tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72093408275288246592024-03-14T04:45:48.840-04:00and so it goesCathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.comBlogger390125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-45960865663096612712014-01-07T12:16:00.000-05:002014-01-07T12:16:05.548-05:00On Thinking Warm Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em>"The glow of one warm thought is to me worth more than money."</em></div>
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~Thomas Jefferson</div>
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I'm surrounded by candles and covered in handmade afghans and being incubated by two warm fur children and a laptop. Bone chilling hardly seems an accurate description for this type of freezing. </div>
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Winds whip, causing doors to slightly open as powerful gusts find their way through tiny cracks and crevices. The furnace chugs away, sprinting through this Antarctic marathon without stopping for rest or refueling. My tea kettle constantly whistles, signaling another warm cup, another attempt at these 'staying toasty' antics. </div>
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Unbeknownst to them, my fuzzy socks and fingerless gloves have intense responsibilities placed upon them today. I hope they are prepared for such lofty, albeit unreachable expectations.</div>
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Dare I say that I am in heaven? Is it alright to completely revel in this feeling of cozy and snugly and calm? Because, you see dear friends... I'm loving it. I'm completely thrilled. I can't smile brighter. I live for days like this. Days when I can enjoy our home, bake bread, light candles, knit and create....</div>
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Upon emerging from my protective blanket cocoon, I shuffled into the real world, only to find cold, cold, and more cold. Without hesitating, I prepared myself a perfect cuppa and quickly gathered this-and-that to add to the simmer pot. <em>(I promise that a nifty simmer pot makes staying in and being chilly a lovely little adventure.)</em></div>
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<em>"</em>What's that? You want to make one, too?"</div>
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Good. I hoped so.</div>
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Here's how.</div>
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<u>Simmer Pot Instructions</u></div>
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First, boil water in a kettle or pan.</div>
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While the water heats, slice one orange<em> (or lemon or lime....let your imagination run wild)</em> and gather any other ingredients that suit your fancy.</div>
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<em>(I also added cloves, vanilla essential oil, and dried rosemary from my summer herb garden.)</em></div>
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Cinnamon, allspice, lemon, cranberries and pine tree sprigs are all delightful additions and options- I promise.</div>
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Add all ingredients to the simmer pot of your choice. </div>
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<em>(I found my copper one at a thrift store for $2.00-score!)</em> </div>
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Gently pour the hot/boiling water over the chosen ingredients.</div>
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Lastly, turn the stove on to a low setting (I usually set mine at 2 or 3) and wait for the yummy scent to waft through the air.</div>
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*Note: I typically use the same simmer pot for a few days, adding this and that as time passes. Also, be sure to add more warm water every few hours to keep the potion from becoming 'sludgy' or burned.</div>
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With that, I'm lighting a few more candles, heading to my craft nook, and setting off to work on some paper crafting projects that I have up my sleeve.</div>
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Stay warm, my friends. Stay warm and enjoy this day.</div>
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<strong>"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."</strong></div>
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<em>~Sarah Ben Breathnach</em></div>
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I've always had a sincere love of notebooks and list making. Interestingly, I enjoy writing a list simply to allow myself the "crossing-off" pleasure of items and tasks. "<em>Did that</em>," I chide at the completed chore. "<em>Finished</em>," I proudly gloat to the errand gone by. And perhaps even more disturbing is the fact that I often save these crossed offed lists. Do I do 'cross off and save' as a way of validating my self? As a way to feel accomplished and worthy of a few moments of high quality couch napping? I can't say. </div>
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However, I can tell you this. I am currently engaged in a different type of list making, a type of jotting down that's not only cathartic, but joyful and rejuvenating and wonderful and gratifying.</div>
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But, pardon me, I'm getting ahead of myself.</div>
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Sometime in October or November, I came across a book by the title of <u>The Greatest Gift: Unwrapping the Full Love Story Christmas</u>. I knew I had to have it. Something about it called to me, and without missing a beat my husband and I made a quick stop at Barnes and Noble. You guessed it, the book--well the book became mine.</div>
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I fell in love. Ann Voskamp writes in such a way that one feels she is sitting down for hot coffee with an old friend. Allow yourself envision it....</div>
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This friend is the kind of friend who has chipped, faded, and mismatched mugs, full of good cries, hearty laughs, and meaningful conversation; a kitchen table pocked full of dings and dents, evidence of memories and shared moments and solved problems; an old braided rug, worn thin from years of friends shuffling in, children playing, and pets resting.... I kid you not, I bet Ann is that kind of person.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(My Jesse Tree and grass that serves as straw for Baby Jesus' manger)</td></tr>
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While reading <u>The Greatest Gift</u>, I also participated in her study and made myself a Jesse Tree, which depicts the ancestors and family heritage of Christ. When Christmas day came and I finished the last page of the story, I felt full, albeit empty- longing for more of Ann's words.<br />
"<em>Now what</em>?" I sat wondering.</div>
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Enter, <u>One Thousand Gifts</u>. The words are gentle and beautiful and soft and kind. The premise of this book is grace and Eucharist, and finding joy in the everyday moments of life. Generally speaking, it's about finding God and thanking God for the little (and big!) glimpses of wonderful in daily occurrences. It's life changing, that I can promise.<br />
