tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15758151607537907242024-03-12T01:38:36.097-05:00CHANCES R.....Reflections on my life for family and friends.Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.comBlogger2067125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-88487892933405414402024-03-09T11:14:00.001-06:002024-03-09T11:14:57.327-06:00How Do You Pronounce My Name?<p> My daughter-in-law, Shalea, posted this on FB yesterday and tagged two of her children, Ki and Deise.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2dF-AaOu21RzycV28e5Iu34x2U94krO66umm1jMvVNtyjfSRxuee-c8lUcSfqBkPOUJwehPP23NgK1kuGaQytn4zzYCMYbMHKSeowUh44XWrcl_MRUZRvpFPbCZVCy8uTPzbk2kyv9qdR4zend9EsxANPXSiHDR_W8zu_5HRRqeMnEVQgcPieY8XJ8NOi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="2370" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2dF-AaOu21RzycV28e5Iu34x2U94krO66umm1jMvVNtyjfSRxuee-c8lUcSfqBkPOUJwehPP23NgK1kuGaQytn4zzYCMYbMHKSeowUh44XWrcl_MRUZRvpFPbCZVCy8uTPzbk2kyv9qdR4zend9EsxANPXSiHDR_W8zu_5HRRqeMnEVQgcPieY8XJ8NOi" width="320" /></a></div><p>I was very aware that Deise had always had trouble with people mispronouncing her name, but I hadn't realized that Ki had too. The name is generally spelled Kai, which, from its Hawaiian roots, means 'the sea'. But how else would you pronounce Ki except 'Kye'? Unless it is Key? I should ask Shalea or Ki in what ways it has been mispronounced.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJnwrB2V2AfmgijB5cfb_aQ9-S9Ba_RgVKdR9B4oe4kMq6AxU53_P46ye1ZwrkBIjFi7WA_CuMjl0chnZYH2Z5RlLHu_SSOOPV-cizkK6z97Hs9o86mbl6HkuLoSGBvrstHR70APjp7QBE986ZrFYKhPFDRvczco-Zw9UkNomfKPkCb-9IfD4nBR679bwV" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="272" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJnwrB2V2AfmgijB5cfb_aQ9-S9Ba_RgVKdR9B4oe4kMq6AxU53_P46ye1ZwrkBIjFi7WA_CuMjl0chnZYH2Z5RlLHu_SSOOPV-cizkK6z97Hs9o86mbl6HkuLoSGBvrstHR70APjp7QBE986ZrFYKhPFDRvczco-Zw9UkNomfKPkCb-9IfD4nBR679bwV" width="210" /></a></div><br />Before he was born, his parents had already decided boy or girl the baby would be named in honor of its two grandmothers' middle names, Kathryn and Irene. Their second child was a girl and she does bear that name while Ki's was shortened to the two first initials. I have seen one other instance of the name spelled the same as his - in a story about a man in Nebraska - surprisingly with the same last name.<p></p><p>(Ki playing in grandma's rain barrel.)</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbDHznZZUGoRZD31szxqFZBncmvqF0osSEXauBLpMyHLuYb7CsVzPOj9QtDMIqoOLPZ9vb6NBNxN28htDoYLhnXqfC8_idClTo0GzCR2JekGbF6He0jGc3mXCIW2Zu3vf1GPWXEdgEMnQXZcvgcHatgJDYTYvtXBcrB_SD6eQfRkVguPg3mftWeRgr0Pp7" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="251" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbDHznZZUGoRZD31szxqFZBncmvqF0osSEXauBLpMyHLuYb7CsVzPOj9QtDMIqoOLPZ9vb6NBNxN28htDoYLhnXqfC8_idClTo0GzCR2JekGbF6He0jGc3mXCIW2Zu3vf1GPWXEdgEMnQXZcvgcHatgJDYTYvtXBcrB_SD6eQfRkVguPg3mftWeRgr0Pp7" width="188" /></a></div>Ahh, but Deise's name. I can totally understand why people have trouble pronouncing it - and it is all my fault. <p></p><p>Before she was born, I had realized my life long dream of going to Ireland. She was born a few weeks after I returned from there and on my birthday! Her parents decided to give her an Irish name because of the connection and asked me for ideas - what Irish girls' names I liked. </p><p>I named a few, but also mentioned the name of an area I had seen in southeast Ireland in County Waterford. That area was Deise - pronounced Day-sha. And that is how she got her name. (Deise and me eating cake and celebrating our joint birthday.)</p><p><br /></p><p>And that would be that except that they chose to use the Irish spelling instead of the English pronounciation. They also spelled her middle name Mei instead of May. I don't know if she has ever been tempted to change the spelling, even though it has given her trouble her whole life, but I don't think so.</p><p>Other ways of spelling Deise are: Dacia - which is also derived from a place name - formerly a Roman province where Romania is now. The aforementioned Daysha - 'serene' or 'the period of light between dawn and nightfall'. Daisha - 'the one who is alive'. </p><p>County Waterford is colloquially known as "The Deise", settled sometime between the 4th and 8th centuries by an Irish tribe called the Deisi. People from the area chant the popular term "Up the Deise" in support of their local hurling team.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibaLIsnbpxMrwPLQDGUM1jjFjIKdUEExLd8EEXWHBbAjkbUG3s4Gy_idVzzDrnOuOF6pnwsRdVrCOSCPIqtN4D7LO0d2hQyPur9Me4y55xKDCJG7mVsu_7G5HGUVfe6TUJI56t5x57lUcBD72k2dInBd3fmGvZpIAJxhH2FJ3jQjxLMI7j4Dc5Z6ooGlN5" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibaLIsnbpxMrwPLQDGUM1jjFjIKdUEExLd8EEXWHBbAjkbUG3s4Gy_idVzzDrnOuOF6pnwsRdVrCOSCPIqtN4D7LO0d2hQyPur9Me4y55xKDCJG7mVsu_7G5HGUVfe6TUJI56t5x57lUcBD72k2dInBd3fmGvZpIAJxhH2FJ3jQjxLMI7j4Dc5Z6ooGlN5" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>In addition to my granddaughter's name, when I think of the area I also think of the beautiful crystal made there.</p><p>I've could never afford a piece of Waterford cyrstal but I've always admired it.</p><p>You might recognize it as being the trophy for winning a golf game. Or as the maker of the ball that drops on New Year's Eve in Times Square. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I have never had trouble with anyone mispronouncing my name, Ramona, but I have had it misspelled many times: Ramonia, Romona, Romana..... </p><p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-9022210845248419632024-03-08T11:22:00.000-06:002024-03-08T11:22:42.337-06:00International Women's Day<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaZ04PzauHM6SjXQ2KY6K4UR3zIC3shIwJAr_7hSXknbHpD6vkHIAEFMtQFonmxWgM1TDnIJLVOXsMMU8bmMEKL4EYYUDWJoWeMtECf0xZZPWoBYbmDR8Vv9Eif3xmXQVzLHhcjFlb_CDgnSUdVSEUaQz16iEhVzqmaK7MZjy2jAqpdzCzmT8NhgvGoj9T" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaZ04PzauHM6SjXQ2KY6K4UR3zIC3shIwJAr_7hSXknbHpD6vkHIAEFMtQFonmxWgM1TDnIJLVOXsMMU8bmMEKL4EYYUDWJoWeMtECf0xZZPWoBYbmDR8Vv9Eif3xmXQVzLHhcjFlb_CDgnSUdVSEUaQz16iEhVzqmaK7MZjy2jAqpdzCzmT8NhgvGoj9T" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Bud wished me a Happy International Women's Day this morning. I asked him: "Why? Because I've been to Ireland?" His reply was "Yes." to which I replied: "I don't think that necessarily makes me an international woman." Then he asked, "How many women from Iowa do you think have been to Ireland?" I said, probably more than you think with so many Iowan's claiming Irish heritage.</p><p>Naturally that sent me to Google to ask what percentage of Iowan's have Irish roots. The answer: 13%. So, with Iowa's population around three million, that would be 450,000. And if half those are women, that would be around 225,000 women, perhaps, celebrating their Irish heritage on International Women's Day. But I have no way of knowing how many of those have visited Ireland. Ten percent? One percent? And does visiting a foreign country once make someone an international woman?</p><p>International Women's Day (IWD) describes it as: "a global day celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women". "The day also marks a call to action for accelerating gender parity." And while I have seen many strides toward equalizing things between men and women, I don't think it will ever truly happen. Still, I consider myself fortunate to have lived in the time and place I have.<br /></p><p>By the way, German has the predominant percentage of ancestry in Iowa with 35%. I can trace more of my ancestors to German roots than Irish, but I think of myself as more Irish because of my Irish surname and because I have always 'felt' more Irish. </p><p>Whatever and however you celebrate the day - Happy International Women's Day. 💖🌎</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-23542275240778502432024-03-05T16:21:00.000-06:002024-03-05T16:21:04.716-06:00Two Years Ago Today<p>Two years ago today we were under risk for severe weather with a 30% chance for damaging winds and a 10% risk for tornadoes. At noon the first tornado watch was issued for southern Iowa, northern Missouri, although a major tornado outbreak was not expected. As the afternoon progressed, multiple supercell thunderstorms developed with one in southwest Iowa becoming dominant. It passed north and west of us, but we had the t.v. on for alerts.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1mCTXqlCAUPOv1Fagqxfpk9r--tKZWDpeDl31ih4W7J8u2d4vPfQiqBuM3ZdDxpb_MYlhxr1fDW3_j7Vj13YtTaf5IFspiAlTWEM8TMq-SCD0B16GcB1n_X-0ZXro1BN7Qeih8vB0l49Ho1L1cBJtD5_Fv8NwcyzBgRK0QVxMy5jROnChem0C954OSmSj" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1mCTXqlCAUPOv1Fagqxfpk9r--tKZWDpeDl31ih4W7J8u2d4vPfQiqBuM3ZdDxpb_MYlhxr1fDW3_j7Vj13YtTaf5IFspiAlTWEM8TMq-SCD0B16GcB1n_X-0ZXro1BN7Qeih8vB0l49Ho1L1cBJtD5_Fv8NwcyzBgRK0QVxMy5jROnChem0C954OSmSj" width="320" /></a></div>A little after 4p.m. a t.v. reporter/storm follower on the southwest side of Winterset posted this live shot of a huge tornado heading toward the town. My son and daughter-in-law lived on that side of Winterset. My first thought was to call and make sure they were going to the basement. Then I realized, knowing my son, he was standing in their yard watching it. (He was.)<p></p><p><br /></p><p>Strangely enough, I wasn't too concerned about them. I knew that they knew enough to take cover in time. The EF4 tornado struck around 4:26 p.m. about a mile south of their home. There were multiple deaths and injuries along with major damage. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiifvoPuMwIZSVD3hMe_qLu72Az86z24TXeRhLRaY5b3uOqhWd9A5a58PdYUA4FqoV6izg22EIvaK5MWo3GuksjWCLZX3_mmXfmisg4hAruJQjInleiQtAFQc1bOaYXJc6A4wtTnScMFO88xV3LGzBUexCAbA8qoqqvM5yE21Jbc1emZ3xxyLCkXliv_WUm" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="117" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiifvoPuMwIZSVD3hMe_qLu72Az86z24TXeRhLRaY5b3uOqhWd9A5a58PdYUA4FqoV6izg22EIvaK5MWo3GuksjWCLZX3_mmXfmisg4hAruJQjInleiQtAFQc1bOaYXJc6A4wtTnScMFO88xV3LGzBUexCAbA8qoqqvM5yE21Jbc1emZ3xxyLCkXliv_WUm=w220-h320" width="220" /></a></div><p>One of the reasons I wasn't worried was because Preston was a seasoned storm watcher. When we lived near Grimes, we all watched a tornado pass north of us on the way toward Johnston.</p><p></p><p>The year before this photo of a nine-year-old Preston was taken, when we lived on Tuck Corner, we watched a tornado south of us moving east after touching down in Gravity and before destroying almost everything except the house on the farm of one of my cousin's west of Lenox. Fortunately, they were not hurt.</p><p>But I do remember Preston being upset because after watching the tornado from our yard, I sent him and his sister to the basement as I continued watching. "Why do we have to go to the basement?" was his complaint which had merit since any danger to us was already past.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>He got his chance to be the storm spotter in 1984 when we were all at my mother's house. We were inside fixing supper and he was out in the front yard watching the weather. He came tearing into the house shouting that a tornado was coming! "Yeah, sure", I said. About then the wind came up, the trees began thrashing around and we all looked out to watch a funnel cloud a mile west, moving northeast. Later we would learn it had destroyed a home one and a half miles west of Mom's, leaving nothing but the basement where a mother and her two children had fortunately sheltered and survived with minor injuries, before moving along to the south side of Corning and causing some damage.</p><p>In one of those "it's a small world coincidences, we learned that Preston's future father-in-law was part of the crew sent to repair the large transmission lines west of mom's that the tornado took down that day.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6FowhGGwtit6F2lze_z5X5gtDApHt1LtBjsyhI_ibFHC4HvttlwwYHpEHHw_tdppnYu7GSnJGau90C2IZbaBOIwzYZk_XX-YepQYZoQ5-nBXUCVKY2fpzQlgkI04ugL5VoUfz1KdNFnRi_7sLOVYmlxscGOJldQlEi07Gz_vYO-1JOryEN2heGstIpE7q" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6FowhGGwtit6F2lze_z5X5gtDApHt1LtBjsyhI_ibFHC4HvttlwwYHpEHHw_tdppnYu7GSnJGau90C2IZbaBOIwzYZk_XX-YepQYZoQ5-nBXUCVKY2fpzQlgkI04ugL5VoUfz1KdNFnRi_7sLOVYmlxscGOJldQlEi07Gz_vYO-1JOryEN2heGstIpE7q" width="180" /></a></div><br />Spring tornadoes are not uncommon. March 22, 2011, I stood on our deck and watched and photographed this tornado west of our current home in Creston.<p></p><p>A year later, April 14, 2012, a tornado struck the northwest corner of Creston, causing major damage to the hospital and destroying the AEA building. </p><p>Severe weather awareness week is not far off - March 25-29. Once again we will be reminded what else spring can bring besides tulips, daffodils and violets. Hopefully, there will be no major tornado outbreaks.</p><p><br /></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-11387207951497049442024-03-03T11:11:00.000-06:002024-03-03T11:11:17.608-06:00Jack and Jill <p> You've probably heard "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after." But do you know the rest of the story?</p><p>I recently found these four pages which look as though they came out of a book for children. Because of the date, 1949, it was probably something in Mom's things that I saved.