jcaFNoU4gv_/s1600/IMG_59811.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/AVvXsEhXDN02YmNS5bsftI1lEQKtaL1dO4oKhad6_04eBRgVZsZOdjYhyphenhyphennh2FHCEFwXCbVZGZMyPXGyxC_4QuOOwglnjPUYXVJrS_c1jhkAarSbMEmwFKYjCL9ffRqlBHI9b121J5jcaFNoU4gv_/s320/IMG_59811.jpg" width="246" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Several years later,
after being in and out of hospice repeatedly, Grandpa began his final decline. Tina
brought him out to her house, so she could care for him without having to
commute. After more times than we could count of him almost dying—even
completely stopping breathing at times—and still somehow skating back from the
edge of the grave, she made him a special T-shirt that read, “Translation or
Bust”. Indeed, we began to wonder if he would make it to the 2<sup>nd</sup>
Coming before the rest of us! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leading up to camp
meeting, he grew markedly worse. Through all of camp meeting, every break we
got someone would call and make sure he was still alive. His breathing was so
labored that we could hear him clearly on the phone while talking to Mom. We
hoped he would at least live till we all got back home, but knew that if he
didn’t, we’d already said our good-byes. Many times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunday while we were
visiting the caves, Tina was heading back as quickly as the law would allow, so
she and Mom could take shifts. We were going to wait and see how things went,
since Jack’s business flight was out of Bozeman and it wasn’t possible to
transfer it. Grandpa was still doing poorly when she got there and sent Mom
home to get some sleep, but had stabilized just a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Monday morning, after
a good night’s sleep, it was time to transfer Grandpa to the care of the
hospital. They had one of their hospice rooms all set up for him, and the
family would take turns staying with him as long as needed. He was running low
on oxygen out at Tina’s, and the only way to get more was to re-admit him to
hospice. It was all worked out, and everything was ready to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The stretcher Dad had
made months earlier, following a particularly bad seizure that left us having a
hard time getting Grandpa up off the floor, was called into use. The seats were
out of Tina’s van, and Caleb loaned his mattress to Grandpa could ride in
comfort. Why no ambulance? Well, Tina is just across the line into ND, and the
hospital and people familiar with Grandpa were all in MT. So the only way to
get him there was to take him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were in Safeway
buying groceries when we received the word. Grandpa had died peacefully in the
back of the van just as they pulled up at the ER entrance. His last view was
blue sky and sunshine. We cried there in the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The transfer was
accomplished very smoothly. The coroner pulled up behind Tina’s van right after
the doctor pronounced him dead, and they used the handy stretcher to move him
into their vehicle. He wasn’t going to be ready for his interstate transfer to
Wisconsin for several days, so there would have been time for Jack to still go
on his business trip. He just didn’t have the heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We still visited the
outer space exhibit at the museum as planned. As sad as we were, it was helpful
to be together as a family, doing something we all enjoyed. Something Grandpa
had enjoyed, too. Though teary at times, we smiled, too. Afterwards, we went back to Mt. Ellis, broke camp, and
prepared to head back. With another small detour suggested by Yours Truly.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Moon Rock Security</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtHO-GNTvVDYI2b2zWEV9Vkb0PoQUmg_WzkGZ1icYKg9uUJTVBugfyUUwAPFgs1DcnzZz2AzB6c9lxiv5D2s7up9uA9e8mpTHYt7rYbQl1CSh1GgovKXdKTiV-946yOgwtZvhcMivsp05/s1600/GP+Edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtHO-GNTvVDYI2b2zWEV9Vkb0PoQUmg_WzkGZ1icYKg9uUJTVBugfyUUwAPFgs1DcnzZz2AzB6c9lxiv5D2s7up9uA9e8mpTHYt7rYbQl1CSh1GgovKXdKTiV-946yOgwtZvhcMivsp05/s1600/GP+Edited.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our Hero...Now and Always</span></td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p>Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-47471027533602404422013-08-08T15:58:00.002-06:002013-08-08T15:58:59.374-06:00The Caverns<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">June 10-15, 2013</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phase II: Camp Meeting,
etc.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMSwDUaaWo5etJLD-tHF4kzufoSqElprBz03LdbbPsPTqLGoaNKyu6jErulfxwfVKDQ9PncLxvNRdM6Se5OcIZGSTrkYwNZFNPhKE0JoKXlJS8wNLlBRq3u6cuhdUK7MQcz66wqxTplLg/s1600/Lilac.jpg" 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/AVvXsEjeMSwDUaaWo5etJLD-tHF4kzufoSqElprBz03LdbbPsPTqLGoaNKyu6jErulfxwfVKDQ9PncLxvNRdM6Se5OcIZGSTrkYwNZFNPhKE0JoKXlJS8wNLlBRq3u6cuhdUK7MQcz66wqxTplLg/s320/Lilac.jpg" width="231" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Camp meeting is always
a big blur, with no time to post during it, and no brain cells left to remember
the full story of what happened. It must be fun, because we keep going back.