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So, back to my love of notebooks and list making. </div>
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While reading the book, it suggests that the reader keep a list of the gifts (with the intention to find one thousand) that fill and grace her life. It's a very spiritual discipline, and I've found it highly transformational, giving deep awareness to gratitude and beauty and love and thanksgiving. </div>
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I found myself truly excited to embark on this journey of gratitude and gift listing. I searched around until I found the perfect little notebook, one that </div>
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was pretty, would fit in my bag or purse, and that simply put, made me happy. </div>
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I'm reading and I'm listing and I'm finding myself so aware and blessed and thankful. </div>
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Won't you join me? </div>
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Let's read and make lists. </div>
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Let's find the magic in the everyday and give thanks for our many gifts.</div>
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Let's do this together.</div>
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Blessings and peace for a happy new year,</div>
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<em>Cathy</em></div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-20649508161772428342012-11-27T11:56:00.001-05:002012-11-27T12:13:52.603-05:00Keeping it Cozy<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>"There is no austerity equal to a balanced mind, and there is no happiness equal to contentment; there is no disease like covetousness, and no virtue like mercy." </b></div>
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~Chanakya</div>
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The yarn has worn a permanent groove between my thumb and index finger. The snow gently falls upon the pine boughs, weighing them down, creating the most serene feeling of comfort and contentment.</div>
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For some reason, I can't bring myself to step away. The yarn and I have a connection and its running deep these days. We've found ourselves quite the little relationship and it has become quite obvious that we're inseparable. </div>
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As the snow quietly tumbles I'm snuggled with my handmade blanket, a fuzzy puppy, and a basket of yarn. I'm pretty sure that both if us aren't moving until much later tonight.</div>
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We're keeping it cozy, that's for sure. </div>
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<br />Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-37491398327871382962012-09-17T18:06:00.001-04:002012-11-27T12:14:23.447-05:00Intricate Simplicity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>“Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.”</b></div>
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~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div>
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It was one of those mornings when I woke up and instantly wanted a pair of fuzzy socks and a flannel robe. The chill had me rushing to make my java and itching to reach some state of comfort and warmth.</div>
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Looking out the kitchen window while rubbing my palms together for warmth, I followed a squirrel across the fence and I admired the herbs and they reached skyward. </div>
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"<i>Burr</i>," I thought. <i>"Fall is approaching."</i></div>
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Just then my coffee finished its brew cycle and Little Peep-ster "ruffed" for potty time. Grabbing my java I followed her to the patio, enjoying the rising steam as the warm coffee mingled with the cool, damp air.</div>
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While I stood, cupping my toasty morning kick with two chilly hands, I noticed it.</div>
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Gently-- and with amazement-- my eyes traced a helter-skelter, zig-zag path through the lawn.</div>
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They were everywhere.</div>
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Every single nook and cranny, every tree and every shrub and every plant....</div>
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Everywhere.</div>
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Woven in the most intricate and beautiful patterns, hundreds of dew-covered spider webs made their day-break debut.</div>
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The absolute beauty and exquisite detail of such creations completely captivated me and before I realized it, Charlie and I had traded warm coffee and cozy socks for wet and soggy bare feet.</div>
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With old pajamas and bare tootsies we canvassed the lawn, pausing to admire the construction efforts of the spider.</div>
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Invisible except for the dew, the spider webs created the most gorgeous decor.</div>
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As the sun reached higher into the morning sky and the golden rays gave warmth to the day, those magical water droplets vanished, leaving only a sticky reminder of the morning wonder.</div>
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I knew it was a beautiful sign. </div>
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A sign reminding me to search out true beauty and to look for the silver lining.</div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-12034065521179029822012-09-04T18:10:00.000-04:002012-09-04T18:31:12.695-04:00Shine Om<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>"Sometimes the universe smiles upon you."</b></div>
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~N.T.</div>
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I always enjoy the month of August, mostly because of the beautiful light. As the sun rises in the morning, it brings with it a promising shimmer, full of golden sparkles and smatterings of optimism. Conversely, evening creates an amber glow, allowing flowers to drift into sleep under a warm golden blanket, while being gently lulled by the serene songs of crickets and cooing doves. It's truly one of my favorite experiences--the sunrises and sunsets of my dear August.</div>
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But this August, between those sunrises and sunsets, I made some new and wonderful friends- friends that will forever hold a most special place in my heart.</div>
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You see, this August I completed my yoga instructor certification, a certification that I owe to those dear friends. </div>
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I've been beyond blessed to have found myself surrounded by such amazing individuals-- It has truly been my honor and privilege to learn with them. They will forever be carried with me, as they were there for step one of my yoga journey.</div>