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHau9u_rX3UPGc8Pjr0II2O8PMAFBOo-OPcSW5aZuWHnpBgXona0H04YdlsPzyZZsBheGRmiPvvLb19D9trDye1g2ubcmqejpQsGCSi3x5g6txDK7mN88HAtjsEA6COgtz45dEsw6Arrq-6xNY14gfB3FVOeHgE6uS7ps-PwE5MTVuRq2LAJyl0TYkCsvl" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="919" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHau9u_rX3UPGc8Pjr0II2O8PMAFBOo-OPcSW5aZuWHnpBgXona0H04YdlsPzyZZsBheGRmiPvvLb19D9trDye1g2ubcmqejpQsGCSi3x5g6txDK7mN88HAtjsEA6COgtz45dEsw6Arrq-6xNY14gfB3FVOeHgE6uS7ps-PwE5MTVuRq2LAJyl0TYkCsvl" width="197" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9kXqPtDls4MuStDPStL10g-ahja-MfqPHlXFy2QJ1NsxI2Ks1GOxOxg2arSFu92F2kABn6UKKLpXqIVULUg5SbAlIM0V2ZKaLWSnRxycwSRnL4uSgZ7zPcC2AvA19d7caTgS-tEfhV_v36SyWcTAztso9gw7dC0tQbIMppOIQFIJXvQ4_WSZVpDtwhS7S" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="921" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9kXqPtDls4MuStDPStL10g-ahja-MfqPHlXFy2QJ1NsxI2Ks1GOxOxg2arSFu92F2kABn6UKKLpXqIVULUg5SbAlIM0V2ZKaLWSnRxycwSRnL4uSgZ7zPcC2AvA19d7caTgS-tEfhV_v36SyWcTAztso9gw7dC0tQbIMppOIQFIJXvQ4_WSZVpDtwhS7S" width="197" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8Kvs8WjjvTE_EKZJhSFpKJwR_BQ5Nft0h1lPol6gmY_m2iFYz-g4z6W1N6paMOC_57kYxHh0PPGM99_egH4c1TDhsgbFdBwUlVwjnsZwUREUVp3GlsaVG59DqNR1_oMhOlUMj1tt2W_1LQSHdE_0Ylylsp79TpOhlurY2M7md1SJRxbrOKSDGJqDa6ql8" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="911" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8Kvs8WjjvTE_EKZJhSFpKJwR_BQ5Nft0h1lPol6gmY_m2iFYz-g4z6W1N6paMOC_57kYxHh0PPGM99_egH4c1TDhsgbFdBwUlVwjnsZwUREUVp3GlsaVG59DqNR1_oMhOlUMj1tt2W_1LQSHdE_0Ylylsp79TpOhlurY2M7md1SJRxbrOKSDGJqDa6ql8" width="196" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWVvXsajd0kBlODVJQjM06cr2aig4s47Qi-HDur8gsfkt-SLjfoGNR8zCJTSv7TPb78njwC71u-4YERjequJ8duaBHeN0YHVeo2sbWiRZNzI0ErfR4En_LIizpYwPowg2tB0UbdRjtc7b9acpl2Wsz5LJrpb7fsGFxVLElMs8ZPzRIJSv5yb77lduEUbED" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="907" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWVvXsajd0kBlODVJQjM06cr2aig4s47Qi-HDur8gsfkt-SLjfoGNR8zCJTSv7TPb78njwC71u-4YERjequJ8duaBHeN0YHVeo2sbWiRZNzI0ErfR4En_LIizpYwPowg2tB0UbdRjtc7b9acpl2Wsz5LJrpb7fsGFxVLElMs8ZPzRIJSv5yb77lduEUbED" width="196" /></a></div><br />That fine print in the lower right corner reads: "564 COPR. A.G.C.C. 1949 <span style="font-size: xx-small;">MADE IN THE U.S.A</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-small; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicdNKdDjYjPl1HYD0Npc0QKROoKmuzVyOnQ-cADxg1kgX9-GHl-AgAj4xgnrQeEFw8xNfWOI3shcc2yM91abgFClI0i8z0Yi3FmG7aUnCQBwYTtWrtOu9qUIwTzPOqZnk892indA4e4DcjG9TyHjz1aoPN-3A6RMA_j4kFlvWN6mSq1uwP6_v3fjONePcv" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicdNKdDjYjPl1HYD0Npc0QKROoKmuzVyOnQ-cADxg1kgX9-GHl-AgAj4xgnrQeEFw8xNfWOI3shcc2yM91abgFClI0i8z0Yi3FmG7aUnCQBwYTtWrtOu9qUIwTzPOqZnk892indA4e4DcjG9TyHjz1aoPN-3A6RMA_j4kFlvWN6mSq1uwP6_v3fjONePcv" width="320" /></a></div><br />Googling the COPR. A.G.C.C. 1949 returned this image showing these as "Greeting Cards with Song Books." But the illustrations were in many colors.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiwEcUe1X_9SKLKTCoKuaz55MYs5tq1XQqqGjt8d1p1blzYZvBUbCe84RFAIIbR-J5jtMaX6G_QFrB0CqA25zGvS3KuWiKX-dFBmslrqxg-R9unytJWt819HH2KdgbH65U9E0VgeIkM4L3Uo69JWSFkJzsi0VJJeagfLBgpoqoast_Zb9T35YL3iUOHPga" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiwEcUe1X_9SKLKTCoKuaz55MYs5tq1XQqqGjt8d1p1blzYZvBUbCe84RFAIIbR-J5jtMaX6G_QFrB0CqA25zGvS3KuWiKX-dFBmslrqxg-R9unytJWt819HH2KdgbH65U9E0VgeIkM4L3Uo69JWSFkJzsi0VJJeagfLBgpoqoast_Zb9T35YL3iUOHPga" width="240" /></a></div><br />This one, which seems to be more like my Jack and Jill, had the same copyright date but a different number. (576) Was this something I got for my 6th birthday in 1949? Or something my sister received for her 4th birthday? I'll never know. But these four pages, which by the way are still attached even though I showed them as separate, are a reminder of my childhood and how my mother read to us until we could read for ourselves. I credit her for my love of reading and for saving something from all those years ago.<p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-46223369310936810022024-03-01T16:26:00.001-06:002024-03-01T16:26:50.847-06:00It's National Pig Day<p>National Pig Day, celebrated annually on March 1, was started in 1972 by two sisters "for the purpose of according the pig it's rightful place as one of the most intelligent domesticated animals". Pigs are smarter even than dogs.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7-NFtOGK2yj2Iv0OotlFv86kYxz5GdgRSJHFwXhoGgftKWVaQh4yu3cLx2fq0eIx2bnv-lqdf6EDwjHwaXoacSyvdV2VeMHKllzqxzvz57V3DvrVvfGI6OBIQndspRm2TPZar1aUuO6QmDNCN-ZcVUlxmrsaUUsol9_1i0Im73wbXGVNp3ESJ8pH40--c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="316" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7-NFtOGK2yj2Iv0OotlFv86kYxz5GdgRSJHFwXhoGgftKWVaQh4yu3cLx2fq0eIx2bnv-lqdf6EDwjHwaXoacSyvdV2VeMHKllzqxzvz57V3DvrVvfGI6OBIQndspRm2TPZar1aUuO6QmDNCN-ZcVUlxmrsaUUsol9_1i0Im73wbXGVNp3ESJ8pH40--c" width="320" /></a></div><br />I've shared this photo many times. It illustrates and reminds me of some of the best years of my life. I had moved back home to live the kind of life I had grown up knowing - doing chores, raising livestock and food - but best of all - being independent. I was living life my way, being responsible for all my decisions, and secure in the love of family.<p></p><div>In addition to the pigs shown above, I had raised two runts in the hen house on the acreage near Grimes and a couple more in the hen house on Tuck Corner before raising the above litters in the barn there. I remember the first one at this location was a blind pig named Rupert. I don't remember the name of the other one. Faith, Hope, Charity and Grace were the sows pictured with their litters.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also had chickens, both here and at the place we next moved to. Eventually I even had a flock of sheep. But pigs were always my favorites. I never thought about it, but maybe it was because they were so intelligent. Intelligence is one of the attributes I most admire.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Pig Day. 🐖💗</div>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-73734675130880974972024-02-29T15:09:00.000-06:002024-02-29T15:09:15.258-06:00February 2024 Reading List<p>The fewest books read in a month for how many years?!! Even with an extra day in February, only three books read! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7Ssha24xA34cB1PcloJN4u4Fhp_RohjUx7qNR_s1h43w69wzh9GP0cdiODQcET6IBkSIIER1SJzwH0tczSkSFRKsz0sGFpGUqJB6CS3rimN2YOgkqxcd4MMN4HuXMvwtSXha5y5fH0Ir13HDrVZ6QZ17KJgfivXbtmkhS4fxEYnggiG7SZ_LVkwAXKO8D" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="1782" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7Ssha24xA34cB1PcloJN4u4Fhp_RohjUx7qNR_s1h43w69wzh9GP0cdiODQcET6IBkSIIER1SJzwH0tczSkSFRKsz0sGFpGUqJB6CS3rimN2YOgkqxcd4MMN4HuXMvwtSXha5y5fH0Ir13HDrVZ6QZ17KJgfivXbtmkhS4fxEYnggiG7SZ_LVkwAXKO8D" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>The Skin Collector </b>and <b>The Steel Kiss </b>by<i style="font-weight: bold;"> Jeffery Deaver </i>are the first two I've read in his Lincoln Rhyme series, although not the first two of the series. The library does not have all his books.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidDx9Wfo_IQnyUnOHQ2WhSpuxBl-xUY6XGu6lZghHMZFMwl02y4gjYhs6dDlqGFXS81Txcuiw3MO9Typc9EAERB5n1Z70zeQdl8FGvRCXgbS3lIhI9VmZOdGGfHpb70851oDdVRc0iHglyn8ruTxkchzuLzEXns4KCy-RoguPmO54AqHNra4W7YnkckQ0v" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="1890" height="74" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidDx9Wfo_IQnyUnOHQ2WhSpuxBl-xUY6XGu6lZghHMZFMwl02y4gjYhs6dDlqGFXS81Txcuiw3MO9Typc9EAERB5n1Z70zeQdl8FGvRCXgbS3lIhI9VmZOdGGfHpb70851oDdVRc0iHglyn8ruTxkchzuLzEXns4KCy-RoguPmO54AqHNra4W7YnkckQ0v" width="320" /></a></div><p><b style="font-weight: bold;">The Burial Hour</b>,<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>also by<b> </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">Jeffery Deaver</i>,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>was the third book read this month. I believe this is the first author I've ever read who has, as the main character, a quadriplegic. Rhyme was a NYPD homicide detective before his accident. Now he is a forensic criminalist solving crimes with his knowledge, experience and a room full of testing equipment. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjI4HRliervg81eIgvU2nfXALVyYAiUeRjIueQ5ep-syeyuIzjSqVkDW4sWJP3Kiqz79s1miP7EDucOtD1dMHPll7Y-aKkBhMWfvqckEryEIZ6xhrTncRDEo2QGr4_3ZE2S1wvdy985ocPNnnkxSQGVwQbIolJ-KomxvsRVu7naVch8RGqUdd870vdDVRfS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="149" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjI4HRliervg81eIgvU2nfXALVyYAiUeRjIueQ5ep-syeyuIzjSqVkDW4sWJP3Kiqz79s1miP7EDucOtD1dMHPll7Y-aKkBhMWfvqckEryEIZ6xhrTncRDEo2QGr4_3ZE2S1wvdy985ocPNnnkxSQGVwQbIolJ-KomxvsRVu7naVch8RGqUdd870vdDVRfS" width="228" /></a></div>Daylight savings time begins in ten days. We will gain and extra hour of daylight at the end of each day.<p></p><p>This morning I gained an extra hour - of sleep. I slept until 7:00 a.m.! I couldn't believe it! I haven't done that in years! I am almost always up between 4:45 and 5:30 a.m.; rarely sleeping until six. And it is all thanks to HD.</p><p>In the last couple of weeks I began waking up with headaches. They would go away after I'd been up awhile. Monday night I had a headache so bad it woke me up. I started thinking about what the cause might be and finally hit upon blood pressure. I hadn't checked mine in ages. When I did it was 167 over 89. No wonder I had a headache. As soon as my BP medicine had a chance to work, the numbers went down.</p><p>When I told Bud about it, he asked if I had ever talked to the doctor about taking my blood pressure medicine at night. He said his doctor had advised him to do that. So I tried it. Tuesday night I slept great and woke up without a headache. Same thing yesterday and I slept until 6:30. Today, as noted, I slept until 7a.m. - and felt great! No headaches. The only downside is that I feel like I've lost a good portion of my morning - not that I do anything important - but those two hours were my alone time. I'm sure I will still have mornings when I get up early, but getting more sleep, especially headache free sleep, is wonderful.</p><p></p><p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-61346487075447542262024-02-27T10:02:00.001-06:002024-02-27T10:02:26.070-06:00Thinking About My Mom<p>Although my mother physically left us more than twenty years ago, I still feel her presence. A day rarely goes by that I don't think of her for one reason or another.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBjQNOXnXWK3aeXJ6L_yWqvx5P5DjQcU-32PUKNLZd9pny3uVw08C-uxdgnqHZWyTaOrtLn6OTLBtfFbpmo_-NHASN-PBWV1wLwzxE74n9sKNr6loAD13IFHgJNxbOvicsLZDEjvdEPMXfoKk4kiSPYpzcb7zh9LxGwO0CmjByziOi9AyDad9MSft9GGOh" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="303" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBjQNOXnXWK3aeXJ6L_yWqvx5P5DjQcU-32PUKNLZd9pny3uVw08C-uxdgnqHZWyTaOrtLn6OTLBtfFbpmo_-NHASN-PBWV1wLwzxE74n9sKNr6loAD13IFHgJNxbOvicsLZDEjvdEPMXfoKk4kiSPYpzcb7zh9LxGwO0CmjByziOi9AyDad9MSft9GGOh" width="232" /></a></div><br />Ten days ago it was because I posted this photo of her with my younger brother because it was his 70th birthday.<p></p><p>Back then being pregnant after your mid-thirties was considered high risk, but all went well. My sister and I were as delighted with a baby brother as mom was with another son.</p><p>There was something else familiar about this photo - the skirt she was wearing.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpXSZQwf8qQ25Vl3gNIxGEv8EYN1c3fwZInCzZonm1shZ6srcAAMq6Xugh2m2WAaKZ5NW6CPK9r79ID6i5rj14ZnpKCqxlGrjc_vXnkABrTckb8I_i3ZXTqEfAopVMExH_mypOW72G52OWJs-LaFu1HJJv0rOWRr6RIbRY5AUHSy5e_Hx83dg5Zsj8xR9R" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="165" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpXSZQwf8qQ25Vl3gNIxGEv8EYN1c3fwZInCzZonm1shZ6srcAAMq6Xugh2m2WAaKZ5NW6CPK9r79ID6i5rj14ZnpKCqxlGrjc_vXnkABrTckb8I_i3ZXTqEfAopVMExH_mypOW72G52OWJs-LaFu1HJJv0rOWRr6RIbRY5AUHSy5e_Hx83dg5Zsj8xR9R=w165-h320" width="165" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>I remembered the red with white swirls matching skirts she made for Betty and me, but had forgotten that she made one for herself, too. </p><p>She either really liked the material or got a good deal on a bolt end. There were a few other times she dressed to match us, but it was not as often as she made the same matching outfits for the two of us. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-XneCw9QHsm-xhUEq0Te17hojAGSsiQk_3WtYJyFxsNuUNucPAHUCrjrc__xog86-C6_swOWuReXJmi0jxBYMP36oEFp7hOwdi_ZhdgfQzU4V_fbs9JRvMgW9hQmf2tvYuStO_Oi7RLDnsA6Xsk0nsL8iU3abgowz91mHGHWc2qL1b-Mm0dEMoys_Xya_" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2256" data-original-width="1279" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-XneCw9QHsm-xhUEq0Te17hojAGSsiQk_3WtYJyFxsNuUNucPAHUCrjrc__xog86-C6_swOWuReXJmi0jxBYMP36oEFp7hOwdi_ZhdgfQzU4V_fbs9JRvMgW9hQmf2tvYuStO_Oi7RLDnsA6Xsk0nsL8iU3abgowz91mHGHWc2qL1b-Mm0dEMoys_Xya_=w181-h320" width="181" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>And a week ago we had to get this new coffee maker. I got up that morning, switched on the previous one and nothing happened.