This is our second year now of leading out in the kids’ department, Early
Reader group. The kids are so sweet, and lots of fun to teach. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tina is the boss
woman, and Jack and I are the assistant leaders, or something. Our two field
trips this year were fantastic – the usual trip to the Bozeman Swim Center, and
a visit to the bear rescue facility just east of town. Admission to the bears
is free, but they ask you to bring an offering of fresh fruits and veggies for
the furry residents. I guess you could even call them denizens. Get it? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Den</i>-izens!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was bearly tolerable.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We finished our 4
days, deeply grateful to God for the opportunity to share with our wonderful
peeps.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">June 16, 2013</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">***Boring business
part omitted***</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQcQxlwJ1pVINYl5_gTNzFw4LbLm34m0ddWRO03bn1nVgoZYQzYoD2S0KTU8MBJdJLUj3gVTQ2MbO1dQwR1Zq0FVT5aO9UxqBPomvSFekNeQ9XgcJ3RkA9TCl1DvYopH_rCEnBs3epAhC/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQcQxlwJ1pVINYl5_gTNzFw4LbLm34m0ddWRO03bn1nVgoZYQzYoD2S0KTU8MBJdJLUj3gVTQ2MbO1dQwR1Zq0FVT5aO9UxqBPomvSFekNeQ9XgcJ3RkA9TCl1DvYopH_rCEnBs3epAhC/s200/2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Fossilized sea creatures clearly<br /> visible in the rocks<br />beside the trail.</span></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdWxXavfs_743atQmjdwZSsPMo4eQCJaKcZp4k_JMshlsrimIOtIr6QtZxmkC-KRaBwE3QPoUf2DVWSXGuLezIER_zkR0nFxPsiE60MNPQAAiOQSWLQvHNmIoIC0_YVbyVcQgLriOnlow/s1600/1.jpg" 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/AVvXsEhbdWxXavfs_743atQmjdwZSsPMo4eQCJaKcZp4k_JMshlsrimIOtIr6QtZxmkC-KRaBwE3QPoUf2DVWSXGuLezIER_zkR0nFxPsiE60MNPQAAiOQSWLQvHNmIoIC0_YVbyVcQgLriOnlow/s320/1.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To encourage Montana
residents to visit, some of the natural and historic sites had special rates
for a couple weeks leading up to Father’s Day. And though our badly beaten
budget was trembling by this point, we were able to pay the deeply discounted
admission to the Lewis and Clark Caverns. $20 for a family of 4 is pretty
amazing for a guided cave tour. Ok, so there was one person left over, but
still not bad. Ok, so the one person was me. Why am I always the leftover one?
But I didn’t quibble, since I got to go in. (If you didn’t know, I’ve got a
thing for caves. Big ones, little ones, holes in the ground, giant
caverns…they’re all my favorites.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5-W07F-_N2ItM7HiyfcUqIh1XRaTD3TDbyRdG_MHCF2pX3TJPtncCgs8X3sIzdj50r__JcJmSJGoRF29U27mxyiD8WjyTspVv0HKHKRqYGOXR0NgndzAg3B8Zj4rF7jFHsTmiyTBypmA/s1600/4.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/AVvXsEjf5-W07F-_N2ItM7HiyfcUqIh1XRaTD3TDbyRdG_MHCF2pX3TJPtncCgs8X3sIzdj50r__JcJmSJGoRF29U27mxyiD8WjyTspVv0HKHKRqYGOXR0NgndzAg3B8Zj4rF7jFHsTmiyTBypmA/s320/4.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Starting from the
parking lot, there was a trail up to the cave entrance. Since the rise was 300
vertical feet, it was a bit steep but doable. Got my exercise for the day. The
caverns got their name because Lewis and Clark passed by on the river below,
failing to discover the adventure in the cliffs above. Boy, I sure wish <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>I</u></i>
</b>could get stuff named after me just for walking nearby it and not finding
it—what a racket! My life would have been so much different if I’d learned
about this principle sooner. Why, I bet I’ve been close to lots of things! There’s
the Noni Beth Gold Mine, the NBG archaeological site, the Hawaiian Noni Active
Volcano of Oahu (pretty sure no one has discovered that one yet). The deep sea
creature, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Monstrumius Gibbsii…</i> the
list could go on and on.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwFGqQladsHFAfmfWBlgdi2gvHMtI40dePeleQLNdLovwCI9Dvm3fhRyq14wWkeG6-OQLqZJsw5EbQ8dZZcbtWNsuYcriTwG0PvO_7Oq3a55l1V9PugC-arWaUu0Ar6bEsRGPA9ZeWm5H/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwFGqQladsHFAfmfWBlgdi2gvHMtI40dePeleQLNdLovwCI9Dvm3fhRyq14wWkeG6-OQLqZJsw5EbQ8dZZcbtWNsuYcriTwG0PvO_7Oq3a55l1V9PugC-arWaUu0Ar6bEsRGPA9ZeWm5H/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My favorite moment came when they did the obligatory turn-out-all-the-lights maneuver. Tiggy had previously taken her glow-in-the-dark tape and spelled out "DAD" on the back of Jack's sweatshirt. Let's just say we had no problem locating him, even in the pitch blackness. Well, what would have been pitch blackness without the incredible neon glow.</span></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4iKqjlc7NZdUwaHeD36_hV84iAaJtefnpzSkwi6iLyUNoUr6TR-928DQD_QIakUr2qK4KTWgVR5Nzssa2EW6MGm82JtYIebHMWMb1J-o7BSYVSFQ0pMFiH_vM0LyOXuTxlmQvWJBi5Rm/s1600/IMG_6923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4iKqjlc7NZdUwaHeD36_hV84iAaJtefnpzSkwi6iLyUNoUr6TR-928DQD_QIakUr2qK4KTWgVR5Nzssa2EW6MGm82JtYIebHMWMb1J-o7BSYVSFQ0pMFiH_vM0LyOXuTxlmQvWJBi5Rm/s200/IMG_6923.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Entrance to the slides.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While still pretty
well tamed, this lovely little cave would be shut down due to liability in some
states. There were few handrails, only if you really, REALLY needed one, and
many places where you had to duck low under formations to enter the next
chamber. There was even one place where you had to slide down a little slide to
get through. The two slide paths were worn smooth by hundreds of thousands of
patooties. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was also a novel