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Namaste, my yoga friends. <br />
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May bright, beautiful, and positive light always illuminate your paths.</div>
<br />Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-38792223191636358592012-09-04T17:42:00.000-04:002012-09-04T17:42:08.395-04:00August 25: A Radically Awesome Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>"When Zoloft and balloon animals can't seem to raise your spirits, the best way to brighten your life is to run the Color Me Rad 5K."</b></div>
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~colormerad.com</div>
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It was one of those things I tucked away in the back of mind, thinking "Gee- that would be fun."</div>
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And then, one day, while checking my e-mail, the happy little "ding" announced a full inbox. As I sifted through the messages, scanning and deleting, my eyes fell upon the words 'color' and 'rad' and my interest piqued.</div>
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Who in the world could resist such fun?</div>
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Not me. No way. </div>
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The "race" (I use the word liberally) wasn't even timed. Perfect. I'm working on toning down the competitive edge-- I'll keep you posted on how that goes. <i>(wink, wink)</i></div>
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The magic of colored dust shouldn't be lost on anyone. Try it sometime. You'll never forget it.</div>
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Between the blasting music, the happy people, and the crazy outfits one couldn't help but to have an extreme amount of fun.</div>
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Do you see this neon blue haze?</div>
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Surprisingly, I started the school year with an ultra-hip blue streak across left side of my hair. Apparently a bit of dust got trapped under a pigtail holder for a bit too long....oops.</div>
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I'm still reeling from the fun. I've never been so gross or took such a long shower. Plus, over a week later and I still sport a greenish stripe. Awesome. Pure Awesome.</div>
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<br />Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-29551566054581096912012-08-21T09:01:00.000-04:002012-08-21T09:02:08.175-04:00It Was Beyond Great<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>"Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life."</b></div>
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~Pablo Picasso</div>
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We got crafty the other day, Megan and I. Having a crafting partner was a nice change, as usually I'm left to my own with anything in the creative realm. </div>
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She made some string art for her college house and I made a crayon canvas for my classroom.</div>
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Let's not kid ourselves. I mean, I'm not the least bit jealous that she gets to jet off to college to live with her sorority sisters while I get to move into a very dusty, asbestos filled classroom. </div>
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No, not one hint of hostility or jealousy here.<br />
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I looked forward to our day for a full week, continually thinking and planning how it would be, what would happen, and how the projects would turn out.<br />
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I'm pretty sure that we impressed the heck out of ourselves. It's not everyday that two Duquesne grads are seen lugging planks of wood and wielding hammers.</div>
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Or, for that matter, connecting a hairdryer to an extension cord and turning the old Conair on full blast while sitting under an umbrella on the patio.</div>
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What a great day. One of my summertime favorites.</div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-7609588072549342212012-08-20T18:34:00.002-04:002012-08-21T08:38:56.755-04:00Infused with Sunshine<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Grow what you love. The love will keep it growing. </b></div>
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~Emilie Barnes</div>
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With happy fingers I plucked tomatoes from the vine. My feet danced a snazzy jig and off I rushed to pull up the onions. Ponytail sagging over my left shoulder, I gave it a little toss and snipped away at the fresh oregano and basil. </div>
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It was salsa making day and I had to gather the ingredients.</div>
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When I say "gather the ingredients" I secretly smile- no lies here. This shopping spree took place on our little patio (with some banana peppers and jalapenos from my sweet mama). I never, ever get to shop in my own corner of the world, so imagine my sheer joy when I realized that I had grown enough produce and herbs to make and preserve an entire batch of salsa.</div>
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Big. Proud. Grin.</div>
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Honestly, I'm still amazed that it worked out. I mean, I really did it! I really grew an entire garden full of ripe red tomatoes, crunchy bell peppers, flavorful onions, and spicy banana peppers and jalapenos. In some small way, it proved such a joy to see it come to fruition. </div>
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With the harvest gathered I packed it away and headed across the lawn and over the fence to my parents' house. My mom and I had a salsa making date and I wasn't missing it for the world.</div>
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We pre-gamed with a good cup of hot java, read over the recipe, checked out our impressive stash of veggies and herbs, and took stock of the situation.</div>
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She pulled out her canning equipment, we discussed how it would work, and then set about chopping and chopping, slicing and dicing.<br />
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Thankfully, my mama chopped the tomatoes, removing every one of those pesky little skins.</div>
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She's a trooper and a master of all things kitchen.</div>
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I preferred dealing with the peppers and onions and garlic-- more aromatic and completely worth the watery eyes.</div>
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After much preparation, which included boiling jars and sealing lids, our "Sunshine Salsa," as we chose to call it, emerged from the cooker and our hard work was complete.</div>
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My mama and I had ourselves the most wonderful time: talking, daydreaming, and admiring our hard work.</div>