</p><p> "Oh no! What am I going to do without my coffee?" </p><p>Improvise, that's what. I boiled some water, poured it through the coffee grounds and drank serviceable, if not great, coffee that day.</p><p>I don't need anything fancy. A basic Mr. Coffee does just fine.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrvGazUVLbynvo5oRya6WsVYjOKbzHt5LCwSc7YWH0cUE8N92oO2DYnaV165C0934ZmfVvUFQWYTMirz4qosPtPwu533UfxnrHWetUSB1h94hnDDRplqqmfRHeZIrHft0GY4CtALNEC8C2jh85D34dMxAOytU9SfpKEP7_AFAkEftre_1-Q3D1OnxraDiW" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1457" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrvGazUVLbynvo5oRya6WsVYjOKbzHt5LCwSc7YWH0cUE8N92oO2DYnaV165C0934ZmfVvUFQWYTMirz4qosPtPwu533UfxnrHWetUSB1h94hnDDRplqqmfRHeZIrHft0GY4CtALNEC8C2jh85D34dMxAOytU9SfpKEP7_AFAkEftre_1-Q3D1OnxraDiW" width="320" /></a></div><br />The reason all that made me think of Mom was because I had been using her last coffee maker. I had kept it as a back-up in case my previous Mr. Coffee quit.<p></p><p>In addition to being much more than 20 years old, her's had been free with the purchase of Gevalia Kaffee. Her pot was black rather than the green shown here, but the same model. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84c_7wn8HfNG7E2Ygo7eCyMAKI4m4_nOVbuaOCh_z7NaQ7PijCYNS0x5b_gsaz0oz5OBfS_XVTM2IQPuFh5Kx1Tmihxv8hl0SIWYDKsJQGno1ir0w8RI3OKieweKDE_77kTJ31yQ1X6Qg5TV-ZEQXV9LmTM3w3OOoP1PZapHrrTkozXxo96qLqkwV38uJ" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="1140" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84c_7wn8HfNG7E2Ygo7eCyMAKI4m4_nOVbuaOCh_z7NaQ7PijCYNS0x5b_gsaz0oz5OBfS_XVTM2IQPuFh5Kx1Tmihxv8hl0SIWYDKsJQGno1ir0w8RI3OKieweKDE_77kTJ31yQ1X6Qg5TV-ZEQXV9LmTM3w3OOoP1PZapHrrTkozXxo96qLqkwV38uJ=w200-h149" width="200" /></a></div><br />Gevalia was a Swedish company which, in 1983, began offering a free coffee maker if you bought a box (four packages) of their coffee. Mom saw one their ads in a magazine and sent for it. The agreement was to continue monthly purchase of coffee, but you could cancel that at any time. I think the coffee was $9.98 a box. The packaging at that time looked like this picture.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>I thought it was such a good deal that I also sent for a free coffee maker and coffee. I don't remember how long my coffee maker lasted but I had it for quite awhile. When it quit I also stopped getting their coffee and switched to other brands. I'm not sure, but I think my younger brother still uses Gevalia coffee which is now available in grocery stores. </p><p>When Hills Brothers discontinued our favorite coffee we tried several different brands, including Gevalia, but none were quite right. We finally settled on McCafé Columbian which we now have to order through Amazon since Walmart discontinued stocking it. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiayddt8NpOn0sPUQzymKSIDbtYnice4WlTyvKHoFcScNq-Li_6C74ZxbgjOp6cI5-Aozv3r45aot02XNZui1KYTL7zJmyc-kdH-BnpVwyz_AnNn3sdv1RFZfux4L_Qtp387GMP4COUdsKhKtCL6m_MYqb8YpPC_NpDuLu1oTa2hSlNxLTsF7MIe-nZdbNt" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiayddt8NpOn0sPUQzymKSIDbtYnice4WlTyvKHoFcScNq-Li_6C74ZxbgjOp6cI5-Aozv3r45aot02XNZui1KYTL7zJmyc-kdH-BnpVwyz_AnNn3sdv1RFZfux4L_Qtp387GMP4COUdsKhKtCL6m_MYqb8YpPC_NpDuLu1oTa2hSlNxLTsF7MIe-nZdbNt" width="169" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>"Life doesn't come with a manual, it comes with a mother."</p><p>And I had the very best. 💖</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-42025149133033858172024-02-22T16:39:00.001-06:002024-02-24T07:05:03.552-06:00Spring In February?<p>After January's bitter cold and frozen water lines, February's spring like weather has been wonderful - although it does make me apprehensive about what may be ahead of us this summer.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmHt_HosufhCYdcjI3iAG72-jkWGB6rlwrtaNbAzK1MBe58lgsLIewj1r4bsYe8ItI7llodnw-7nGulic0ICyZ2mX6lppaTMfYz6GKu3fngZ6wAF2EX_Q2kS8BWtYiuCPiojAHcbagydL9iqZ0xjX3Pr4kiL6uG16M4ek5qf7N3xI_MazBNbMAvUnJe7PE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1684" data-original-width="2940" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmHt_HosufhCYdcjI3iAG72-jkWGB6rlwrtaNbAzK1MBe58lgsLIewj1r4bsYe8ItI7llodnw-7nGulic0ICyZ2mX6lppaTMfYz6GKu3fngZ6wAF2EX_Q2kS8BWtYiuCPiojAHcbagydL9iqZ0xjX3Pr4kiL6uG16M4ek5qf7N3xI_MazBNbMAvUnJe7PE" width="320" /></a></div><br />The weather isn't the only thing that has me in a good mood. I have been bummed because my trusty Nikon Coolpix S7000 camera has quit taking quality photos. I've been debating whether or not to get a new camera or to be content with the pics I do get. Monday I was 'this close' to ordering a new camera when it occurred to me that there are more settings than Auto which is what I've always used. The camera will zoom to 20X on auto setting, but less on all other settings. I decided to try one of the Scene settings for some sunset photos and this was the result. Yay! Nice and clear and crisp again. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidU5hNYzWwkOL7X9OGdayLzQv3t9HwF0tzumzydNXrh3pqq5D13XzIyl-lkP-g28i3akDZ53IGFSw-_PHjhGHo6rTZVSKzIKWoq9SzZeW-b-QTdfXKi43U482Qf33dKIFdzsC7b_xPqOD3fOQVrps09jZKz7H06_OdUeFTBZG97CN_R9qIy-1NBF8t9tI8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="3144" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidU5hNYzWwkOL7X9OGdayLzQv3t9HwF0tzumzydNXrh3pqq5D13XzIyl-lkP-g28i3akDZ53IGFSw-_PHjhGHo6rTZVSKzIKWoq9SzZeW-b-QTdfXKi43U482Qf33dKIFdzsC7b_xPqOD3fOQVrps09jZKz7H06_OdUeFTBZG97CN_R9qIy-1NBF8t9tI8" width="320" /></a></div><br />It was so nice Tuesday afternoon that we drove out to Green Valley State Park/Lake to see if there was anything going on. On the way past the marsh between Green Valley Lake and Summit Lake we noted all the Canada geese and Snow geese. But when we got to the park there were only a few Canada geese and very little else going on.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiV2ECieShtHn5qGEubTG0FP8RzUQzC6ID0iOU4a6uZCuq9nR0jjsRRoz_tXckN8iePP5Ej6BfMlGhO2z6LlSo3shZu5CqNDn3PpkSK4W024l8p2X66qxhnek-PAg2L3G6u-zo_KZoLFQQOKAE_c1q__HhYXID8KO3jX0rcuwRzoxKepHlfJapuYb06Nw7H" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="1785" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiV2ECieShtHn5qGEubTG0FP8RzUQzC6ID0iOU4a6uZCuq9nR0jjsRRoz_tXckN8iePP5Ej6BfMlGhO2z6LlSo3shZu5CqNDn3PpkSK4W024l8p2X66qxhnek-PAg2L3G6u-zo_KZoLFQQOKAE_c1q__HhYXID8KO3jX0rcuwRzoxKepHlfJapuYb06Nw7H" width="320" /></a></div><p>Until we neared the beach area and could see some white birds way out on the middle of the lake. I assumed it was snow geese, or possibly pelicans, but when I zoomed in with my camera, I really got excited because it was swans! I had heard that swans had been sighted at the lake a few times over the years, but we had never seen them. It was a case of right place, right time because they flew off seconds after I took this picture. Bud said I should send my photo to Channel 13, so I did, and both Jeriann, at 4p.m. and Ed at, 6p.m., used it on their weather reports. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgteUdBXye80uMD-dbiU21I10VMonDze8hWBbWqHrZdIjhWUTCYDZhtVvokgKs0yjAF5NtVDHKMEh_JjdhzxOEBATeGUbWHYK7ZdxR4xFT9TeOxTHs_UjqQYAgyYv-G780bjhFlaR1gb9OyA8RVynSpLlSBtbv6LiqVWglpvxgPQFQsNyZom7oam35jWocj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2273" data-original-width="3139" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgteUdBXye80uMD-dbiU21I10VMonDze8hWBbWqHrZdIjhWUTCYDZhtVvokgKs0yjAF5NtVDHKMEh_JjdhzxOEBATeGUbWHYK7ZdxR4xFT9TeOxTHs_UjqQYAgyYv-G780bjhFlaR1gb9OyA8RVynSpLlSBtbv6LiqVWglpvxgPQFQsNyZom7oam35jWocj" width="320" /></a></div><p>Yesterday's sunrise was gorgeous. I used one of my photos of it as my 'good morning' shot on FB with the quote: "It's a new dawn, it's a new day.....and I'm feeling good" mostly because it was the birthdate of Nina Simone and those are the words from one of her biggest hit songs - but also because I was still feeling good.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGeRVfaWb9UIZcfn5iArmfh6E8BCUaEGOXBbYI3LN2LbhKVsD908QBKuv2TSd5qcepR0QIkrxAhY6aCfTnyqRppsDVYppMExhkKyQza8-HkgoGFUifGXxOA9s2iZB1s1GkhfuCWzQu9O5V8e59hxlIHts7eos4Y-qsg0XYYW9gl6pQ1S9JV5qXDkHVen_Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGeRVfaWb9UIZcfn5iArmfh6E8BCUaEGOXBbYI3LN2LbhKVsD908QBKuv2TSd5qcepR0QIkrxAhY6aCfTnyqRppsDVYppMExhkKyQza8-HkgoGFUifGXxOA9s2iZB1s1GkhfuCWzQu9O5V8e59hxlIHts7eos4Y-qsg0XYYW9gl6pQ1S9JV5qXDkHVen_Q" width="320" /></a></div><br />And those feelings continued into this morning when I got up early and saw the 'almost full' Snow Moon before it set. Taking photos and combining them with poems or words from songs or even my own musings, is one of my greatest pleasures. I'm so glad changing settings on my camera made all the difference. <p></p><p>I had another feel good moment a little later when I checked my email and found a very nice message from a fellow Iowan. She had stumbled across my blog when searching for something akin to a phrase I had used. She commented how amazed she was by how much we had in common after reading my bio and some of my posts....how she, too, looks for signs and symbols. </p><p>She wrote: "....it was an awesome case of synchronicity that really prompted me to reach out to you. I had read "The Swan" (Mary Oliver's poem) on your blog which I loved and was eager to comment on, but got sidetracked this past week. Then lo and behold, while watching the local news on WHO the other night, I saw your beautiful photo of the swans!"</p><p>So, I wrote that this was another feel good moment this morning. It was more than that, to borrow a current phrase: "I feel seen."</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr3O-criLoXcKMvmbTQOFZp-cHRizRieo3aD-IFpvyvyXATTsXIdK9aV3FMDS0kvkbyy17JEwIULlj231BC8snfJ4-3QAa1VBz53INCPoIPMrWledW5q23d6l4EHMpKaXg6CHKkdABVV5vWMCUlzo6dYZTyMq9MWE3pf68WF5BJOElZwOsm55uE2yjgmJt" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2411" data-original-width="2698" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr3O-criLoXcKMvmbTQOFZp-cHRizRieo3aD-IFpvyvyXATTsXIdK9aV3FMDS0kvkbyy17JEwIULlj231BC8snfJ4-3QAa1VBz53INCPoIPMrWledW5q23d6l4EHMpKaXg6CHKkdABVV5vWMCUlzo6dYZTyMq9MWE3pf68WF5BJOElZwOsm55uE2yjgmJt" width="269" /></a></div><br />One last picture - not only to show how well my camera works on a different setting, but also how long my Valentine's bouquet is lasting.<p></p><p>I hope you are feeling as good, happy and seen as am I. 😊💛<br /><br /></p><p></p><p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-43955197605858966012024-02-15T09:18:00.001-06:002024-02-19T06:38:24.226-06:00It Had To Be You<p>The day after all the hearts and flowers and candy, this is the tune in my mind when I woke up:</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It Had To Be You</span></p><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Why do I do just as you say</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Why must I just give you your way</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Why do I sigh, why don't I try to forget</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It must have been that something lovers call fate</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Kept me saying I have to wait</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I saw them all, just couldn't fall, 'til we met</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I wandered around, and I finally found</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The somebody who</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Could make me be true</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And could make me be blue</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And even be glad</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Just to be sad - thinking of you</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Some others I've seen</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Might never be mean</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Might never be cross, or try to be boss</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But they wouldn't do</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">For nobody else gave me a thrill</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With all your faults, I love you still</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wonderful you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">For nobody else gave me a thrill</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With all your faults, I love you still</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wonderful you</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">It had to be you</span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;">I thought about those eleven years of being a single parent after I vowed to never marry again and the twenty or so years between high school and when we met again and then the lyrics of the song going through my thoughts.</div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px;">The song was right: <i style="font-weight: bold;">It had to be you</i>. 