experience to be so close to all the formations throughout the tour, and not
blocked off from them. The guide tells you not to touch, and expects that you
will simply not touch. That kind of trust level is completely gone in the other
tame caves I’ve visited. Even with more than 80,000 visitors a year, all right up
close and personal with formations, even including rare speleothems such as
soda straws, there is universal respect. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Almost universal.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ohy3A_z7hyZAIi0zV9I9Hyfhieen7zrLQIDfuM5Ud2BffHHVZM5xcpz3Rx_U_5SvWh94-Sv9Mtpk-l275nf5Z8RZQnlXAQA-eI-XreQ9KfQ8fFw_2rK12dLbngZvMSQwMCm93f7-Kx_i/s1600/6.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/AVvXsEg2Ohy3A_z7hyZAIi0zV9I9Hyfhieen7zrLQIDfuM5Ud2BffHHVZM5xcpz3Rx_U_5SvWh94-Sv9Mtpk-l275nf5Z8RZQnlXAQA-eI-XreQ9KfQ8fFw_2rK12dLbngZvMSQwMCm93f7-Kx_i/s200/6.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qA86DYQRbKzx4muuMSVfN5e2lER2MqsTAu-0O9g_5R-8LOKKZC8h_Idy4lQD80dQ8e5t7YjDQmuK9E22n4LqSrBmBrSb3h53ffS5AoIrgfGfewJY9M1Lb1cU7XiqsGQjEi_jAmVRhv45/s1600/IMG_6927.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/AVvXsEh-qA86DYQRbKzx4muuMSVfN5e2lER2MqsTAu-0O9g_5R-8LOKKZC8h_Idy4lQD80dQ8e5t7YjDQmuK9E22n4LqSrBmBrSb3h53ffS5AoIrgfGfewJY9M1Lb1cU7XiqsGQjEi_jAmVRhv45/s320/IMG_6927.JPG" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Deep in the belly of
the caverns, there was a chamber containing some of the debris from the exit
tunnel blasted back in the early days of the cave tours. One gent decided he
would help himself to some formations, and snuck in after closing. That’s how
far he got before he ran out of battery in his flashlight.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning, he
sheepishly allowed himself to be escorted out. He was asked not to return. He
no doubt boarded one of the trains that used to pass only a few feet below the
exit on a terrifying, cliff-hanging railroad track. It’s fine for walking back
to the parking lot on, but I can’t imagine riding a train so far above the plunging
valley below. What part of “Do NOT build railroads on cliffs” did those early
builders not understand??? Apparently the “not”.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUYhSVzAkZ7Sy-qT_G65iIddYUGhHluIYQIxSgdRDEI213MledpL1pB9WnFlzGicEB94JyoFx02n91ClHY9BWgazWrQN8v-2xrfNM4z3dDAuHzCS3CFtc5GqkxYPlkTC8xO8W_2y7OGdc/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUYhSVzAkZ7Sy-qT_G65iIddYUGhHluIYQIxSgdRDEI213MledpL1pB9WnFlzGicEB94JyoFx02n91ClHY9BWgazWrQN8v-2xrfNM4z3dDAuHzCS3CFtc5GqkxYPlkTC8xO8W_2y7OGdc/s320/3.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My only complaint was that they didn't allow tripods. In case you've never tried to hand-hold exposures of several seconds long, it works about as well as putting railroads on cliffs: you've got something to show for it, but it just shouldn't be done.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jack was just about to
have to make a short trip to Texas for a conference with our main electronics
dealer (at their expense, which is the best kind of business trip to have), so
we headed back to help him finish preparing for his trip. We were looking
forward to having a couple days to sit around camp, read books, play games, and
paint paintings while he was gone. Maybe even take naps!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A little time of rest
sounded really good after our busy week-and-a-half.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-74999025286902060202013-07-31T09:13:00.000-06:002013-08-08T15:03:01.073-06:00A Grizzly Discovery<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 288.75pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0O4ZwZb1g5Eo2AlkwdGQVrvH2SZumdl9CAHhAwoLVu9SBar0niruKLQKJIvQpBDrsbt38_GNg6kox-CyRK3mW3bj8ZXn6gIS4UVZx1fPMG2GKU48FiSFgQ00UUhUFl1xjpMfkxQivmA3/s1600/IMG_6692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0O4ZwZb1g5Eo2AlkwdGQVrvH2SZumdl9CAHhAwoLVu9SBar0niruKLQKJIvQpBDrsbt38_GNg6kox-CyRK3mW3bj8ZXn6gIS4UVZx1fPMG2GKU48FiSFgQ00UUhUFl1xjpMfkxQivmA3/s320/IMG_6692.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>View from Our Pillows</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">June 9, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15YvkRlSd60Ga7JWTJGpdscZNjHUGg6d6JsZXOTb4rnE7NbWqoulDDjYGhXOBCE81PyRp313M22ggUMUL5nRjPRb3LSvtFRpOu8ZMcEf1iLVeeBLgbABpshyphenhyphenl1sRJs7wsDYoK5UvGmmRb/s1600/IMG_6685.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/AVvXsEg15YvkRlSd60Ga7JWTJGpdscZNjHUGg6d6JsZXOTb4rnE7NbWqoulDDjYGhXOBCE81PyRp313M22ggUMUL5nRjPRb3LSvtFRpOu8ZMcEf1iLVeeBLgbABpshyphenhyphenl1sRJs7wsDYoK5UvGmmRb/s320/IMG_6685.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTqfSld41xjr8NeaoW53hUNr75wgTgG9sSd8e7hj01WswFFNdwOZ-XQE9jmimPhfyE1CzLxXofOajRbBgtZ167R6cVtKEmLJs-R8S1ystfAiV2p-YYsKuJXnM_oH8_LOTxV91i6Pm448m/s1600/IMG_6687.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/AVvXsEgeTqfSld41xjr8NeaoW53hUNr75wgTgG9sSd8e7hj01WswFFNdwOZ-XQE9jmimPhfyE1CzLxXofOajRbBgtZ167R6cVtKEmLJs-R8S1ystfAiV2p-YYsKuJXnM_oH8_LOTxV91i6Pm448m/s200/IMG_6687.JPG" width="133" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Certain adults in the
party could barely move the next morning, so we decided to stay in camp and
enjoy the swimming pool. Or just sleep. That afternoon, we went into West
Yellowstone to “walk around”, so Jack said. Well, we've been in W. Y. lots of
times, and I had plenty of photos, so I decided to leave my camera. I didn't
need any more photos of us walking around.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once there, Jack
decided to go to the grizzly bear and wolf exhibit across the parking lot from
Imax. A certain photographer was rather bitter, since the camera was 6 miles
away, and the car had been parked across town before we started walking. It was an exquisite torture to