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I'm beyond blessed to have such a special person in my life. I can't imagine learning from and with anyone else.</div>
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Now we're all eagerly awaiting football season. </div>
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There's something about a salty corn chip, a scoop of summertime, sunshine salsa, and Sunday afternoon Steelers victories.</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-89624936341723914262012-08-20T17:20:00.000-04:002012-08-20T17:20:02.029-04:00Bread Baking Day<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.” </b></div>
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~Robert Browning</div>
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The clicking sound of the oven preheating, mixed with the tapping of Charlie's tag against her water dish are the only sounds to break the silence. The house is calm and in order, two notions which I love.</div>
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I'm about to say farewell to that calm and order, because in a few short days this holier-than-thou summer vacation will screech to a halt and I'll find myself thrown into the tornado of adolescent issues, paper grading, and lesson planning. </div>
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While I try and forget about the alternate life awaiting me (a life which I truly do enjoy), I'm baking bread. Two loaves. </div>
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Yes, you read correctly. I did use the baking word. I've long ago given up on baking cakes, as that tended to end in disaster and dysfunction, while giving my ego a strong lashing. Plus, we don't really eat enough sweets to make it worth the while. Sure, a cookie or ice cream cone here and there, but overall we're just not sweet treat eaters. </div>
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But, bread, well bread is another story. I'll never turn down a slice of homemade bread, be it topped with jelly, oozing with warm butter, or -heck- even plain (my personal favorite).</div>
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For the past two weeks we've enjoyed nothing but our own homemade bread. No preservatives or chemicals or crazy compounds- just whole grain goodness with nifty designs (mostly stars) carved into the perfect golden crust.</div>
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Could this be a dream come true? Carbs and art? </div>
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I'm in bread baking heaven.</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-13382124914854681192012-08-19T13:18:00.001-04:002012-08-20T20:39:39.723-04:00"Whoo" Would Have Thought?<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“Industry, thrift and self-control are not sought because they create wealth, but because they create character.”</b></div>
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~Calvin Coolidge</div>
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Are you like me? </div>
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Do you look for the details? </div>
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Do you see the potential and the fun in something forgotten or left behind?</div>
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For whatever reason, I truly marvel at the lost world of others. I love to scour thrift shops and find buried treasures- not of value- but of opportunity and potential. <br />
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Rewind to last summer. <br />
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My mom and I found ourselves in a Salvation Army looking for a few old shirts with which she was using to make the most adorable pillows. While there, I stumbled upon these fascinating owl bookends at the amazing price of $2.99 for the set. <br />
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These once discarded and lonely friends now have a new lavender flocking and are on their way to room 004. </div>
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Yes, please. Instant classroom decor.</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-35759171053583505732012-08-19T12:56:00.000-04:002012-08-20T16:49:15.956-04:00All Things Warm and Cozy<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Be a good human being, a warm-hearted affectionate person. That is my fundamental belief. Having a sense of caring, a feeling of compassion will bring happiness of peace of mind to oneself and automatically create a positive atmosphere."</b></div>
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~ Dalai Lama</div>
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The sun continually played tricks that day. Out- beautiful, bright sky. In- cloudy, gray haze. The breeze blew gentle and calm while a hush fell over the ground. A storm was approaching. I could feel it in my bones.</div>
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Feeling the need to play in the garden, I grabbed my white gathering basket and set out with the task to harvest my jalapenos. <i>"Why not begin preparing and storing for the autumn and winter chili-eating, football watching season?"</i> I silently wondered.</div>
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And with that, I gently plucked a few dozen spicy little peppers and began slicing and dicing. The aroma proved potent and had me yearning for all things warm and cozy. </div>
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So as the jalapenos found themselves hibernating in the freezer, and the sky turned a bit more gray, my locally farmed alpaca yarn emerged from it's safe and secure home in my yarn cabinet. <i>"Mitten knitting time," </i>I thought. <i>"Why not really kick-off these winter preparations?" </i><br />
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While the rain streamed down the windows and the puppy burrowed under the bed, I lost myself to an old afghan and the gentle rhythm of my knitting needles. </div>
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One mitten down, one to go.</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-68479037490802441492012-06-29T19:31:00.000-04:002012-06-29T19:31:52.669-04:00On Preserving and Keeping<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b>“The art of living does not consist in preserving and clinging to a particular mood of happiness, but in allowing happiness to change its form without being disappointed by the change, for happiness, like a child, must be allowed to grow up.”</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~Charles Morgan</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Sometime
this winter, when icicles hang from the eaves and snow piles high on
windowsills, I will find myself grateful for this day. As a matter of
fact, I'm betting that I'll be thankful in early autumn, when I officially
begin my soup making, sauce craving, and winter comfort food craze. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">As
I flit about the kitchen </span><i>(clad in warm slippers and
flannel pants)</i>, adding basil
or rosemary or parsley to the bubbling kettles, I'll remember today. </div>
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The extreme heat and humidity shall rush to the forefront of my mind and I will recall <i>(with happiness)</i> the day I gathered and harvested my herbs while wiping sweat from my forehead and squinting my eyes from the sun. </div>