💘</div><p><br /></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-4330324534521968602024-02-07T07:16:00.000-06:002024-02-07T07:16:15.569-06:00More Like Four Decades<p><span style="font-size: medium;">A Decade </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">By Amy Lowell</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsxvvAbiS9h2WrBdFSUYAeVcin1-kHH9wq43pgWCMehmxhVpHf7W4WUCiW7h3dnOMxWPQZfK5zGvzbxJ6n8pogmhYEM5XlHzEz1VYGl-D4ehGIwo8RZXxYpoFVTDKm3G21FwWiGF1oPi9SWsxms1lYWZfcXY3l5NUf1C2m1VihYe9B3Db_RyeSWq0ptmTc" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="513" data-original-width="536" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsxvvAbiS9h2WrBdFSUYAeVcin1-kHH9wq43pgWCMehmxhVpHf7W4WUCiW7h3dnOMxWPQZfK5zGvzbxJ6n8pogmhYEM5XlHzEz1VYGl-D4ehGIwo8RZXxYpoFVTDKm3G21FwWiGF1oPi9SWsxms1lYWZfcXY3l5NUf1C2m1VihYe9B3Db_RyeSWq0ptmTc=w200-h191" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>When you came, you were like red wine and honey,</p><p>And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHMU_MqioKobOfddlxbfHLp0181sA1gxuNI0rlrOTGypXccyeBTOJCbBCngjMFTatD_7dwiCwWasbj-OX10I48Ilh5_rtRk1UDE9a4scx7dNX7vX70KLzva5MmaumiJCR6eDH1MH1WMDSzuKSMJikV-B4QNXDuGCHJ6uZqB5r5IA3VBqbreCTOp1j75uDe" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="970" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHMU_MqioKobOfddlxbfHLp0181sA1gxuNI0rlrOTGypXccyeBTOJCbBCngjMFTatD_7dwiCwWasbj-OX10I48Ilh5_rtRk1UDE9a4scx7dNX7vX70KLzva5MmaumiJCR6eDH1MH1WMDSzuKSMJikV-B4QNXDuGCHJ6uZqB5r5IA3VBqbreCTOp1j75uDe=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div><br />Now you are like morning bread, <p></p><p>Smooth and pleasant.</p><p>I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,</p><p>But I am completely nourished. 💞</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-25457703550231810602024-01-31T10:24:00.000-06:002024-01-31T10:24:53.775-06:00January 2024 Reading List<p>Seven books read in January --</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSaSBxqPhOKZaNN1lUQDf75COA9VBRkrIfzWg0Xz0jIW142mEAJ-jzH4grIlwGj6uavqT3ABy6s3dobqUFKnFPtWcNsWsz5i0r8YX9PGA2oqNZ6ZW6z4n4Ddr1LPNcEuFgcFiZNchhqdUw6o7CDSZOBo7rT9HIKHuzUei_VetLdIPDtUBwgENHJ3dONfRZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1422" data-original-width="1939" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSaSBxqPhOKZaNN1lUQDf75COA9VBRkrIfzWg0Xz0jIW142mEAJ-jzH4grIlwGj6uavqT3ABy6s3dobqUFKnFPtWcNsWsz5i0r8YX9PGA2oqNZ6ZW6z4n4Ddr1LPNcEuFgcFiZNchhqdUw6o7CDSZOBo7rT9HIKHuzUei_VetLdIPDtUBwgENHJ3dONfRZ" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b>Tom Lake </b>is the latest book by one of my favorite authors, <b style="font-style: italic;">Ann Patchett</b>. She is an excellent writer and I will read anything she writes, regardless of storyline.<p></p><p><b>The Cellist </b>by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Daniel Silva </i>is #21 in his Gabriel Allon series. I only have his newest book left to read to complete all he has written in this series.</p><p><b>Roadside Crosses </b>and <b>Solitude Creek </b>by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jeffrey Deaver </i>are books two and four in his Kathryn Dance series. These are the only books in this series that my library has.</p><p><b>Mad Honey </b>is a collaboration by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jodi Picoult </i>and <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jennifer Finney Boylan </i>is an absolutely captivating book written so seamlessly that one would never know two people wrote it. Picoult is another one of the authors I will read regardless of the storyline. But the storyline in this one is terrific.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcKeJSF5ts7eFuVEEBLuoQOFm1ETeGczW2s7qEJC-Sj8BW08OiQF1JC-JdAAfvy0K88bItVo_yjxLVTZdkZ-TqTcnAmoR9CDrDczauXHI8o-btjdf7M6jBtVQRlIe5qh60w3eQ1E-GhVCAlAYEBFg5NubZPxAk-ppgA9nFbzxzduMQfs81Z5GX--23271F" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="1469" height="79" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcKeJSF5ts7eFuVEEBLuoQOFm1ETeGczW2s7qEJC-Sj8BW08OiQF1JC-JdAAfvy0K88bItVo_yjxLVTZdkZ-TqTcnAmoR9CDrDczauXHI8o-btjdf7M6jBtVQRlIe5qh60w3eQ1E-GhVCAlAYEBFg5NubZPxAk-ppgA9nFbzxzduMQfs81Z5GX--23271F" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b>Lost & Hound </b>is the fifteenth book in the Sister Jane series by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Rita Mae Brown </i>and possibly the last I will read even if she writes more. As I noted about the last one I read, this one also seems rushed - as though she has a deadline and is in a hurry to meet it. Even though I still like the characters, I think I can better spend my time with books that have more substance.<p></p><p><b>The Girl Before </b>is by <i style="font-weight: bold;">JP Delaney</i>, a new author for me and a book I picked up by random. Even though it is compared to <i>Gone Girl </i>and <i>The Girl on the Train</i>, I did not care as much for this book as I did those. Maybe I will suggest to HD that we watch the limited series based on the book to see how it compares.</p><p>On February's reading list - some books in Jeffrey Deaver's Lincoln Rhyme series.</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-89921466242919884702024-01-27T10:34:00.000-06:002024-01-27T10:34:16.777-06:00Oh Rowen Tree - A Scottish Folk Song<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijGg779znHeLKwiKrZUgk7yD1_6CYeqiYWbLMQzDvZMCHN2N1OWDGHKyEDUj5mZWeF75vKteKTjkL8QKUCxUweo-jNi3luttzEuXtKnDbuICByeN_1F5Q60f1f_QpU2nkJqAy9QwEaPbws4UPSYlpZyhwuJl5wE3VRUqvV5pWm58sS7vhdtXMnZSFbYKZ-" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijGg779znHeLKwiKrZUgk7yD1_6CYeqiYWbLMQzDvZMCHN2N1OWDGHKyEDUj5mZWeF75vKteKTjkL8QKUCxUweo-jNi3luttzEuXtKnDbuICByeN_1F5Q60f1f_QpU2nkJqAy9QwEaPbws4UPSYlpZyhwuJl5wE3VRUqvV5pWm58sS7vhdtXMnZSFbYKZ-=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I always thought of <i>Oh Rowen Tree </i>as an Irish folk song - most likely because I first encountered the Celtic tradition of them providing protection against evil spirits in books I read about Ireland.</p><p>This is a photo of the Mountain Ash/aka/Rowen that grew across the street when we first moved here.</p><p>I don't know what killed this beautiful tree, but I did manage to save a small branch from it which I later made into a walking stick.</p><p>I also don't know what made me think of the song this morning. These are the lyrics:</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Oh Rowan Tree</span></p><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Thou'lt aya be dear to thee</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Entwined thou art wi' many ties</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">O'hame and infancy</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Thy leaves were aye the first of spring</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Thy flowers the summer's pride</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">There was nae sic a bonnie tree</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In a' the country side</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh rowan tree</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">How fair was thou in summer time</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wi' a'thy clusters white</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">How rich and gay thy autumn dress,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wi' berries red and bright!</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">On thy fair stem were mony names</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Which now nae mair I see</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But they're engraven on my heart,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Forget they ne'er can be</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh rowan tree</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">We sat aneath thy spreadin' shade</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The bairnies round thee ran</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">They pu'd they bonnie berries red,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And necklaces they strang</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">My mither, oh! I see her still,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">She smil'd our sports to see</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Wi' little jeannie on her lap,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And jamie on her knee</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh rowan tree</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh there arose my father's pray'r</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In holy ev'ning's calm</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">How sweet was them my mother's voice,</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In the martyrs' psalm</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Now a'are gane!</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">We meet nae mair aneath the rowan tree</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But hallow'd thoughts around thee twine</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">O'hame and infancy</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Oh rowan tree</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><br /></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghneoCzMcqQBrwmbIAJuivTt4Bx6KlV2riVCfr-i4rLLFJ8aveEUzrXpp7DNMiShVe8GoRiw9V5JWJjRDnFFXJ6WuO7zlugnSQ4bBvf1Vf9Gs0lmHyYUtScykGrd3CABI9cF2grsox_nKHJJ9oTjQd7bha9mXqpJs2glajxs9vMjfzjciD8QKFgQCgJKm3" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="57" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghneoCzMcqQBrwmbIAJuivTt4Bx6KlV2riVCfr-i4rLLFJ8aveEUzrXpp7DNMiShVe8GoRiw9V5JWJjRDnFFXJ6WuO7zlugnSQ4bBvf1Vf9Gs0lmHyYUtScykGrd3CABI9cF2grsox_nKHJJ9oTjQd7bha9mXqpJs2glajxs9vMjfzjciD8QKFgQCgJKm3" width="44" /></a></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></span></div>My walking stick.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge">In addition to protection against evil, the Rowan tree also represents healing and transformation.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></span></div>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-12234094513513978402024-01-17T10:26:00.001-06:002024-01-17T10:26:13.759-06:00Intimidated By My Sisters-In-Law<p>I only have two brothers but I've had five sisters-in-law. There have been only two that I felt intimidated by - and by intimidated I mean it's meaning of <i>overawed</i>, not <i>frightened</i>. Coincidently both were nurses and both were the second wives of my brothers. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOtX24qs59_0KSVo5iTisrVx0a5JAJppseGGqGFDyUp6u_LPrZmS_KfQGFky4917y0o_z3Slz9xMg0Hq8JK-_ZIbbb93QziYitTHBO3hnUqxDZMc1h60_xMd9npazo-cZ9ntHt8azOu1yGtF-nqQcsf3we3ssBNKh78jCo4uUFlcIKuucL1FAZowG1MIOp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="232" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOtX24qs59_0KSVo5iTisrVx0a5JAJppseGGqGFDyUp6u_LPrZmS_KfQGFky4917y0o_z3Slz9xMg0Hq8JK-_ZIbbb93QziYitTHBO3hnUqxDZMc1h60_xMd9npazo-cZ9ntHt8azOu1yGtF-nqQcsf3we3ssBNKh78jCo4uUFlcIKuucL1FAZowG1MIOp" width="205" /></a></div><p>I was so nervous about meeting Ruthie when Ron brought her home to meet his family. I wanted her to like me and ironically she felt the same way about meeting me, although I didn't know that until years later.</p><p>My fears were due to my feelings of inadequacy - she was educated with degrees. I was not. She was urbane. I was not. She had never been divorced. I had. But neither of us should have worried, we became the best of friends. I truly felt that she was a sister to me.</p><p>(Ruthie died twenty years ago and Ron did remarry. </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiTTZchvDTpjCm75_BfyPaD644DpEKbHF5YDIdPJm66KxolQyPuENX2Wa4SZau6D41FQar-uBI1Jb3ciNRZjq1lEG2jHx3CDH2uQNwwGbyS4RPVkQ6RMZeUyNovjiWhz3Pwvu8ljDGxzCkMm6ZskuQMtlNOuJenId6ULrmVjVtimI9SF3CYSAoD6B_ebRU" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="155" data-original-width="138" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiTTZchvDTpjCm75_BfyPaD644DpEKbHF5YDIdPJm66KxolQyPuENX2Wa4SZau6D41FQar-uBI1Jb3ciNRZjq1lEG2jHx3CDH2uQNwwGbyS4RPVkQ6RMZeUyNovjiWhz3Pwvu8ljDGxzCkMm6ZskuQMtlNOuJenId6ULrmVjVtimI9SF3CYSAoD6B_ebRU" width="214" /></a></div><br />I was not quite as nervous about meeting Les' second wife. I was much older than when I met Ruthie for the first time and more secure in myself.<p></p><p>But again, Susan was more educated and urbane. They lived farther away and our times together were, and still are, less frequent. So it took longer and probably wasn't until after she retired and we had more interactions that I felt like we had established a real friendship.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>In my eyes, Ruthie and Susan have both been charming women. I am glad they have been part of my life.</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-51273325177838139172024-01-05T11:24:00.000-06:002024-01-05T11:24:04.702-06:00When Your Chickens Come Home To Roost<p>When we moved here fifteen years ago, the owners/managers of Quiet Harbor told us there had once been a three hole golf course and that, as I recall, these chickens marked the teeing off sites. But by then the chickens had been moved out of the way along the fence. Eventually grass grew up around them and they were forgotten.</p><p>Last fall a couple of the workers used some wood from a downed tree and finally gave the chickens their own permanent roost. They are finally <i>home to roost</i>.