attend a facility like that with no means of documentation. The only thing that
made it bear-able was that our ticket was good for 2 days, so we could come
back without paying anything more.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSqC-nfqmetlbwoW0CxtzszmoQ22GWJ_QQSHG3CzU_aHMYmaK-K2GJekpQcpF55ScaULdtQS7gsbVNOX12HqEO2l4CefmuU2rN-ZkA3qTQsYqN2BXAV2ZGxQUrffYKnMwbsBk48FpWhWD/s1600/IMG_6695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSqC-nfqmetlbwoW0CxtzszmoQ22GWJ_QQSHG3CzU_aHMYmaK-K2GJekpQcpF55ScaULdtQS7gsbVNOX12HqEO2l4CefmuU2rN-ZkA3qTQsYqN2BXAV2ZGxQUrffYKnMwbsBk48FpWhWD/s320/IMG_6695.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Grizzly cub, <br />killed by another animal.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaILN4Jx5HXfCes7zrI5EhCuZ8XjLXA7Ur7sh2p0LnstW_6m89aUL04_T0O8eOrwSQYP7gj2wzch-AiUPrHqHHjIcUrXW_auR7PT6yBhpBwVt86a3A2suYjcqmrAXw5i9KQ4tjrixvnRr9/s1600/IMG_6697B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaILN4Jx5HXfCes7zrI5EhCuZ8XjLXA7Ur7sh2p0LnstW_6m89aUL04_T0O8eOrwSQYP7gj2wzch-AiUPrHqHHjIcUrXW_auR7PT6yBhpBwVt86a3A2suYjcqmrAXw5i9KQ4tjrixvnRr9/s200/IMG_6697B.jpg" width="124" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Became ill. <br />Some died, <br />some had to be <br />euthanized.<br />8-10" long.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Many of their rescued
bears came from Alaska, and nearly all had been “troublesome” bears. One
specialized in breaking into pickups. Grand Picnic Auto? Some had been orphaned
and were scrounging anything and everything to survive. The little ones were
often near starvation when saved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXcqj4FK8U2Q-ukpR1JC50nsLRmo7aGZ4PIP3VsfsoCyqWNQZIqkj9eBH_JaVL2vGz9JZ4vPFpZFP2JrOOws7FGWL8k9eQCGEy0rlutaIXSd_MPCj10WrNo4p2oYyOjMieWwz2ImxYxJ5/s1600/IMG_6744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXcqj4FK8U2Q-ukpR1JC50nsLRmo7aGZ4PIP3VsfsoCyqWNQZIqkj9eBH_JaVL2vGz9JZ4vPFpZFP2JrOOws7FGWL8k9eQCGEy0rlutaIXSd_MPCj10WrNo4p2oYyOjMieWwz2ImxYxJ5/s320/IMG_6744.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">NOT Bear Proof!</span></b></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, in addition to
being treated like grizzly kings and queens, they have a job. Real, genuine
employment. They serve as bear-proof container testers. Odoriferous and
desirable food, such as bacon or honey, is placed inside the allegedly
bear-proof container. The bears are given three hours to work their magic. If
the container makes it, it gets the bear-proof Stamp of Approval. Very few
containers are that fortunate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwJRw30CQirovHAj4d1YyQmBwvM5x7NcoyLS9uxdaQGEbV4Y6gC-jeGjrC2f2vWOlkYH_LkZqQQXqBNEXrhg6d5jkNKb2iEnZL6cpt6uX8wLH4_zWlEaNR1PF_1_-tX-LD6n9eBcJ84Z6/s1600/IMG_6728B.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/AVvXsEgYwJRw30CQirovHAj4d1YyQmBwvM5x7NcoyLS9uxdaQGEbV4Y6gC-jeGjrC2f2vWOlkYH_LkZqQQXqBNEXrhg6d5jkNKb2iEnZL6cpt6uX8wLH4_zWlEaNR1PF_1_-tX-LD6n9eBcJ84Z6/s320/IMG_6728B.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was so good that
we had to come back the next day, too, with a thicker coating of mosquito
repellent covering our welts. This time I had my camera. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While photographing
the raptors, one of those little incidents happens that really has no place on
an elegant blog like mine, but I also strive for journalistic integrity. To me,
that means not always telling about OTHER people’s embarrassing moments and
ignoring my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBLBzLiSWke6vJuSPuEdVqJAwzobi8O8ADkqM9S6r4oKMIpS9UhdU91xgrW5bSxK40kZanB9Sl20krsCm28yDWNlMhpDTCj581lLuznxdN8HsJbBiDMpVMsCYA6RjT6_f2OjgPPWaRv5N/s1600/Eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBLBzLiSWke6vJuSPuEdVqJAwzobi8O8ADkqM9S6r4oKMIpS9UhdU91xgrW5bSxK40kZanB9Sl20krsCm28yDWNlMhpDTCj581lLuznxdN8HsJbBiDMpVMsCYA6RjT6_f2OjgPPWaRv5N/s320/Eagle.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiox0MGdDAD0TMNH01pIA-G9wFZjeHV0h2tff0S9X6YVg8MgWXKfmc477hTjaiZjoKRDyxUKZChlCPW5hLPYNOuUEjbeS1T52vNTXZcHE1WtShQ7bw_E2Ci7Wbq6qeOcKpkbXtBM1buNIK-/s1600/IMG_6724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiox0MGdDAD0TMNH01pIA-G9wFZjeHV0h2tff0S9X6YVg8MgWXKfmc477hTjaiZjoKRDyxUKZChlCPW5hLPYNOuUEjbeS1T52vNTXZcHE1WtShQ7bw_E2Ci7Wbq6qeOcKpkbXtBM1buNIK-/s320/IMG_6724.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Isis</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Devon and I were
hanging out with the bald eagles, including Isis, who had neurological damage
and liked to sit there with her head upside down, the Great Horned Owl who had
imprinted on humans as an owlet, and a couple of golden eagles. Devon walked
around the bird area, while I crouched patiently to capture the perfect bald
eagle shot. Better yet, several perfect bald eagle shots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsj5lkca20XII6pR0VnO0q-FZjRJTREH6bNka9GihK0dL7-w_NYjwWpbXGv3yXCOLdLZTFDiYGJnCQfC89L0aOUUihmHnVnReLrAXNjIpIZwxx4KKHKbm_nxvUb3jsdUZA1492NhMURa7I/s1600/IMG_6736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsj5lkca20XII6pR0VnO0q-FZjRJTREH6bNka9GihK0dL7-w_NYjwWpbXGv3yXCOLdLZTFDiYGJnCQfC89L0aOUUihmHnVnReLrAXNjIpIZwxx4KKHKbm_nxvUb3jsdUZA1492NhMURa7I/s400/IMG_6736.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">NOT Bear Proof!</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No one else was
around, and out of the corner of my eye
I could see Devon’s bright green shirt as he crouched a short distance
away. Hunkered down, I incautiously released a raucous buildup of methane that
would have been almost impossible to contain anyway. “Devon!” I exclaimed in
mock scolding. “We are in public!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No heeheehee greeted
my little witticism, so I glanced over to see if he was even paying attention.