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I'll think about the little gnats that swarmed around my face, the butterfly who danced on the daisies, and the finches that sang and hopped along the edge of the patio.</div>
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Inside the freezer, on the second shelf, my herbs are hibernating, preparing themselves for another time, another season.</div>
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And the beauty of it all is that these herbs (chives, oregano, sage, parsley, basil, thyme) began as small seeds, sunning themselves in the warmth of my window. </div>
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From spring to winter, the magic continues.</div>
</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-86225393957211369902012-06-29T18:45:00.002-04:002012-06-29T18:45:14.981-04:00Summer Evenings<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b>"The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand."</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~Frederick L. Knowles</span></div>
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Perfect summer evenings are early showers with wet hair</div>
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cooling your back as it dries. </div>
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Perfect summer evening are lavender candles</div>
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gently flickering in the slowly enveloping darkness.</div>
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Perfect summer evenings are cups of hot tea</div>
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easing your psyche to a place of calm and rest.</div>
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Perfect summer evening are held between bound pages,</div>
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full of amazing plots and fascinating characters.</div>
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</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-67775994286093274292012-06-29T18:26:00.000-04:002012-06-29T18:26:07.180-04:00Finding Our Way<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b>“In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.” </b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~John Muir</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"> Under the shade of our umbrella, Chad-o and I found ourselves engrossed in a new pile of magazines. While we read, we chatted and discussed and sipped tea, all-the-while enjoying the sun and warmth of a Sunday morning. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">An adventurous hike, on an unknown trail, wasn't on our to-do list.</span></div>
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Oh well. So much for the list. </div>
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Weekends mean relaxing and de-stressing, so we fired up the Internet, looked up the trail we wanted, and set out for our adventure.</div>
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Charlie wants it to be known that she ventured leash-free for the entire hike. She's quite the independent rebel these days. (Clap your paws, please- per her request.)</div>
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Truth be told, our destination served as the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail Bridge that crosses the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Finding the real trail proved a bit more difficult that originally thought.</div>
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But find it we did. </div>
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While hiking along, we came across a mailbox attached to a tree.</div>
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Inside, we found a waterproofed journal, full of documented experiences and anecdotes from fellow hikers.</div>
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I found sincere amazement at the respect and care people took to preserve the trail and the thoughts of those who have gone before.</div>
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Chad-o took the liberty of writing our sentiments, while I lurked about taking photos.</div>
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Of course, a true note from us would contain our signature marking:</div>
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CCCT</div>
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(A code that, contrary to popular belief, has yet to be cracked.)</div>
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After one last hill and uneven set of rocky steps,</div>
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we reached our ultimate destination.</div>
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I can't tell you how many hundreds of times I've traveled under that bridge. Honestly, for many years- all through college- that bridge served as a happy symbol. I'd pass under that bridge and think to myself, <i>"I'm home."</i></div>
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What a great adventure and a fabulously wonderful new perspective.</div>
</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-67406330876042361062012-06-29T17:33:00.000-04:002012-06-29T18:26:38.697-04:00Remember That Bike Ride?<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Cycle tracks will abound in Utopia." </b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~ H.G. Wells</span></div>
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Dear Self,</div>
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Remember that bike ride? The one that you and Chad-o completed on the second of June?</div>
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Do you remember all 62 miles? Do you remember how the first 30 miles were completely uphill, against the wind? And the second 30 miles? Well, I trust you won't forget them, either?</div>
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Do you remember how much you loved those skittles and how you mastered the art of eating pretzels while<span style="background-color: white;"> peddling?</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Will you ever forget how wonderful it felt to shower and eat a pizza and nap? </span></div>
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***</div>
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<i>June 2, 2012</i></div>
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<i style="background-color: white;">Chad-o and I participated in a 62 mile bike ride benefit for the Salvation Army.</i></div>
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<i style="background-color: white;">Good times. Good times.</i></div>
</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-11722692928896686492012-06-29T17:09:00.000-04:002012-06-29T18:26:56.713-04:00Ace Kaufman, My Dad<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me."</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~ Jim Valvano</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Fathers' Day- That lovely day, on a bright summer afternoon, to honor the amazing man who no matter how old you get still occasionally fills your car with gas, brings you a Starbucks, and reminds you about silly things like slipping on the ice.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">A little patio picnic hardly seems enough to thank the man who has been my friend/support system/savings and loan department for the last 30 years. </span><span style="background-color: white;">But he, like myself, appreciates a good meal, so a hearty meal I whipped up.</span></div>