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiphbBoE5fi7769-TXBaqCk1JsJte54SgU2JIHXMAd7KPBysUt64G3KY4F5JMvgBegVw61pbalS78ouIj53yL1noX5VKHR2PfEwZyh5KjTJc0nJbq4OyTRZV_n4MDUX64pI-Z8bpLmSMCJ-FPw1Uwq3oZ9jJhhGsosGyPQmcnazRfSbtV1l_s4hMOC9ghWh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1727" data-original-width="2013" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiphbBoE5fi7769-TXBaqCk1JsJte54SgU2JIHXMAd7KPBysUt64G3KY4F5JMvgBegVw61pbalS78ouIj53yL1noX5VKHR2PfEwZyh5KjTJc0nJbq4OyTRZV_n4MDUX64pI-Z8bpLmSMCJ-FPw1Uwq3oZ9jJhhGsosGyPQmcnazRfSbtV1l_s4hMOC9ghWh" width="280" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>As a child I was warned against doing anything regrettable lest <i>my chickens come home to roost</i>. We had chickens and they did roost in the chicken house at night, so maybe I didn't understand what Mom meant when she first used the saying around me, but I came to understand that it meant any harm I did to others would come back to cause me problems. </p><p>So if I wished for something bad to happen to someone, Mom would say, "Be careful what you wish for. Curses, like chickens, come home to roost." The saying probably dates from 1809 when Robert Southey wrote: "Curses are like young chickens, they always come home to roost."</p><p>Mom was right, of course, many times something I had said or done to hurt another came back to haunt me; made me wish I had kept quiet or not acted out. My chickens, indeed, had come home to roost. 😔</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-24470959187581402612024-01-03T08:36:00.001-06:002024-01-03T08:36:34.086-06:00Through the Fog<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjByuv8qDhSjRwKnOJUb9KLzJgLBeLKYhV7rehohFdcFtmcVQcYm9hmyVbXSL10C6wK5RcyYRyWagTS6h6lUQxraagwdIlsidAsA5RyDQTBQiy_Vpwy-JYGF4LsrQEVV9pQG0aiDSBDXsw10o_OU-mTBGkPQ90ry-VgB4mRJ0K3jEbovrbIZ-_99oUB256T" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2928" data-original-width="2355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjByuv8qDhSjRwKnOJUb9KLzJgLBeLKYhV7rehohFdcFtmcVQcYm9hmyVbXSL10C6wK5RcyYRyWagTS6h6lUQxraagwdIlsidAsA5RyDQTBQiy_Vpwy-JYGF4LsrQEVV9pQG0aiDSBDXsw10o_OU-mTBGkPQ90ry-VgB4mRJ0K3jEbovrbIZ-_99oUB256T=w257-h320" width="257" /></a></div><br /><p><i style="font-size: large;">"Truth is the torch that gleams through the fog without dispelling it." </i>(Claude Adrien Helvetius (1715-1771)</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It is very foggy this morning and fog always makes me think of Carl Sandburg's poem, Fog.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEix4fOuNi0s3uXxd8SW-c1kllBiYyNYdBec1qVe537muM5ZO3fHn9E8RWl_LqEj4OW2zWYezbUUF66CjxQD3AEueqVgcfNALWi5vUgQXLZXijZMDjBml9lpQAcSZ8YRxN9ioIKhAFwPaynjDwD1haOrcSAv7l6-fDDJPEUph_EZ03X9y2pKVg6QBQIpuICw" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3083" data-original-width="2312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEix4fOuNi0s3uXxd8SW-c1kllBiYyNYdBec1qVe537muM5ZO3fHn9E8RWl_LqEj4OW2zWYezbUUF66CjxQD3AEueqVgcfNALWi5vUgQXLZXijZMDjBml9lpQAcSZ8YRxN9ioIKhAFwPaynjDwD1haOrcSAv7l6-fDDJPEUph_EZ03X9y2pKVg6QBQIpuICw=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fog</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The fog comes</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">on little cat feet</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">it sits looking</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">over harbor and city</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">on silent haunches</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">and then moves on.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I have used this poem before. I believe I first heard it as a pupil at Jasper #2 when our teacher read it to us.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But here is another Carl Sandburg poem. This is one that I don't recall reading/hearing before today.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg20WZsqrgLV01Ntel_VtDoCw3pPA8qAFi9loacOVI1_qoI8cKLGVCm5RHC2aCAog4Ao3If5oES09tHM2GgHkBQnL5uHWGxsctXle5t2ypl5zgPES10owSdN36xoJsx7ETEEHGq7gFJvWmM7DJZ5GGEm111pHeVrvdGHzO_Ax_h4yojwZkd48I6HLC5gF4I" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg20WZsqrgLV01Ntel_VtDoCw3pPA8qAFi9loacOVI1_qoI8cKLGVCm5RHC2aCAog4Ao3If5oES09tHM2GgHkBQnL5uHWGxsctXle5t2ypl5zgPES10owSdN36xoJsx7ETEEHGq7gFJvWmM7DJZ5GGEm111pHeVrvdGHzO_Ax_h4yojwZkd48I6HLC5gF4I" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Under The Harvest Moon</span></p><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;">Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.</pre><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhXtEaGEljux8PS5i5CMw1Q0Y5S1N1XahMkfll3d5BnExPcGf9RmKjLUcSd7R31Wbl18AvYoqucEU_wKfJxaOYQpYn1hSThYKofLqdom93ZFNC5B6Ez9FELlzLqUxC6jeQ6dt4KjgJy0Xz-Ve9F_PlXEMnsqUymd1wOG8gHok934YVKJ1e9wlQqA5xzXTj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="311" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhXtEaGEljux8PS5i5CMw1Q0Y5S1N1XahMkfll3d5BnExPcGf9RmKjLUcSd7R31Wbl18AvYoqucEU_wKfJxaOYQpYn1hSThYKofLqdom93ZFNC5B6Ez9FELlzLqUxC6jeQ6dt4KjgJy0Xz-Ve9F_PlXEMnsqUymd1wOG8gHok934YVKJ1e9wlQqA5xzXTj" width="320" /></a></div></pre><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"> Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.</pre><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIw3-qGna_gQXXguq4kE7Pk6ozqMaisH0Ew-tyODhkH3KMTD3MTBczBmRRA-Tkf6yzy8nkXl0OtHLofAy04BKpu6-GzzRzO3VPdoQ_io3fU17B_8srWz2cIr1Xy3liE6_ZY2pXxuJL1qr71TASByHe_BW0n-fX3YAl1DaDYL8fv7HL8n__lvEK624RMUnV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3162" data-original-width="2371" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIw3-qGna_gQXXguq4kE7Pk6ozqMaisH0Ew-tyODhkH3KMTD3MTBczBmRRA-Tkf6yzy8nkXl0OtHLofAy04BKpu6-GzzRzO3VPdoQ_io3fU17B_8srWz2cIr1Xy3liE6_ZY2pXxuJL1qr71TASByHe_BW0n-fX3YAl1DaDYL8fv7HL8n__lvEK624RMUnV=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div> </pre><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;">To quote Om Malik - "I like the muted sounds, the shroud of grey, and the silence that comes with the fog."</pre><pre style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;">I'm just glad I don't have to drive in it.<br /><br /></pre>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-75531511256682292192024-01-02T11:08:00.001-06:002024-01-02T11:08:55.908-06:00The Name of the Rose<p>The Name of the Rose is the title of Umberto Eco's 1980 debut novel. It caused quite a stir at the time and I 'just had to' read it. I remember not being too impressed mostly because it was hard to understand. I have the feeling I would enjoy it more if I read again now.</p><p>But that's beside the point. The point is this quote by Eco that I read in <i>The Marginalian* </i>this morning: "<i>The</i> <i>list is the origin of culture</i>. But, more than that, it can be a priceless map of personal aspiration, as is the case of the kinds of lists we make this time of year -- resolution lists." Then followed this list penned by Woody Guthrie in 1942:</p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeVnQs-F9DJ0ugwkBqC3c_xai7JJIXF1tfdHYGs-LZ-zY_F8px13ZtyM8P0CEU8PXJed968bLqk1QlVokLqe2xEeODFzCzrouNFRuAdZpjfBTingc_RgfPDXVmivR0MPKXh92w-hT0utQTL0bCukvZ3okwTEPk11bSUMDdmTmME-X1qZpC5iCxblDNm4yp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="680" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeVnQs-F9DJ0ugwkBqC3c_xai7JJIXF1tfdHYGs-LZ-zY_F8px13ZtyM8P0CEU8PXJed968bLqk1QlVokLqe2xEeODFzCzrouNFRuAdZpjfBTingc_RgfPDXVmivR0MPKXh92w-hT0utQTL0bCukvZ3okwTEPk11bSUMDdmTmME-X1qZpC5iCxblDNm4yp=w400-h249" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i>I especially like #'s 13 - <i>READ LOTS GOOD BOOKS</i>, 17 - <i>DONT GET LONESOME, </i>19 - <i>KEEP HOPING MACHINE RUNNING</i>, 22 - <i>SAVE DOUGH</i>, 32 - <i>MAKE UP YOUR MIND</i>, and lastly, the reason for this post, #2 - <i>WORK BY A SCHEDULE. </i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDqeOIOWPbXuK6jRHXEo95d-J2EYT_hLR3SAmbJ-XsyGl96U_iGSHgDLIq10ODx9oYfwSxcG77UhK_1bshd27eotwWPz7i7fj8SsmiP7naUVO5w3eslIBMvRbFFeC7n_hpAT2UBmwazI0WtWKoTwfLwFPbvKQ3GC3iT2tFlkA9mmW2jxq4MsgwyImZu3gJ" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="306" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDqeOIOWPbXuK6jRHXEo95d-J2EYT_hLR3SAmbJ-XsyGl96U_iGSHgDLIq10ODx9oYfwSxcG77UhK_1bshd27eotwWPz7i7fj8SsmiP7naUVO5w3eslIBMvRbFFeC7n_hpAT2UBmwazI0WtWKoTwfLwFPbvKQ3GC3iT2tFlkA9mmW2jxq4MsgwyImZu3gJ" width="230" /></a></div>Relating the making of resolutions lists and working by a schedule took me back to a New Year's Eve in the mid '60's.<p></p><p>Whether it was my resolution list for a new year or just a list I had made for personal self improvement, I had shared it with friends of ours, Darlene and Roger. I think the first thing on my list was "get up at 5:30". It then included the usual, "exercise, lose weight, keep the house clean", etc., etc. I remember one of them was "write more letters". **</p><p>What I remember most was Roger saying to his wife: "You should do these things, too." (That's Roger's profile at the edge of this pic - taken in their basement at a New Year's Eve party.)</p><p><br /></p><p>I read alot of self-improvement books in the 60's and 70's - like just reading them could make me better. I never stuck to that list I shared with our friends, nor any list ever that I can recall. But I've always felt the need to do better. </p><p>As I mentioned yesterday, no New Year's resolutions for me, but one of hope and goals. Like Woody, keeping my hoping machine running.</p><p><br /></p><p>*The Marginalian is something that just started showing up in my Facebook feed, most likely because of some algorithm. I do enjoy reading it and learning many new and interesting ideas.</p><p>** Obviously before the days of social media.</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-36846002857387648782024-01-01T15:20:00.001-06:002024-01-01T15:20:36.386-06:00Figuring Out What Beauty Is For<p>It has been almost three years since we went to Atlantic to see the swans. I see they are there again now. Maybe?? </p><p>To start this new year off right, here is a poem from one of my favorite poets. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAmTu8Nhq0F8z1lo38kyg9lv74n9IgcMgfRzl7cVE_kt2NN2U4eyQABW3iH8guPJBI3mEDmuca5_uJdtL-sEexImHkLX2Ze3jcM713Y9vq086V_qr19uUJg_XP39psJcDXlPRkq_BGYUy8BQL3RS-8KqRB_yU8s_mKWSwLb_fNAjhqlm7pIwAx2mBBMe80" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="257" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAmTu8Nhq0F8z1lo38kyg9lv74n9IgcMgfRzl7cVE_kt2NN2U4eyQABW3iH8guPJBI3mEDmuca5_uJdtL-sEexImHkLX2Ze3jcM713Y9vq086V_qr19uUJg_XP39psJcDXlPRkq_BGYUy8BQL3RS-8KqRB_yU8s_mKWSwLb_fNAjhqlm7pIwAx2mBBMe80" width="286" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Swan </span>By Mary Oliver</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">An armful of white blossoms,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Biting the air with its black beak?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Did you hear it, fluting and whistling</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Knifing down the black ledges?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px;">And have you changed your life?</span></p><p><span style="color: #555555; font-family: Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Being aware of my natural surroundings, even through the window is a panacea for me. But being <b>in </b>nature, under the sky, amid trees, close to water, anywhere outside is the best. It is not a New Year's resolution, but my hope - and goal - is to be out there again this year. 💞🌳👣🚶</span></span></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-13155732219105142032023-12-31T08:03:00.004-06:002023-12-31T08:03:25.579-06:00December '23 Book List<p> Eight books read this last month of the year. That's a total of 89 books read in 2023.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSI_XbVvCVPTend7x2AVbhQtQh0NBz_wir5qJYL3YyDjTGzMBqicG1iF8j5pN_QetQl4Oa9R8cyuUDA6wgNxobo5zlbQc-sEe4dqSQ6ZC2kaMVeS0y6VL4rwb0wgXAB2_nW7WTs6HC-yZtogqvPQSe0QSXy29-F4C3W_AtR2jpUmnl4EhqiHVKnyjKmCHR" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1699" data-original-width="2195" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSI_XbVvCVPTend7x2AVbhQtQh0NBz_wir5qJYL3YyDjTGzMBqicG1iF8j5pN_QetQl4Oa9R8cyuUDA6wgNxobo5zlbQc-sEe4dqSQ6ZC2kaMVeS0y6VL4rwb0wgXAB2_nW7WTs6HC-yZtogqvPQSe0QSXy29-F4C3W_AtR2jpUmnl4EhqiHVKnyjKmCHR" width="310" /></a></div><b><div><b><br /></b></div>The Edge </b>by <i style="font-weight: bold;">David Baldacci </i>is his newest book and a follow-up to the 6:20 Man. Both feature ex-Army Ranger Travis Devine.<p></p><p><b>Shadow Dance </b>by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Julie Garwood </i>is the first book I've read by this author and apparently it is #6 in her Buchanan-Renaurd series of romantic suspense novels. It was good enough I may read more - going back and reading them in order.</p><p><b>The Never Game </b>is by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jeffery Deaver</i>, also a new author for me. This series features Colton Shaw an investigator who makes his living by finding missing persons and collecting the rewards offered. This is the second book in the series but my library lists it as the first and does not have the actual first book, Hunting Time.