You can imagine my horror as I saw that the green was a lady’s pants, as she
stood quietly with her husband watching the eagles. Guess they got a little
more nature than they bargained for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtF9QthNzYOk_TwYhCGHPcn7aiWQN71Vz7GioC0g84rL9vFz4MKZyeyiSdcOiKw3ZOUAu0_wNH0Rs3hY1t-umt8S4QK0LTDrIV3IFnpR6W5_upOWy7QjgmDcs1duwlkXNtxyYfqACMFdT/s1600/IMG_6787B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtF9QthNzYOk_TwYhCGHPcn7aiWQN71Vz7GioC0g84rL9vFz4MKZyeyiSdcOiKw3ZOUAu0_wNH0Rs3hY1t-umt8S4QK0LTDrIV3IFnpR6W5_upOWy7QjgmDcs1duwlkXNtxyYfqACMFdT/s400/IMG_6787B.jpg" width="318" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we were just about
to leave, a bunch of sirens went off for a fender bender. The wolves went nuts,
howling at the late afternoon sun. (Though with a little judicious photo
editing, it passed for moonlight well enough. See the upcoming blog post about
the fair for the result.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After hours of fun,
thrills, and a splash of humiliation, we got back in the car and headed to
Bozeman for Phase II of our trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<script src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<g:plusone></g:plusone>Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369315540866799223.post-44507099881701120142013-07-30T15:24:00.001-06:002013-07-30T19:53:41.771-06:00Wild in Yellowstone<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">June 8, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QywH0VPJu8LubiA4fF3tuqbI1lZxJJgNFxYf7raynyTUhPsfjRG7d4ainPZJdjll5xnJEoBVBUIqxSuVBwyDyowBLoigs4R9Nb8vanJtIfJ06MDUnrCeUI6YLCOlIvyujMuovi7EtaF8/s1600/IMG_6473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QywH0VPJu8LubiA4fF3tuqbI1lZxJJgNFxYf7raynyTUhPsfjRG7d4ainPZJdjll5xnJEoBVBUIqxSuVBwyDyowBLoigs4R9Nb8vanJtIfJ06MDUnrCeUI6YLCOlIvyujMuovi7EtaF8/s320/IMG_6473.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometime during the
night, Clancy woke me up. At first I thought he needed to go to the bathroom,
but he didn’t get excited when I asked if he wanted to go out – he just kept
pawing my covers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMtw9Gsrgnuwe8ndeoZpAxEnSS5NKECZRjwl707AfxhKbcsBNGQfpnPuR7Da2UfQKT00OVec3hsGK1o8vKtvpQz7DDsYy0MEBACAkvrdIgOP2a4DBW5m5MNzeJoDQz31LlnaIaxz3Iy-ML/s1600/IMG_6475.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/AVvXsEiMtw9Gsrgnuwe8ndeoZpAxEnSS5NKECZRjwl707AfxhKbcsBNGQfpnPuR7Da2UfQKT00OVec3hsGK1o8vKtvpQz7DDsYy0MEBACAkvrdIgOP2a4DBW5m5MNzeJoDQz31LlnaIaxz3Iy-ML/s320/IMG_6475.JPG" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fortunately for
Clancy, Jack woke up in time to remind me that we had an extra blanket over our
sleeping bag. Jack pulled it back up, lifted it, and Clancy dived under. The
rest of the night, he didn’t budge, snuggled down with his head on Jack’s
shoulder. I don’t know exactly how cold it was, but the forecast had predicted
38F. Clancy thought it was more like -38F. That be why the weather service
doesn't ask for his opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN86C8VTatno9EJyEIxfre_tUTtqPts0ak3HMQYthncImc-giWJitNvEasJe_lzpUjkjPiiwqZSZol-uL6rzxqcLsDwCAzvOnvpCTJxilgCpe53t-HMLCYVG9NGDKkA5k280qk0E3NhvXV/s1600/IMG_6478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN86C8VTatno9EJyEIxfre_tUTtqPts0ak3HMQYthncImc-giWJitNvEasJe_lzpUjkjPiiwqZSZol-uL6rzxqcLsDwCAzvOnvpCTJxilgCpe53t-HMLCYVG9NGDKkA5k280qk0E3NhvXV/s320/IMG_6478.JPG" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At last the sun peeked
over the mountains, and the air warmed quickly.
Thanks to Jack, the breakfast also warmed up quickly. Pancakes, topped
with shaken-seasoned-fried potatoes, topped with maple syrup, made a tasty
breakfast that lingered for hours…past lunch and most of the way to supper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was nearly time to
go into the Park. As I gathered the items for my pockets, I was,
um…………….speechless………….to discover what Jack had left on the stand right next
to my head. One candy bar, and two aromatic empty wrappers. Did I mention these
were RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD??????????