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When I think back on times with my father, so many of them involve a gut-busting laugh or some kind of cynical behavior. One of my earliest (and most favorite) memories involves a math test during first grade. </div>
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<i>Happy sigh, sly grin. </i> </div>
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Do you remember those lovely timed (4 minute) tests that had 10 rows of 10 addition problems? </div>
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I do. I always will.</div>
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Truthfully, the entire addition concept didn't prove too difficult for me. In fact, I don't think I ever left a single test unfinished. However, no matter how many times we took those blasted tests, I missed the same problem-- over and over and over again. And, as it goes, the problem usually popped up three or four times over the course of the 100 problems. Therefore, out of 100 problems, I'd consistently score a 97 or 96.</div>
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Well, that just didn't cut it with me. My seven-year-old, pig-tailed self would become downright distraught over my erroneous ways and I would continually make my parents practice flashcards with me until I convinced myself that I could earn a perfect score. </div>
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You see where this is going, right? <i>(I can tell you are on the edge of your seat.)</i></div>
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Miss Shockey would pass out the timed tests. I'd proudly take out my sharpened pencil and adjust my arm so that my nosy seat partner couldn't copy my correct answers and I'd sit <i>somewhat</i> patiently, waiting for her instructions. I'd sit there, with my test upside down, fingers gripping the corner, anticipating the very second when she said, "You may begin. You have 4 minutes."</div>
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With lightening speed I'd flip that test over. Rush, rush, rush I'd go, neatly answering problem after problem.</div>
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Then, when all 100 problems were finished I flipped my test over (that nosy seat partner, again) and wait for her to announce, "Time's up!"</div>
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Those school days seemed like forever as I waited for the return of my test. Just when I thought I might die- seriously- Miss Shockey would pass out our take-home folders and review the day's learning and activities. <i>"Blah, blah, blah," </i>I remember thinking. <i>"Just give me that math test, already."</i></div>
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It never failed. 96/100.</div>
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That night, as we ate dinner, my dad looked over my test and congratulated me on a wonderful job. And then he said the one sentence that I will never, ever forget. <i> "Cathy, 4+5=9, damn it!" </i></div>
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He was joking, of course, but for some reason I just thought that was the funniest thing ever. I laughed and laughed and the more I laughed, the more he said it. </div>
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I never, ever missed that problem again. And to this day, every time I see the combination of 4 and 5, his voice plays in my mind. </div>
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Thanks, Dad. Thank you for everything. I'm so lucky to have you.</div>
</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-89020594498273954712012-06-15T18:12:00.001-04:002012-06-29T18:27:14.078-04:00Mindfulness<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"You realize your true identity as consciousness itself, rather than what consciousness has identified with. That's the peace of God. The ultimate truth of who you are is not I am this or I am that, but I Am."</b></div>
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~Eckhart Tolle</div>
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For years I've read about and heard of the benefits of meditation. Without a doubt, the positives of such a personal awareness practice speak for themselves- reduction in anxiety levels, relaxation of the nervous system, enhancement of the immune system, increase of problem solving skills, and the ability to develop tolerance and perspective. But try as I might, I couldn't get past the vision of an elderly, bearded man, sitting cross-legged on the edge of a mountain. </div>
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Truthfully, the notion appeared so incredibly simple that I convinced myself I was somehow missing a key element. I truly believed the notion of sitting and "being" while focusing on my breath or a mantra seemed, quite frankly, too easy.</div>
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However, recently my husband and I have noticed ourselves surrounded by people who give off negative energy, who continually play the "keep up with the Jones-es game", and who, sadly, go out of their way to create rift and strife. </div>
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We have great talks, that Chad-o and I. We sincerely attempt to keep life goals and priorities in perspective. We strive to have balance and peace and responsibility and thankfulness, all-the-while continually focusing on the development of ourselves through education and fitness and positive life choices.</div>
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Well, a few weeks ago, I decided that I really wanted to concentrate on recognizing the wonderful blessings in my life. I had found myself weary of of peoples' long lists of wants, the "bigger is better" attitudes, and the hectic, fast-paced, often-times meaningless life swirling through today's society. And, without warning, the meditation word gracefully entered my foremost thoughts.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K0bMYaEF2Jo/T9uv9UPveqI/AAAAAAAAD68/MI57v14xdbw/s1600/DSC_0818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K0bMYaEF2Jo/T9uv9UPveqI/AAAAAAAAD68/MI57v14xdbw/s400/DSC_0818.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Like any lover of psychology, I unearthed a few favorite books I had previously read, and re-read my margin notes and highlights. Specifically, works by Eckhart Tolle and the Dalai Lama have particularly inspired me. </div>
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While reading and researching, I came to the conclusion that meditation certainly deserved a chance. I furthered my investigation, read a few more articles, and committed myself to approaching the practice with an open heart and an affirming attitude.</div>
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I'm here to tell you that my meditation practice has earned a spot as one of my most favorite parts of the day. As a matter of fact, I enjoy it so much that starting next week I'll embark on a four week meditation study to further develop my understanding and practice. </div>