</p><p><b>the New Girl </b>and <b>The Order </b>are #'s 19 and 20 in the Gabriel Allon series by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Daniel Silva</i>. I am nearing the end of reading all the books the library has in the series with the latest released in July.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrOxZ9-j0iawbWG_ZHqTspGvtsXwl40Cr0bzenj573kd1_ToDmfs8vEmYx4cpufLLbl9OXI56cu7XCno2JRKV4KRpdOIiTj42iK34qWE9dXN93IaMlfJZAzjZoRm4mjIR08saiwMT1dXfcRC0hjWaV1hm7miPgfR4KCUp8cvNZTWJZM4CqaksUpAK41HZi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="2384" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrOxZ9-j0iawbWG_ZHqTspGvtsXwl40Cr0bzenj573kd1_ToDmfs8vEmYx4cpufLLbl9OXI56cu7XCno2JRKV4KRpdOIiTj42iK34qWE9dXN93IaMlfJZAzjZoRm4mjIR08saiwMT1dXfcRC0hjWaV1hm7miPgfR4KCUp8cvNZTWJZM4CqaksUpAK41HZi" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b>The Frozen River </b>by <i style="font-weight: bold;">Ariel Lawton </i>is only the second book I've read by this author and my favorite read this month. I would read all her books if the library had them. This book is the story of a midwife/healer in the territory of Maine, along the Kennebec River in 1789. It is based on the true life story of Martha Ballard and her determination to see justice done during a time when women were to be seen and not heard. I adore well crafted books based on real historical happenings.<p></p><p><b>The Goodbye Man </b>and <b>The Final Twist </b>are books two and three (or three and four) in <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jeffery Deaver's </i>Colton Shaw series. I believe the latter is the last book of the series. I plan to read more of his books possibly the Lincoln Rhyme series next.</p><p>The year, as always, has been a good one for me for reading - the other thing, besides traveling, that I wanted to do the most of when I retired. I'm looking forward to more good reading in the New Year. I hope you are as well. <span style="font-size: medium;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Happy New Year! </i><b>💝</b>😍</span></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-36785121318491282862023-12-30T11:53:00.001-06:002023-12-30T11:53:32.769-06:00January - December - 2023 Through My Photos<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyoDHo-TQKyF55JEs3htoER8MMN0EDQ3vaH76lfoyoorFkmKHMelyahFT8Bb_IqN6hlm7i1HUvlN6dXYxYo2GaIRrtwZoIyzrG9caABnbYbYpCfQdwUEbBsgpBG8n03cymyZv9igTeGcer4pgHJSmo6KmVdrgkY3ixXb5WuVg-ryOKs7nwuPcDvvuqPx9v" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2939" data-original-width="3439" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyoDHo-TQKyF55JEs3htoER8MMN0EDQ3vaH76lfoyoorFkmKHMelyahFT8Bb_IqN6hlm7i1HUvlN6dXYxYo2GaIRrtwZoIyzrG9caABnbYbYpCfQdwUEbBsgpBG8n03cymyZv9igTeGcer4pgHJSmo6KmVdrgkY3ixXb5WuVg-ryOKs7nwuPcDvvuqPx9v" width="281" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">January 18 - Moisture on the bare limbs of the Oak tree.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXA67wwiioXkxEqF-j0dbNDo2TFoF9dnSkh1X4pwnjQq1b2SkaV9gHIBPLf0he5Rfw-bd0QuQYfggu_rlF3Cic8SpI1QFsbx5XfoewRe5zNyXsP8ATSag9Uc6OvLHvRBHYF4YypfHrsepNOsE2iNZoOeNwMUv2OpxMErnUYmMt-MO3uRxn5TZ3S9KrqZ8A" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3653" data-original-width="3005" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXA67wwiioXkxEqF-j0dbNDo2TFoF9dnSkh1X4pwnjQq1b2SkaV9gHIBPLf0he5Rfw-bd0QuQYfggu_rlF3Cic8SpI1QFsbx5XfoewRe5zNyXsP8ATSag9Uc6OvLHvRBHYF4YypfHrsepNOsE2iNZoOeNwMUv2OpxMErnUYmMt-MO3uRxn5TZ3S9KrqZ8A=w263-h320" width="263" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">February - A trip to the Children's Museum in West Des Moines to celebrate the 2nd birthday of my youngest great-grandson, Louis.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Pictured here with another great-grandson and cousin of his, Greyson.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What a fun day it was.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCM2KmG88jo3IMQUyPs89vLpQgRobbVQ4aRhJUh0-iu1KidKosR5T5emY1Js2m7Ka94tFia4kktJPd5KBKOOXLMmXExrxOhpEZeF5qaxr1J3og8kkIR1-Lw-b3spv4uHz_fPy-F3KcO1ynBpY_Svn7ZNsQ0DV0RrM-Ha8H4KMIGDGYVt-lJcx1Xtvc3q1K" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3912" data-original-width="2924" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCM2KmG88jo3IMQUyPs89vLpQgRobbVQ4aRhJUh0-iu1KidKosR5T5emY1Js2m7Ka94tFia4kktJPd5KBKOOXLMmXExrxOhpEZeF5qaxr1J3og8kkIR1-Lw-b3spv4uHz_fPy-F3KcO1ynBpY_Svn7ZNsQ0DV0RrM-Ha8H4KMIGDGYVt-lJcx1Xtvc3q1K=w239-h320" width="239" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">March 14 - A sun pillar during sunset.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs31m1yShAUbH6CYQbfi890Te5gl54LKb-cv-CqoDjzrW-VYF63DFdXbT32XNV3A9tid88DLCUuznOI925fU7EmKYPaOpTc3nLxgE2qT5UM3ozhgWwqZQy_A6lD6QjGtxs87NLMFxisxchlL1ozXjfFPENAa-VwsjKL2tlSAY_iQDDcty3Qw5qRCBfeOSB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2755" data-original-width="4132" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs31m1yShAUbH6CYQbfi890Te5gl54LKb-cv-CqoDjzrW-VYF63DFdXbT32XNV3A9tid88DLCUuznOI925fU7EmKYPaOpTc3nLxgE2qT5UM3ozhgWwqZQy_A6lD6QjGtxs87NLMFxisxchlL1ozXjfFPENAa-VwsjKL2tlSAY_iQDDcty3Qw5qRCBfeOSB=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />April 14 - At one of the most beautiful and joyous weddings I've ever attended - that of my granddaughter Dominique and her husband Ian. My great-grandsons (Dominique's nephews) Greyson, left and Ayden, right, were the flower bearers. The burros were part of the owners' berry farm and celebration venue.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9FBPOGx2caGJ9HTmlwraDo8BFLoB8wLvKUA7gDdmPFtoTTyNymKB8B9wAY2UEpRftFY5sEs66b5qLVnwn-qaKjhrpcVhazcGPjf6bt3IlSiUEOBiIko9jIwoXYKq3J2CwJBG3lKLhCIJEx_KimOIxLNLzevbhT4lrjYgvHo2yq1N3Gj7koyv04Ryph9eh" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1549" data-original-width="2732" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9FBPOGx2caGJ9HTmlwraDo8BFLoB8wLvKUA7gDdmPFtoTTyNymKB8B9wAY2UEpRftFY5sEs66b5qLVnwn-qaKjhrpcVhazcGPjf6bt3IlSiUEOBiIko9jIwoXYKq3J2CwJBG3lKLhCIJEx_KimOIxLNLzevbhT4lrjYgvHo2yq1N3Gj7koyv04Ryph9eh" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">May - While working in my flower beds - one of the largest garter snakes I've seen here - and possibly ever.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">No I wasn't afraid of it - but it's sudden motion did startle me. 😅</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjG3elpGpbmsOnKVtoVqzBMM0Cef6pyOE6Mq30mQRoV95cPTZFghZLlWb3gRwW8u8kH1N8CcTx45WH2FP0bklflYtl4M8jrHv6dKwd4XlEqmf0OLP4pRG5HQ89fwJgGd6hBzwXD2JnwGgPZlXW0_XGbyKsBboX8E4WoEG5Sgz_g_1b9F2p33Fv-Fun2toUV" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1442" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjG3elpGpbmsOnKVtoVqzBMM0Cef6pyOE6Mq30mQRoV95cPTZFghZLlWb3gRwW8u8kH1N8CcTx45WH2FP0bklflYtl4M8jrHv6dKwd4XlEqmf0OLP4pRG5HQ89fwJgGd6hBzwXD2JnwGgPZlXW0_XGbyKsBboX8E4WoEG5Sgz_g_1b9F2p33Fv-Fun2toUV" width="216" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">June 6 - A Tuesday. The first and last day I walked at Lake McKinley this year.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The picture is of Boneset amid some rocks along the shoreline. I was enjoying my first walk of the season after successful PT for vertigo. Minutes later, my accident/fall and the end of my outdoor walks for the rest of the year. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What an experience, including a life flight to the trauma center in Des Moines.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4AELlZOTSiPg7sk8fB8vFlv87NHfc9SuyoEsKEZAuMdvho5o3FXMfjGln_Aatnzhf634gJ0JE8H3UsVHOB8BT0AFLoKZOtJ8Sk98QSz0pTCYs3wHuK_ImJFA0v5dQB_hhbnHQg90Inq-jUJZ-nhP0G8gKjeMxvSkw-k02a7QYUPCbs2pc6Q5kSddqasOI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="2959" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4AELlZOTSiPg7sk8fB8vFlv87NHfc9SuyoEsKEZAuMdvho5o3FXMfjGln_Aatnzhf634gJ0JE8H3UsVHOB8BT0AFLoKZOtJ8Sk98QSz0pTCYs3wHuK_ImJFA0v5dQB_hhbnHQg90Inq-jUJZ-nhP0G8gKjeMxvSkw-k02a7QYUPCbs2pc6Q5kSddqasOI=w400-h115" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />July - Three turkeys in the back yard. Their iridescent feathering is a delight to witness close up.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifRFfT_pKwoiVelFMtqXCedxzxBeLad1yH6dzczLek7HjJdQr_ieJ_hW45ZIz7l2mhBPNKGV8gZNJ2cOMW2Sva21ZyfDQnsiWPYtAp9nH87iL2zhILNMxuQIDgQK0uCySL7UwQOFdhtthIdYJgraVAhR_yesu3s7OsFF9ZEr534OiudoZnnRtB78a2gxvu" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="2396" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifRFfT_pKwoiVelFMtqXCedxzxBeLad1yH6dzczLek7HjJdQr_ieJ_hW45ZIz7l2mhBPNKGV8gZNJ2cOMW2Sva21ZyfDQnsiWPYtAp9nH87iL2zhILNMxuQIDgQK0uCySL7UwQOFdhtthIdYJgraVAhR_yesu3s7OsFF9ZEr534OiudoZnnRtB78a2gxvu=w320-h140" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />August - Rain drops and a spider's web combine and link two of my rocks. Part of a geode? on the left, petrified wood on the right.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSqe5FRXLXp6A1ZbsxClqW6j5hyumRn19sR7jDCX2AyazYRwi6VFrlJghcSM5aWa-EvdFKPnGj1Jqh_IxhfdqS1sdEAgXevEF5B7k1BAJ5WkEkkeOfybHbl6tvAEanEFIkKbg-s67CMHWfJywSa_0856xojz9AAI0YU7Cg1uLJcqgsj1GRtEHMani05IXx" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3235" data-original-width="2440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSqe5FRXLXp6A1ZbsxClqW6j5hyumRn19sR7jDCX2AyazYRwi6VFrlJghcSM5aWa-EvdFKPnGj1Jqh_IxhfdqS1sdEAgXevEF5B7k1BAJ5WkEkkeOfybHbl6tvAEanEFIkKbg-s67CMHWfJywSa_0856xojz9AAI0YU7Cg1uLJcqgsj1GRtEHMani05IXx=w241-h320" width="241" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">September - A Great Blue Heron down at the pond.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is not an unusual sight, we see them often, but I do think this was a good photo - caught as it was in the sunlight and amid the grasses.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho1jfsEbkSwncNrA-rTAq5oFoCi1FatwuwXPaKXPL6lzAhamB8BnTph4XP5oUr-V5Q7C-swZC10uezpMdtxueHsjS8if8VkvHI_nVYm3Nvf5Z0T1QHzaCAFcNTW2GxrSEk4H-O50YOzmb8tapojB6Y_eOk-fux5u9_zwjOo4uXXZ0hnm-qDsa_OrG8AmhX" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4337" data-original-width="2710" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho1jfsEbkSwncNrA-rTAq5oFoCi1FatwuwXPaKXPL6lzAhamB8BnTph4XP5oUr-V5Q7C-swZC10uezpMdtxueHsjS8if8VkvHI_nVYm3Nvf5Z0T1QHzaCAFcNTW2GxrSEk4H-O50YOzmb8tapojB6Y_eOk-fux5u9_zwjOo4uXXZ0hnm-qDsa_OrG8AmhX=w200-h320" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">October 20 - Not a walk in nature but a drive around town searching out and photographing the colors of Autumn.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This one, the red leaves of Virginia Creeper on the shaggy gray bark of a tree.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2OnTtO2urMeSmRVVFr0FCcSOzEWRUqEe8vKjH8Rkd7dpLfpGRAt83KHZyFCq_EOBD8RbbsgaiRqJEgmnDbIHMzpfX8BiDYccBr-n2bqz2zgf4RUdXmNjlPwFEj_9jvIspay07AbntWucgiemmGyKFKzZyooifqnnzwEH-kUzmEggB0POuoS9Ff60tddLg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1055" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2OnTtO2urMeSmRVVFr0FCcSOzEWRUqEe8vKjH8Rkd7dpLfpGRAt83KHZyFCq_EOBD8RbbsgaiRqJEgmnDbIHMzpfX8BiDYccBr-n2bqz2zgf4RUdXmNjlPwFEj_9jvIspay07AbntWucgiemmGyKFKzZyooifqnnzwEH-kUzmEggB0POuoS9Ff60tddLg" width="309" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">November was a big month for me - celebrating my 80th birthday with almost all of my family members. I could have shared a photo from that day.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Instead it is this one of a coyote trotting past our deck. I had seen it, the first one ever around here, a few days earlier in the field across the pond. But this close?! Wow!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggx7C1fvR5MR5n8BhQxYXKy5GgD8QYp-ZTYIfkyi8QwpGeFoAHcZ8mTuvCU4g3krOIrUPH15XIzFPwzE9A0n3ebJhQgJNowh3cZeqAWmY8svM22gW4ZLbSg6Z9JPrcSc-_mNw5sXC9gtMOb55jbBbQ9RmLHV9gc-ElNuJXwjOoCbbPAZZvbbEGlEJt-brQ" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2583" data-original-width="2280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggx7C1fvR5MR5n8BhQxYXKy5GgD8QYp-ZTYIfkyi8QwpGeFoAHcZ8mTuvCU4g3krOIrUPH15XIzFPwzE9A0n3ebJhQgJNowh3cZeqAWmY8svM22gW4ZLbSg6Z9JPrcSc-_mNw5sXC9gtMOb55jbBbQ9RmLHV9gc-ElNuJXwjOoCbbPAZZvbbEGlEJt-brQ=w282-h320" width="282" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">December - It was hard to chose between this photo of the waning full Cold Moon taken this morning and one of some tracks in the fresh snow of a few days ago. But I went with this one because just like the moon, the year is almost over.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Two things have cut down on my picture taking, one the accident in June and two, my trusty little Nikon Coolpix S7000 camera no longer takes the sharp photos it used to. So maybe there is a new camera in the offing in the new year. That would be a no brainer of the same camera was still available.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But the new year is yet to present itself and who knows what lies in store. May we all have more ups than downs and more acceptance of what is instead of worry for what might be.