Guess who is not ever going to be able to convince his wife to go
backpacking deep into bear country?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykwuw37GuqX7x4aBdDwgP8GRsZNAHCeE6BnOxkz2VCIptA0pjGTbBbLLI3wSBRn4jr2PQBp59B__WN_QC6H4NreITX2FPfk0Sb4mexRhdtxoVDdOd5YgdjFSMZHjxs-MYCS7t-sQou005/s1600/IMG_6495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykwuw37GuqX7x4aBdDwgP8GRsZNAHCeE6BnOxkz2VCIptA0pjGTbBbLLI3wSBRn4jr2PQBp59B__WN_QC6H4NreITX2FPfk0Sb4mexRhdtxoVDdOd5YgdjFSMZHjxs-MYCS7t-sQou005/s200/IMG_6495.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HOISa8YWhdz-xy4OrtqHBatb0jHYVOjEQy5BVy17BzXudCHEl1WwCDzuvu1ICmOiKsozHWTX5HBxUpd4jY9b6GcpFDlquobwgZ07ED9NuGA6DzTiXg_S-J6PJyK1N6bgnrtKOuwylbNn/s1600/IMG_6479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HOISa8YWhdz-xy4OrtqHBatb0jHYVOjEQy5BVy17BzXudCHEl1WwCDzuvu1ICmOiKsozHWTX5HBxUpd4jY9b6GcpFDlquobwgZ07ED9NuGA6DzTiXg_S-J6PJyK1N6bgnrtKOuwylbNn/s320/IMG_6479.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Right inside the
entrance of the park, we saw one of those traffic snarls that means something
REALLY EXCITING is on that side of the road. I was craning my neck all over
trying to see what it was, but couldn’t spot anything worth stopping for. I
finally figured that the lone bison near the road must be blocking my view of
whatever they were running and shouting about. It finally dawned on me. They
really WERE that excited to see the lone bison. Lying down. Chewing its cud.
Not even charging or fighting, or anything cool. I’m glad to report that after
the first couple times, even the newbie park visitors quit stopping for bison
unless they were actually blocking the road.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55vvrTr3vGoqseL04wkA2RmvlNcNIjxaa1p6EGe7WQ1FyMFpg-EYOZSvameGl3rNraZyxAwKf1NDdZOs6kDch1m9O9CHQYL7XBUUUeFbkfKAFieG71gyzM_H9zxQchDpeTA2iY19KdUjq/s1600/IMG_6498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55vvrTr3vGoqseL04wkA2RmvlNcNIjxaa1p6EGe7WQ1FyMFpg-EYOZSvameGl3rNraZyxAwKf1NDdZOs6kDch1m9O9CHQYL7XBUUUeFbkfKAFieG71gyzM_H9zxQchDpeTA2iY19KdUjq/s320/IMG_6498.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We reached the Lower
Loop, and commenced with our double mission: see as many park sights as
possible, and tire Devon out. Well, we saw the sights, anyway. And tired
ourselves out. By the time we got to the Norris Geyser Basin, Jack was done
for. Even Tiggy decided to stay with him, leaving me to speedwalk up and down
hills, winding around geysers – including the world’s largest, Steamboat
Geyser, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">and passing vividly colored mineral springs. One of my favorite was
Porkchop Geyser, so named because it looked like a banana.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-0GbKa32U88u7lXNJRlzZPUz2cuy_hShuHmbvdn1v2RJIEdKML3GXsuWHGp-XPqx4N2zI2SAYH0FlpT3tlS1YH_NCs-RuJexDTGcb2gBiH48ZKz9otvkHS8k8yUajKzBQfAK3dEqK4vF/s1600/IMG_6515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-0GbKa32U88u7lXNJRlzZPUz2cuy_hShuHmbvdn1v2RJIEdKML3GXsuWHGp-XPqx4N2zI2SAYH0FlpT3tlS1YH_NCs-RuJexDTGcb2gBiH48ZKz9otvkHS8k8yUajKzBQfAK3dEqK4vF/s320/IMG_6515.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Steamboat Geyser - the world's largest geyser, <br />when it wants to be.<br /> Pretty small the rest of the time.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Just kidding!!! It really was shaped like a
porkchop. It erupted regularly for a while after its discovery, until becoming
plugged by rocks. The pressure built over a very long time, until one day a
group of startled visitors narrowly escaped injury in the sudden hail of
boulders ole Porkchop sent flying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3fUK15VYcqqQsqZMwSSMLDsE9Jb_6J_HhV2r4SxEa1tyaKKRWBf6HLDJoXvLRBecAxiQ9yKhQY3ve02JLA8jA7_ZdjDdPO-MAnQxCrcgMHRCkyTey2lQx28GVrj-663NEhGdfl-mz2UO/s1600/IMG_6520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3fUK15VYcqqQsqZMwSSMLDsE9Jb_6J_HhV2r4SxEa1tyaKKRWBf6HLDJoXvLRBecAxiQ9yKhQY3ve02JLA8jA7_ZdjDdPO-MAnQxCrcgMHRCkyTey2lQx28GVrj-663NEhGdfl-mz2UO/s400/IMG_6520.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vvc8HTGRbACk5fTpE4kOps39zFvvpDwaSIqMgOqLoDghwBa2-1j8DSKaMXjkWG50ssu7ySoTDOLiyYm_21HgNgGD37ADJ3jDx1N2xR1Mfvr4_XcglarpXL517F4cpprjYh2Hxhvnxo4I/s1600/IMG_6553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vvc8HTGRbACk5fTpE4kOps39zFvvpDwaSIqMgOqLoDghwBa2-1j8DSKaMXjkWG50ssu7ySoTDOLiyYm_21HgNgGD37ADJ3jDx1N2xR1Mfvr4_XcglarpXL517F4cpprjYh2Hxhvnxo4I/s320/IMG_6553.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Main geyser basin at Norris.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECf4Rp7inIZDDvXbQE0a1eliJJrIiqwu0Da8Y5TkMNvHFfKn9L51hWAPUMGdnzClss2VFpHRM66BPKnIN_EsQoxG2acaMMRKyvmM6NFlnjh3PI9SQsUXm9g_tAnvIQVyjaLpSYH7c8vx2/s1600/IMG_6535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECf4Rp7inIZDDvXbQE0a1eliJJrIiqwu0Da8Y5TkMNvHFfKn9L51hWAPUMGdnzClss2VFpHRM66BPKnIN_EsQoxG2acaMMRKyvmM6NFlnjh3PI9SQsUXm9g_tAnvIQVyjaLpSYH7c8vx2/s200/IMG_6535.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Grow Zone and Fry Zone exist <br />side by side.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5afujc8UcBfaLPNd4F9-81rXeAXRoIfYJ1zZsWKSGGmqwekRTllslnN1uHGwo_m-RnirQJhcuBGWxM1BM_KFLYpFmz7Q_hYo0k9C5-60cLY6YlV5PO439LxIzTag9BSiV-6l7tPXuyeT/s1600/IMG_6540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5afujc8UcBfaLPNd4F9-81rXeAXRoIfYJ1zZsWKSGGmqwekRTllslnN1uHGwo_m-RnirQJhcuBGWxM1BM_KFLYpFmz7Q_hYo0k9C5-60cLY6YlV5PO439LxIzTag9BSiV-6l7tPXuyeT/s320/IMG_6540.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The whole basin was a
wild mixture of beautiful mountain terrain and scorched earth. Not much grows
in that acidic, chemical-laden soil, but you can sure see where the boundaries
are. Green grass and wildflowers grow right up to the invisible wall, and stop.