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Perhaps you could also benefit from the numerous positives associated with disciplined meditation. It's ever so spiritual and healing and peaceful and life-changing.</div>
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Namaste.</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-75326333713898617212012-06-13T22:29:00.000-04:002012-06-13T22:29:23.961-04:00Patio Relaxation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><b>“There is practically no activity that cannot be enhanced or replaced by knitting, if you really want to get obsessive about it.”</b></span>
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~Stephanie Pearl-McPhee</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rvtp0U8wzZ0/T9k-PHGSeEI/AAAAAAAAD6E/DdRyYj5LObw/s1600/DSC_0800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rvtp0U8wzZ0/T9k-PHGSeEI/AAAAAAAAD6E/DdRyYj5LObw/s400/DSC_0800.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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High above the leaves appeared to glow with an electric green phosphorescence, only to be complimented by the crystal blue of the afternoon sky. The air had a slight nip to it, giving a beautiful sunshiny day the crisp feel of a high-school football evening in September. </div>
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I took the opportunity to grab my knitting basket and head for the patio, where, dare I say, I spent the majority of my day. Getting some uninterrupted time with my needles and yarn proved exceptionally cathartic.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ygWbj9JB7qE/T9k-vIY9dvI/AAAAAAAAD6U/mezPhX8khMw/s1600/DSC_0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ygWbj9JB7qE/T9k-vIY9dvI/AAAAAAAAD6U/mezPhX8khMw/s400/DSC_0809.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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There's something about knitting- perhaps the steady rhythm or the soft feel of the yarn or the promise of something special created from a single strand- that keeps me very focused, yet completely relaxed.</div>
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Like I mentioned, I had perched myself outside, under the shade of the umbrella and steeped a fresh mug of amazingly wonderful and beautifully colored <a href="http://www.teavana.com/the-teas/green-teas/p/blackberry-mojito-green-tea">blackberry mojito green tea</a>. </div>
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Sip and stitch. Sip and stitch.</div>
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As if my world couldn't get any more perfect, I decided to snip some of my lavender.</div>
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Wow. Heavenly delight.</div>
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Between the warm tea and the relaxing scent of lavender and the gentle click of needles this day earns a spot near the top.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E0wCWO77B6U/T9k-9aFLSFI/AAAAAAAAD6c/aqujPuE60WY/s1600/DSC_0805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E0wCWO77B6U/T9k-9aFLSFI/AAAAAAAAD6c/aqujPuE60WY/s400/DSC_0805.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-57326230437700378492012-06-13T07:26:00.001-04:002012-06-13T07:26:28.601-04:00I'd Have Bet Against It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;">"</span>When you are through changing, you are through." </b></div>
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~Bruce Barton </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1G9hiX4rgDo/T9fKfshtpyI/AAAAAAAAD5s/LtbjYiZrig8/s1600/DSC_0694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1G9hiX4rgDo/T9fKfshtpyI/AAAAAAAAD5s/LtbjYiZrig8/s400/DSC_0694.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Up until about a year ago I'd order everything like this:</div>
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<i>"I'll take the tossed salad, hold the onion, please."</i></div>
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<i>"I'll have a veggie sub, on wheat bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, and pickles. No onions, please."</i></div>
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As a <strike>small child</strike> young adult, I would browse through recipes and think to myself, <i>"Mmmm, that looks delicious. Too bad it has onions in it,"</i> and then, sadly, I'd flip to the next recipe while cursing the recipe designer for ruining everything good with a slimy onion.</div>
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Well, well, well. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jj7GS9On5k0/T9hvFfj7aFI/AAAAAAAAD54/21-9jE_qsVs/s1600/onions1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jj7GS9On5k0/T9hvFfj7aFI/AAAAAAAAD54/21-9jE_qsVs/s400/onions1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I don't know when the shift occurred, but sometime in the last two years I became very fond of the onion bulb, proudly requesting it on by submarine and salad. <i>"I'm such the culinary explorer,"</i> I silently declared. (How lame, right?)</div>
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I look back over my childhood and can vividly recall the piles of little onions and "green things" that would accumulate on the side of my dinner plate. I can hear my mom saying, <i>"You can't even taste them, they just add flavor."</i> And, I remember pushing around "onion-y" meals and trying to hide them under slices of bread- very, very sneaky of me.</div>
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Therefore, the realization that I truly enjoy, albeit willingly add onions, scallions and chives to my recipes comes as an honest-to-goodness surprise. I never would have thought. </div>
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And, I never, ever, in a million-gazillion years would have imagined myself planting, cultivating, and harvesting them in my own garden.</div>
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My inner child is so angry with me.</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-86893791594565284782012-06-12T16:47:00.001-04:002012-06-29T18:27:33.794-04:00Starting From Seed<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree, yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so."</b></div>
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~The Bible </div>
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I started on <a href="http://andsoitgoesclk.blogspot.com/2012/03/golly-gee.html">St. Patrick's Day weekend</a>. </div>
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Ever so thoughtfully, I purchased my seeds and planed how to arrange them in the rows and rows of squares. I made sure to place the seeds at the proper depth and to provide the perfect amount of water and sunlight.</div>
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Somehow <i>(somehow)</i>, it worked.</div>
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Truth be told, I'm very fortunate. As it turns out, the window in my classroom practically creates a greenhouse effect for my precious seedlings and plants. Combine the abundant light with a well-placed heating vent and I have the perfect recipe for germination. </div>
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See, I wasn't kidding about the fortunate part. Lucky me.</div>