</span></p><p><br /></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-23723252164167412162023-12-27T07:51:00.000-06:002023-12-27T07:51:07.676-06:00Arranged By Chance<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwtGy79lyGPTR6qZuPTnVhSVokUmxqgS4cgAStZ1XOQPw8o72xjo2OG6Mya2CsKqU7vARqQSa6m2C6qjH1t0iECQEU_rced40Sw0o8TZXp1yFWZLZ-Z2ifL0zNoj1l42i-Qvhd2Sc00atV7oAF4GD6L1_Ks-0Sy6W_pGzTIwt0KrtMWuupU3wI9hac4wlv" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="3122" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwtGy79lyGPTR6qZuPTnVhSVokUmxqgS4cgAStZ1XOQPw8o72xjo2OG6Mya2CsKqU7vARqQSa6m2C6qjH1t0iECQEU_rced40Sw0o8TZXp1yFWZLZ-Z2ifL0zNoj1l42i-Qvhd2Sc00atV7oAF4GD6L1_Ks-0Sy6W_pGzTIwt0KrtMWuupU3wI9hac4wlv=w400-h240" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Some Trees </span>By John Ashbery</p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These are amazing: each<br />Joining a neighbor, as though speech<br />Were a still performance.<br />Arranging by chance</span></p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To meet as far this morning<br />From the world as agreeing<br />With it, you and I<br />Are suddenly what the trees try</span></p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To tell us we are:<br />That their merely being there<br />Means something; that soon<br />We may touch, love, explain.</span></p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And glad not to have invented<br />Such comeliness, we are surrounded:<br />A silence already filled with noises,<br />A canvas on which emerges</span></p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.<br />Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,<br />Our days put on such reticence<br />These accents seem their own defense.</span></p><p style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">(Photo taken this a.m. -- our first <i>snow covering all</i> this winter season.) </p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-27578792275427440802023-12-16T07:16:00.001-06:002023-12-16T07:16:44.085-06:00For All That Was Left Unsaid<p> Mom on her 80th birthday - January 1999</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_1QFa80SbGpnYvD76gmR2Y_rqgOlQ_Ehy72m0J8eXTR9QavtxZEEZLnI7Qgmg6upCWo5GJstO-tudOpJeOJ3fSN1CQ5UiyvvpNPoA7jCiAyoy8WkO9dXuz38QcQ5RJUx1BG8L63f8QnGDMKaY_JvdXgcPOvKhROpfhBXJaSE8g7U4Bo6GB008a4W_QmfO" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_1QFa80SbGpnYvD76gmR2Y_rqgOlQ_Ehy72m0J8eXTR9QavtxZEEZLnI7Qgmg6upCWo5GJstO-tudOpJeOJ3fSN1CQ5UiyvvpNPoA7jCiAyoy8WkO9dXuz38QcQ5RJUx1BG8L63f8QnGDMKaY_JvdXgcPOvKhROpfhBXJaSE8g7U4Bo6GB008a4W_QmfO=w191-h320" width="191" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For Grief </span>By John O'Donohue</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">When you lose someone you love,</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">Your life becomes strange,</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">The ground beneath you gets fragile,</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">Your thoughts make your eyes unsure;</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">And some dead echo drags your voice down</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">Where words have no confidence.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">Your heart has grown heavy with loss;</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">And though this loss has wounded others too,</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">No one knows what has been taken from you</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif;">When the silence of absence deepens.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">Flickers of guilt kindle regret<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />For all that was left unsaid or undone.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">There are days when you wake up happy;<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Again inside the fullness of life,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Until the moment breaks<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />And you are thrown back<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Onto the black tide of loss.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">Days when you have your heart back,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />You are able to function well<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Until in the middle of work or encounter,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Suddenly with no warning,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />You are ambushed by grief.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">It becomes hard to trust yourself.<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />All you can depend on now is that<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Sorrow will remain faithful to itself.<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />More than you, it knows its way<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />And will find the right time<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />To pull and pull the rope of grief<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Until that coiled hill of tears<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Has reduced to its last drop.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">Gradually, you will learn acquaintance<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />With the invisible form of your departed;<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />And, when the work of grief is done,<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />The wound of loss will heal<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />And you will have learned<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />To wean your eyes<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />From that gap in the air<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />And be able to enter the hearth<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />In your soul where your loved one<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Has awaited your return<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />All the time.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhd-A8UZ8kNcSGi2vTNuVnzmyqvglk2Hltv6mdDIU4OWxBRGwQdKv2gi0aX8gXS2ip5LotRKc6-gczRsxuEA1HOp5eP3tx9XTNfXUKzb3xan9-Rk4ubJapOw77hrO9X-1f9T9pEbehhGmgPMG8A5PpCZN689Y7G0jrfIKbHpzhdzHre5kdcbJNaOt4CSyDr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="473" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhd-A8UZ8kNcSGi2vTNuVnzmyqvglk2Hltv6mdDIU4OWxBRGwQdKv2gi0aX8gXS2ip5LotRKc6-gczRsxuEA1HOp5eP3tx9XTNfXUKzb3xan9-Rk4ubJapOw77hrO9X-1f9T9pEbehhGmgPMG8A5PpCZN689Y7G0jrfIKbHpzhdzHre5kdcbJNaOt4CSyDr" width="320" /></a></div>Today is the 20th anniversary of my mother Ruth's death and while the raw pain of her passing has lessened over the years, missing her never goes away. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of her.<p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">This photo was the last one ever taken of her. I am fortunate to have it. It was taken at the Christmas Tea for the residents of the Good Samaritan nursing home in Villisca nine days before she died.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwBA-XiEq5Kv-fFTilX-mvYIT6pzrh4Au_psD9w6XMRrCeUKGlztnuYDOlCQlAxiCGn5xIda3UuKTVe1knuofG0ClfT9zUOopdQAETMGO7pXDnf0g9zxYgDfRZKO-j-nWk19bTivJDkCOsp0JrMaBFYv4AXd_gVN4lLlXf9sU0u19liLtmv_AgOdnQEhnC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3104" data-original-width="2251" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwBA-XiEq5Kv-fFTilX-mvYIT6pzrh4Au_psD9w6XMRrCeUKGlztnuYDOlCQlAxiCGn5xIda3UuKTVe1knuofG0ClfT9zUOopdQAETMGO7pXDnf0g9zxYgDfRZKO-j-nWk19bTivJDkCOsp0JrMaBFYv4AXd_gVN4lLlXf9sU0u19liLtmv_AgOdnQEhnC" width="174" /></a></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">I turned 80 myself this year, so I have a better idea what Mom's last years were like. </p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">It isn't easy getting old, but it is interesting - and a privilege many don't have.</p><br /><br /><br /><p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-199119522999419092023-12-13T11:05:00.000-06:002023-12-13T11:05:31.190-06:00Grandma Delphia and her VO5<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0awYz65El_ktILtsIOJJfOCZ7pGYyFLRUUzu9xlQUwnb3_Ay9Jw0Cps6qyXgLVBC9KXRJpoIoplbNG6P5rt15JqB2h0As_Jwd6Rp6qiESZpjse_7kTLYh9bKuVCCqQfIDSjqXUUDkZNiWET3vTIZTmvuiE3d_H-Ozp239ZsXgWSFYKL6isCV0z9jYDxVZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="175" data-original-width="600" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0awYz65El_ktILtsIOJJfOCZ7pGYyFLRUUzu9xlQUwnb3_Ay9Jw0Cps6qyXgLVBC9KXRJpoIoplbNG6P5rt15JqB2h0As_Jwd6Rp6qiESZpjse_7kTLYh9bKuVCCqQfIDSjqXUUDkZNiWET3vTIZTmvuiE3d_H-Ozp239ZsXgWSFYKL6isCV0z9jYDxVZ" width="320" /></a></div>It was while I was in the shower this morning, putting conditioner on my hair and thinking about a sitcom viewed recently where a woman lamented about how many minutes she had to wait before rinsing out the conditioner that I remembered Grandma Delphia and her devotion to Alberto VO5. I'm guilty of not waiting that long so I probably don't get the full benefits of my conditioner. But Grandma Ridnour left her conditioner in which I guess it was designed for.<p></p><p>And just as I once wrote about my Mom shampooing and conditioning her Dad's (Grandpa Joe's) hair https://rilynam.blogspot.com/2010/10/grandpa-joe-and-fred-fitch.html I realized she had done the same for her Mother.</p><p>I remember watching her shampoo grandma's hair as she bent over the kitchen sink; how Mom would rinse out the shampoo and then apply the VO5 except that instead of rinsing it out after a few minutes, it was left in Grandma's hair. I always thought it looked (and maybe felt) greasy. I knew it was something I would never use. But Grandma swore by it.</p><p>In the process of searching to see if VO5 was even still manufactured, I learned what the name stands for - the five vitamin oils in it: Sunflower seed oil, Mango seed oil, Sweet almond oil, Rosemary leaf oil and Chamomile flower oil. I don't remember how it smelled, but it must have been very good. The vitamins include B3, C, E, B5 and Biotin. </p><p>I do remember Mom trying VO5 for awhile, but not always as Grandma did. And even though years later, when I began doing the same shampooing and conditioning for her as she stood over her kitchen sink and then drying and curling her hair for her. I don't remember what shampoo and conditioner she used in those later years and I probably didn't think of it as a gift of love and care as I now realize, it was just something a daughter did for her mother. (As the mother had once done for her daughters.)</p><p>I took Mom's electric curling iron to the funeral home and did her hair for her one last time. I did it for her and for myself - the last thing I could do for her. 💔</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-85407654634759987512023-12-11T15:15:00.006-06:002023-12-11T15:15:42.387-06:00Some New Old Photos<p>I don't know if others care about photographs as much as I do, but I love them. They are treasures to me. Especially ones I've never seen before. My cousin Barb Drake died recently. Yesterday her husband Larry sent me a packet of photos via his and Barb's daughter-in-law Kris. I became acquainted with Kris when her mother moved in across the street from us. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtIBeqD0vybotaiaN2otv3C47HCJw_srP5Azey9oLh5FvTnHoSipNBJcJFxq2xK4b9Xw6VkKWEgu_V3jlYDjwBAAd747YAU2Tm3XdHEM1XzYEocFyKwfKU4rvzIfewKsQMJ-KhKooqyJ-zzE5gfFCvHO1LJQYq8SV2UN8gHSS60Y_5339ED9jz890eSh-W" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="633" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtIBeqD0vybotaiaN2otv3C47HCJw_srP5Azey9oLh5FvTnHoSipNBJcJFxq2xK4b9Xw6VkKWEgu_V3jlYDjwBAAd747YAU2Tm3XdHEM1XzYEocFyKwfKU4rvzIfewKsQMJ-KhKooqyJ-zzE5gfFCvHO1LJQYq8SV2UN8gHSS60Y_5339ED9jz890eSh-W=w230-h320" width="230" /></a></div><br />This is the first photo I scanned and the one that truly elated me - a picture of my Grandmother Bessie Duncan and her little brother Leslie. <p></p><p>Grandma was born in July 1891 and Uncle Bus (as we knew him) was born in January 1894, so Grandma would have been around two and a half in this picture. </p><p>I had never seen a photo of my grandma as a child. Truly precious. And I love the way she is holding her dolly.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSa4kOm-tOBM3JTFlkP8pbPl8rC4IWaWkbqhGNV597L5B85jzwsPnf3joaGpYhZoW9o3pa7WwyDRtfARLYW_cQkUw7MZdzkmg3OwtKGbXbdV1N6T6QEIGDaDzB38bAbXI-obVZWNW2a2ErKAlJhFeRBNv-v-CR8cgBsgAEUYnaaV1VlN88ZShF6eH7o1QV" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="429" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSa4kOm-tOBM3JTFlkP8pbPl8rC4IWaWkbqhGNV597L5B85jzwsPnf3joaGpYhZoW9o3pa7WwyDRtfARLYW_cQkUw7MZdzkmg3OwtKGbXbdV1N6T6QEIGDaDzB38bAbXI-obVZWNW2a2ErKAlJhFeRBNv-v-CR8cgBsgAEUYnaaV1VlN88ZShF6eH7o1QV" width="190" /></a></div><br />Another pose of the two of them. Grandma was the eldest of six, two girls and four boys.<p></p><p>Bessie, Leslie, Lawrence, Lloyd, Agnes (Babe) and Ralph.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1wvD52ZZBn6knpW2SSU1rtcPoZMUdN2hJat74v-er9j35YqzxhjGSIFz4ycT0ctb5W1_LSGdNpQI4rAfqhHZgRUGVI_SCGF_GOARApY7d4Bc4es1HYPjarhAM4gPjOla5fz4F6bfaV-HLli3TSQdJFLxc8DdO1hq6P_ndWm4AREKSdz2Ktkop11dzLw0b" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="571" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1wvD52ZZBn6knpW2SSU1rtcPoZMUdN2hJat74v-er9j35YqzxhjGSIFz4ycT0ctb5W1_LSGdNpQI4rAfqhHZgRUGVI_SCGF_GOARApY7d4Bc4es1HYPjarhAM4gPjOla5fz4F6bfaV-HLli3TSQdJFLxc8DdO1hq6P_ndWm4AREKSdz2Ktkop11dzLw0b" width="210" /></a></div><br />Back row LtoR, Agnes (Babe, as she was always referred to) holding her daughter Hazel. Ethel (Leslie's wife) with daughter Elvera (Barb's mother) standing in front. Grandma Bessie with daugher Leona (my aunt) in front. Ruby (Lloyd's wife) with Lloyd in front of her.