Skeletal remains of long-dead trees haunt the changing landscape. It’s hard to
imagine they were once part of the green zone.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0irtxK_caQSW_3TRvcUSKWPb3iltJM42gL_dl1fCUHtMdPUDS2kNJqs8k98u1C2bV1u1cityHy81MmTgf5_UzqIAD-dh2DrLmTLuokhyphenhyphenmi1g0d7znKV5DfKL_wVc_jPrGuE-0EXP02zQ/s1600/IMG_6554.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/AVvXsEgc0irtxK_caQSW_3TRvcUSKWPb3iltJM42gL_dl1fCUHtMdPUDS2kNJqs8k98u1C2bV1u1cityHy81MmTgf5_UzqIAD-dh2DrLmTLuokhyphenhyphenmi1g0d7znKV5DfKL_wVc_jPrGuE-0EXP02zQ/s320/IMG_6554.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Climbing the last
hill, we fell in behind a group of short ladies. They had courageously taken
their friend down the slope in a wheelchair, so she could see the main overlook
for the whole basin. It was easier to go down than up, as is so often the case
in life. Without batting an eyelash, Devon jumped right in, taking one corner
of the wheelchair from an exhausted lady. With his energy, they made it to the
top in no time. And still Devon wasn’t tired.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdALmH7sryW4y66GUM7IZgcbnc9377MZyW8sjm2OZqTWsWSiSKVSjbxVBTG53M4p_R0fj8PzgSAQ6ZJ2lwhU7pgp37TOKeXUFXSD281qGaADldVRmKhmPe0vPeJNk0FMExNO9EwHbFgEdi/s1600/IMG_6572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdALmH7sryW4y66GUM7IZgcbnc9377MZyW8sjm2OZqTWsWSiSKVSjbxVBTG53M4p_R0fj8PzgSAQ6ZJ2lwhU7pgp37TOKeXUFXSD281qGaADldVRmKhmPe0vPeJNk0FMExNO9EwHbFgEdi/s320/IMG_6572.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at the car, we
found that a comedy of nature was unfolding in our absence. We only caught the
tail end of the show. A raven had
been circling the parking lot, only to swoop down on a small car with its
sunroof open. Hopping fearlessly through
the opening, the feathered thief began to ransack the picnic supplies in search
of granola bars. He would carry them off in his beak, one or two at a time, and
return a few minutes later for more. By the time we got there, he was on his
seventh trip. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDYVBVi8jMTjJVNc4S0CcqEH08MsJ6ikFftb9r2B27E2IxFu5MGWkqSzqSVSiJNgq908hNwtdAJhbnVB_OfVm16hw5VSMk1cCHOf3u0jxVTyOfAridDcw-zGUqKPl7veCwhLJiQZNziii/s1600/IMG_6563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDYVBVi8jMTjJVNc4S0CcqEH08MsJ6ikFftb9r2B27E2IxFu5MGWkqSzqSVSiJNgq908hNwtdAJhbnVB_OfVm16hw5VSMk1cCHOf3u0jxVTyOfAridDcw-zGUqKPl7veCwhLJiQZNziii/s400/IMG_6563.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Burgle, the Raven of Infamy</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICW_FKPRx6GT5xlm49jEKXyuJybKYk1YqeGLVkxU-W1Gv7cuUtd3xxLXMcfxPneDgbbgBdBUhmoTM6sNPluaVIrf-gaT6wvR0LGYiAUsljtq90E-McTtex0h1O2JF9KCtFWJN3dCZ9jta/s1600/IMG_6607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICW_FKPRx6GT5xlm49jEKXyuJybKYk1YqeGLVkxU-W1Gv7cuUtd3xxLXMcfxPneDgbbgBdBUhmoTM6sNPluaVIrf-gaT6wvR0LGYiAUsljtq90E-McTtex0h1O2JF9KCtFWJN3dCZ9jta/s320/IMG_6607.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Dragon's Mouth</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jack is such a kidder,
and when he told me what they’d been watching, it was hard to believe. It’s not
the first time one of his tall tales turned out to be true, and this one I saw
with my own eyes. There was even video footage from several different angles.