<p></p><p>Front row LtoR Buelah (Lawrence's wife) and son Darwin, Edwin son of Lloyd and Ruby and my dad, Louis. </p><p>Picture was taken at Grandpa George and Grandma Bessie's farm home in Taylor County.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje7-vEdzMS87s6CLfeZbYzUZCyI0Y7p6DUeaf0CGFrobVjHvhjY8X-kda5IaAEBV0VTu9wFTPCYkHxQ8pohAdMbM1JM6nYpx8P9Ob-xYbz4G-qsVI2ZIRdtRwJ-Yz_KS6jx0K4uvirSVW9BDHh20h1fNGnXLPhSDlmSgBUcNJMM-TmUgeFp0Pr2mZDOGWA" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="470" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje7-vEdzMS87s6CLfeZbYzUZCyI0Y7p6DUeaf0CGFrobVjHvhjY8X-kda5IaAEBV0VTu9wFTPCYkHxQ8pohAdMbM1JM6nYpx8P9Ob-xYbz4G-qsVI2ZIRdtRwJ-Yz_KS6jx0K4uvirSVW9BDHh20h1fNGnXLPhSDlmSgBUcNJMM-TmUgeFp0Pr2mZDOGWA=w205-h320" width="205" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Taken at same location, but in March, 1941. </p><p>Left to right, Aunt Leona, my Mom, Ruth, holding my brother Ronald. Elvera Duncan holding her little sister Marjorie.</p><p>Grandma Bessie and Aunt Ethel standing in back.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5QsNXoTlUOEUQ4nX6UP3ULlW1r2ycRAAzD4rfJtJFdiFHRxxPN12JGje0kCYHwqOwsYsX2XXfTR_jmzEDxDDtAlOYeiTQBH75ELd8BjIGoa6hr65fLRBQTaN74I44B9IyJysFQK90H3Uw9ZyRlcHTxhF_Mc31yaSTcyr9aBJlrc2FXrJQx0dxa2yhcV-C" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="528" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5QsNXoTlUOEUQ4nX6UP3ULlW1r2ycRAAzD4rfJtJFdiFHRxxPN12JGje0kCYHwqOwsYsX2XXfTR_jmzEDxDDtAlOYeiTQBH75ELd8BjIGoa6hr65fLRBQTaN74I44B9IyJysFQK90H3Uw9ZyRlcHTxhF_Mc31yaSTcyr9aBJlrc2FXrJQx0dxa2yhcV-C" width="320" /></a></div><p>LtoR: Edwin Duncan, my dad Louis Lynam, Ronald Figgins, Uncle Leslie Duncan, Uncle Herman Figgins (Babe's husband), Uncle Lloyd Duncan. </p><p></p><p>The occasion was during WWII when Edwin and Ronald were home on leave.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP7JSHtyc-5RTsk4b6ab82TwC4AXyzLgdShWf2vN3lAE0-OleCaEKoSrUj1rVIZUXofZuzhHcwsUxWQGM-YvRE5Tn7FLAda8z4-NsVrtOgsMzCipobuPcaXHFqqIad3com7mAxLZO-4iT2sUXJ6Obn8QjZff5JBdDBjtTVOZ64UM-IvOERWLua18wu2y32" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="583" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP7JSHtyc-5RTsk4b6ab82TwC4AXyzLgdShWf2vN3lAE0-OleCaEKoSrUj1rVIZUXofZuzhHcwsUxWQGM-YvRE5Tn7FLAda8z4-NsVrtOgsMzCipobuPcaXHFqqIad3com7mAxLZO-4iT2sUXJ6Obn8QjZff5JBdDBjtTVOZ64UM-IvOERWLua18wu2y32" width="294" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Grandma with her brothers, July, 1972: Lloyd, Leslie, Bessie and Ralph.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitwTIh7XZt4QQuUdXd0HBp5fWzB-ePgorxFLzGL7gWqQHJjFzEGkjx7t3vc2m4PUW7dheKSR_6D0nGaeZKm_ob8jYWH1BRhgzvUaxdZFzNKH7hMQG_2IIGRSKPVUyk4MR6SRfMZbca6MXuMSvvw8sJUBFMCBMUvUWIAmAe8oZgk4xHsO4OH0IR8isNqaEA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="546" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitwTIh7XZt4QQuUdXd0HBp5fWzB-ePgorxFLzGL7gWqQHJjFzEGkjx7t3vc2m4PUW7dheKSR_6D0nGaeZKm_ob8jYWH1BRhgzvUaxdZFzNKH7hMQG_2IIGRSKPVUyk4MR6SRfMZbca6MXuMSvvw8sJUBFMCBMUvUWIAmAe8oZgk4xHsO4OH0IR8isNqaEA" width="248" /></a></div>Also in 1972 in Grove Park (Play park) near Grandma's house: Uncle Lloyd, Grandma, Uncle Bus.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivmRXA3Y-dneZMF6yKiiqQznQ7df4-xz4ChXYJkTX61mRXNYbKLs4yvjKDqE608NCqyKOFbzrBMygMvCDczDy7NUvpaBxTAxHgj5gAcqudYDGxmmP2QFk5I3P0OLEsM1H-0j-ZWdi1_vvrMhZMb5irmJERQ6L8nIxIDIbGThgHdcFuYLxJ_CKzmSMHfbqE" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="344" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivmRXA3Y-dneZMF6yKiiqQznQ7df4-xz4ChXYJkTX61mRXNYbKLs4yvjKDqE608NCqyKOFbzrBMygMvCDczDy7NUvpaBxTAxHgj5gAcqudYDGxmmP2QFk5I3P0OLEsM1H-0j-ZWdi1_vvrMhZMb5irmJERQ6L8nIxIDIbGThgHdcFuYLxJ_CKzmSMHfbqE" width="174" /></a></div><br />Lastly, a picture taken in Grandma Lynam's back yard in 1957 of Uncle Bus, Grandma and Uncle Ralph. <p></p><p>This one I remember. Uncle Ralph and his daughter Shirley were visiting from the west coast. First time I met them, at least that I remember.</p><p><br /></p><p>I am so grateful to have these photos - especially the ones from 1894 of Grandma and Uncle Bus. 💟<br /><br /></p><p><br /></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-10401070856919040652023-12-06T15:14:00.001-06:002023-12-06T15:15:08.705-06:00The Teapot I Purchased Twice<p>I once had a large collection of teapots but when we decided to downsize, retire, and move I sold almost all of them at the time of our farm sale - including this one. I changed my mind after the auctioning of the teapots began. My grandson, Zachary, was nearby and had an auction number, so I asked him to bid on the teapots. As I recall the price of 'first bid' was $3.50 which he got. I pointed out the teapot I wanted and he bought it for me - the second time I had purchased it at an auction.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbN8VRHsYqGnW1W1CnKlo4qrXHduvFiB12cqitwkWzyjB7K8eBlOQXVv9Vej1jcjWMyxvH-oWnQUTkWwba0VsJou_zHC-j2Jc69k85gZc42phA7fbjNsTZl7RTbYqgdCxfBS6Hot2IzhShcBSloDAhD6As-4MUAePz8MDprOiZiOdN6k12lPBDwRSj54hf" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="989" data-original-width="1236" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbN8VRHsYqGnW1W1CnKlo4qrXHduvFiB12cqitwkWzyjB7K8eBlOQXVv9Vej1jcjWMyxvH-oWnQUTkWwba0VsJou_zHC-j2Jc69k85gZc42phA7fbjNsTZl7RTbYqgdCxfBS6Hot2IzhShcBSloDAhD6As-4MUAePz8MDprOiZiOdN6k12lPBDwRSj54hf" width="300" /></a></div><p>The first time I had the winning bid for this 'Gibson Staffordshire England Teapot' was at the household auction for Grace Dory in the early 90's. As I recall I paid between $11 and $12 for it the first time. Grace was a woman I had known and liked for a number of years. I wanted something of her's as a memento of our friendship and the teapot was perfect.</p><p>It was one of those 'it's a small world' coincidences that led to my friendship with Grace. It happened via my employment at Lariam House recording studio in the mid '70's. One of our voice-over talents was Billy Cole - a radio personality at WHO in Des Moines. Bill had one of the most melodic voices I'd ever heard. He hosted 'The Country Call-In' show in addition to being a singer and songwriter. During one of our conversations he asked me where I was from and I told him Corning. That was when he told me one of his regular callers was from Corning and that they had become friends. When I moved back to my hometown and had occasion to talk with Grace I told her about working with Billy at the studio. When Bill and his wife came to town to visit Grace, she told me about it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg90InT5gOdYpdEZxJF2no3WI0zybd9F4EZ3fiKgWCi6ViCRb4axIuguILUZXfVw6XjAQ7og7E_r6UwGpBRC0wGeiqpDbl6zUl7RThrrHrNwvur-0Zy31SprIGfWqb2i2LFpS94W0yU4Q0Ae10mmLVVNNPFBkQHbhl29gyKqJmDpimFLaac8rh9VBvE0TVA" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="151" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg90InT5gOdYpdEZxJF2no3WI0zybd9F4EZ3fiKgWCi6ViCRb4axIuguILUZXfVw6XjAQ7og7E_r6UwGpBRC0wGeiqpDbl6zUl7RThrrHrNwvur-0Zy31SprIGfWqb2i2LFpS94W0yU4Q0Ae10mmLVVNNPFBkQHbhl29gyKqJmDpimFLaac8rh9VBvE0TVA" width="185" /></a></div><br />Some of the clients Billy voiced commercials for were, John Deere, Pioneer Seed and Massey-Ferguson. <p></p><p>Bill Kelsey was director of public relations for M-F at that time which led to another of those 'small world' coincidences in the 80's when my daughter and his son were good friends at Valley High School.</p><p>Billy was inducted into the Country Music Disc Jockey Hall of Fame in 2002. He ended his shows with "The best way to have friends is to be one." </p><p>Billy and Bill were two of the nicest guys you could ever meet.</p><p>Back to the first time I bought that Gibson tea pot at Grace's sale - one of my high school friends and classmate, Linda Miller, was also there. I hadn't seen her for several years. She was in town visiting her parents. We were talking, looking through items for sale when she picked up something I did not recognize and then bid on and bought. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLqaCW4HeVySVMRKRIU3bC0n_DvY-xnHIzA8Am0d_Ej8JFn_r-LAnsNzEUc4THpplQ03EeL9lWVBMcWDJhrj2RqMacv2z_HWzQWNaxejaH37G15pLjwP9kQeh9J62EVEzY5Zqm0nPrnEeZ16wuCS0uENdD2AKZ3zAUTsu3HJMXLngB53WZeHhZgpjxxMDu" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="431" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLqaCW4HeVySVMRKRIU3bC0n_DvY-xnHIzA8Am0d_Ej8JFn_r-LAnsNzEUc4THpplQ03EeL9lWVBMcWDJhrj2RqMacv2z_HWzQWNaxejaH37G15pLjwP9kQeh9J62EVEzY5Zqm0nPrnEeZ16wuCS0uENdD2AKZ3zAUTsu3HJMXLngB53WZeHhZgpjxxMDu" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I don't remember exactly what she called it - a sap, I think, though it might have been cosh or blackjack. When I asked what it was for she told me it was a weapon, a small, weighted, hand held weapon that could be used defensively. I don't know why she wanted it, nor why Grace would have owned one, but I was impressed on both counts.</p><p> A teapot and a cosh - two very disparate items to link in a blog post. Ah, memories. </p><p></p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1575815160753790724.post-29070521698351511072023-12-01T07:32:00.001-06:002023-12-01T07:32:51.630-06:00Now Is The Season<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQyJtCj0mogdSW1t4P-oXxLLiIGKhq9MaTmDJUH1PrmwDW9uhfxa-5JSamsxVrJVaoY2HE5zEB8Onqc2pmPzEWBd5Ro10HLpLcX4-YccmIhVHEuZZqcy4s-Zz1URL_nTCQr21ckSQyMlF9fq_YuHygOca70A9aT8E6uXhzqgwU6fQ4_xrD0myBNezCx-M7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1055" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQyJtCj0mogdSW1t4P-oXxLLiIGKhq9MaTmDJUH1PrmwDW9uhfxa-5JSamsxVrJVaoY2HE5zEB8Onqc2pmPzEWBd5Ro10HLpLcX4-YccmIhVHEuZZqcy4s-Zz1URL_nTCQr21ckSQyMlF9fq_YuHygOca70A9aT8E6uXhzqgwU6fQ4_xrD0myBNezCx-M7" width="309" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Wolf Moon </span>By Mary Oliver</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now is the season</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">of hungry mice,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">cold rabbits, </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">lean owls</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">hunkering with their lamp-eyes</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">in the leafless lanes</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">in the needled dark;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">now is the season </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">when the kittle fox</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">comes to town</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">in the blue valley</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">of early morning;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">now is the season</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">of iron rivers,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">bloody crossings,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">flaring winds,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">birds frozen</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">in their tents of weeds,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">their music spent</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">and blown like smoke</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">to the stone of the sky;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">now is the season </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">of the hunter <i>Death;</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">with his belt of knives, </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">his black snowshoes,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">he means to cleanse</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">the earth of fat;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">his gray shadows</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">are out and running -- under</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">the moon, the pines, </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">down snow-filled trails they carry </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">the red whips of their music,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">their footfalls quick as hammers,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">from cabin to cabin,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">from bed to bed,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">from dreamer to dreamer.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p>The photo is one I took yesterday morning not of a wolf, but a coyote as it loped through the back yard very near our deck. It obviously is not going hungry - looking very healthy and well fed. I saw it at a distance a few days ago hunting in the field on the other side of the pond. I hope everyone is keeping a close watch on their pets. I doubt this creature is surviving, thriving on mice and rabbits only.</p>Ramona I. Lynamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10442196742914230676noreply@blogger.com0