We didn’t see any bears that day, but will always remember Burgle, the Larcenous
Raven of Norris Basin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rggRPPRdu2g" target="_blank">Video of Burgle in Action, in Case You Didn't See It Before</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By that time fully
ravenous, (get it?) we stopped at the first picnic area we came to, about 2 miles up the
road. Grinders (or subs, depending on where you’re from), disappeared just
about as fast as fresh raspberries in August. Even Montana summer days
eventually have an end, and we realized we’d have to hurry a bit if we were
going to see Old Faithful. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0i9TDr5OCslML4Mvht_bBvG1ZPWUVi_2qv30oRJy6h7Ggm_8iZrFt-W2TMsjJd1kxKQjO3EQ6gH73XekzTBnPH4ki_wCA-yvhsPdvh3nIBKeOZL4FxjxRjL43-2iB96ELaKltZrs95UG/s1600/IMG_6628.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/AVvXsEjf0i9TDr5OCslML4Mvht_bBvG1ZPWUVi_2qv30oRJy6h7Ggm_8iZrFt-W2TMsjJd1kxKQjO3EQ6gH73XekzTBnPH4ki_wCA-yvhsPdvh3nIBKeOZL4FxjxRjL43-2iB96ELaKltZrs95UG/s320/IMG_6628.JPG" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21px;">Jack’s feet had begun to bother him quite a bit by the time we got to Old Faithful, so he sat in one of the incredible wooden thrones around the colossal fireplace. We went up to the second-story observation deck directly overlooking Old Faithful, until the increasing puffs of steam indicated that an explosion was imminent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21px;">Being the incredibly kind and thoughtful family members that we are, we stopped by to collect Jack so he could see it, too. First he tried to tell us it wasn’t going off soon at all. Then he tried to send us ahead without him. We were far too unselfish to abandon him, and let him lean on us as he hobbled toward the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21px;">Emerging from the historic Lodge, we came face to face with the last fizzle of Old Faithful, arched by a fast-fading rainbow. The photographer in the group was displeased. Jack tried to apologize, but it was Too Late. He even offered to stay until the next eruption, but everyone else opted to move on. “Besides,” the photographer remarked sourly, “there won’t be another rainbow.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One very important
stop remained, all the way down at the bottom of the Firehole Loop. Last
year, when we drove the loop for the first time, we were up at the top of the
mountain when we saw an amazing geyser blowing up in the distance. It was done
by the time we got there, but we were all amazed at how close you could get to
it. The wooden boardwalk went almost up to the cone-shaped base. We vowed to
capture an eruption the next time, if possible.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTn1ixg79-WmjEkMH6lHe28umyzQqoS2G8ULpnmLeC9SirHMW8OS32sysnHT1IJPB58kS4mH0aANFyZPqZqgpeBaUuVFFOoj0ewxUCVLMBJJreKaCokwQXCg55YiXLqLIIepZJDfJRFJl/s1600/IMG_6640.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/AVvXsEhPTn1ixg79-WmjEkMH6lHe28umyzQqoS2G8ULpnmLeC9SirHMW8OS32sysnHT1IJPB58kS4mH0aANFyZPqZqgpeBaUuVFFOoj0ewxUCVLMBJJreKaCokwQXCg55YiXLqLIIepZJDfJRFJl/s320/IMG_6640.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was ready to give up
before Jack, after an hour had gone by with nothing. I remembered well from the
last time, that eruptions are irregular, and usually between 1-3 hours apart. I
really didn’t want to sit around another 2 hours, even though we were treated
to a fabulous view of another huge geyser we hadn’t even known was in that
valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We read stories,
counted crickets, listened to the wind, took pictures of each other taking
pictures, until FINALLY our (Jack’s) patience was rewarded. White Dome immediately became our new favorite geyser.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-_0DJWMNBTn7RldTq_pKIy-ScAG4aK-AgdOr4gNzv_TpCk3U26iKkYlXCykjmmYLtbxjXB8f9kjcXz2WnoYNnET3mNzGz4L81_Aisb1jpAYW56-1j8i7TVHRrXJlAQndDH2ORYf3vRU-/s1600/IMG_6641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-_0DJWMNBTn7RldTq_pKIy-ScAG4aK-AgdOr4gNzv_TpCk3U26iKkYlXCykjmmYLtbxjXB8f9kjcXz2WnoYNnET3mNzGz4L81_Aisb1jpAYW56-1j8i7TVHRrXJlAQndDH2ORYf3vRU-/s400/IMG_6641.JPG" width="266" /></a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5kb9Ag2CkaAvczgl2GjH00rypS7SY6Y5Co1jU8sTqRDEAlDiKTRuc7EhaOli_LZdG3zHtRJqQPemj5CIoyLPJS9dGN03sn5KWzZR02AgT2E7mVva9MQfC9rUBZDkGmC0PGCZa_Dkpl6W/s1600/IMG_6577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5kb9Ag2CkaAvczgl2GjH00rypS7SY6Y5Co1jU8sTqRDEAlDiKTRuc7EhaOli_LZdG3zHtRJqQPemj5CIoyLPJS9dGN03sn5KWzZR02AgT2E7mVva9MQfC9rUBZDkGmC0PGCZa_Dkpl6W/s320/IMG_6577.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At each stop, our ventures grew shorter, till we pretty much
took three steps, looked over the edge, and said, “Yep, we saw it.” Even when we got to the gorgeous Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. When our
weary feet could take no more, we stopped for worship, closing one of the most
glorious Sabbaths we have ever spent, admiring the handiwork of the Creator.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9DRlw13jTaUpFc8fd0kdGjR2ZLymcWe7wFDSbD_xrwi0zTiehNQ8PTo0FuBxV0r4_fSbcIdA50pgx201OEOwtgVIEQPL5L7j-PN_3q0FYbjp20kodqKx4nATCzp1tjaDj-ajEbXa7qXqS/s1600/IMG_6674B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9DRlw13jTaUpFc8fd0kdGjR2ZLymcWe7wFDSbD_xrwi0zTiehNQ8PTo0FuBxV0r4_fSbcIdA50pgx201OEOwtgVIEQPL5L7j-PN_3q0FYbjp20kodqKx4nATCzp1tjaDj-ajEbXa7qXqS/s320/IMG_6674B.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
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<g:plusone></g:plusone>Noni Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06618594700952066688noreply@blogger.com0