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Therefore, about a month ago, a brought these munchkins home, as to acclimate them to the outside temperatures. You see, it's very important to gently introduce seedlings to outside temperatures and conditions. To have re-potted them and placed them outside would have stressed their fragile stems, leaves, and root systems. </div>
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As you can imagine, it proved quite the theatrical number as I would run outside, in the dark, in my pajamas to bring them in for the night. Because, as you can probably imagine, it wasn't until I was snug in my bed with the pillow perfectly fluffed and the warm quilt tucked under my chin that the notion hit me--"The herbs!"</div>
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Typical.</div>
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All of my antics wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the sweet old lady who lives behind us. You see, she lives alone and has 24 hour care and a constant stream of nurses watching over her-- who never sleep, just so you know. I don't even allow myself to imagine what they must think of me.</div>
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None-the-less, the herb garden is in full swing. I find particular delight in it this year, as almost everything I have planted I grew from seed. </div>
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Let me just tell ya something. Seeds, although more tender and difficult, are much cheaper than plants. You can bet your bottom dollar that I'll be repeating this seed planing thing next year, and the year after that, and the--well you get the idea.</div>
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This hummus- a crazy, improvised recipe- goes down as the first of many delicious treats from my little herb garden. </div>
</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-31592326187076371982012-06-12T15:45:00.002-04:002012-06-12T15:45:24.315-04:00Important Blessings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><b>"God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers." </b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">~Jewish Proverb</span>
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Without a doubt, one of the biggest blessings that Chad-o and I have are our mothers.</div>
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They are, simply put, quite wonderful.</div>
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I truly believe that God chose the women he did to be mothers for us, because, to be honest, it's the perfect match-up. </div>
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These amazing women continue to serve as examples of strength and wisdom, beauty and grace.</div>
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And because we are so blessed by them, I wanted to honor them with a handmade treat on Mother's Day. </div>
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Jossie and Linda, we are so very thankful for you.</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-7157521749068882912012-06-12T15:19:00.004-04:002012-06-12T15:20:32.538-04:00Sprouts!<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Always take a good look at what you're about to eat. It's not so important to know what it is, but it's critical to know what it was."</b></div>
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-Anon</div>
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Sadly, I spent an entire weekend scouring our local stores for the ingredients needed to begin my baby bean sprouts. I went everywhere, from big chain stores to local mom-and-pop joints. At each place I would inquire about sprouts, and at each location I was given an ultra weird look and directed to a humongous display of seeds. </div>
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I had officially given up my search and resigned myself to the Internet, where, thanks-be-to-God, I can somehow manage to find everything my little heart desires. I won't even complain about the shipping costs, as it often beats the expense of gas and the other things I end up purchasing for myself along the way, like, say, Starbucks. <i>(I try to resist...really...honestly.)</i></div>
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As it turned out, my Internet search, although fruitful, wasn't necessary. In a practice of patience and a leap of faith, I decided to wait a few more days with the deep down, cross-your-fingers kinda hope, that I would be able to find my sprouts.</div>
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And, (gasp) wouldn't you know, that I found me some bean sprout seeds and an amazing set of sprouting lids at a health food store in Ligonier?</div>
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Want in on a little secret? </div>
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Growing these lovely bean sprouts turned out to be one of the easiest things I've ever done. </div>
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They are super healthy and pack an insane amount of vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants into one's diet. And- big bonus- bean sprouts, as it turns out, are extremely high in fiber and are one of the few foods that fall into the category of a "complete food". </div>
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Add them to salads, top a pita with hummus and sprouts for a delicious lunch, heck- eat them plain. </div>
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I'm telling you, you'll never turn back.</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-11759452872668861962012-04-29T22:02:00.000-04:002012-04-29T22:02:14.037-04:00Biking Kick-Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>"Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle, I have hope for the human race." </b></div>
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~ H.G. Wells</div>
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We kicked off our biking (and eating) adventures today. </div>
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Bring on summer. </div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-76112535414806321822012-04-29T09:51:00.001-04:002012-06-29T18:27:48.189-04:00Heaven Sent<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“Just like a sunbeam can't separate itself from the sun, and a wave can't separate itself from the ocean, we can't separate ourselves from one another. </b></div>
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<b>We are all part of a vast sea of love, one indivisible divine mind.” </b></div>
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~Marianne Williamson</div>
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Perhaps a message, a gentle reminder?</div>
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Happy Sunday.</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7209340827528824659.post-33256017217704643092012-04-27T18:11:00.000-04:002012-04-27T18:11:10.023-04:00Filling Up On Sunshine<br />
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<b>"Anyone's life truly lived consists of work, sunshine, exercise, soap, plenty of fresh air, and a happy contented spirit."</b></div>
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~Lillie Langtry</div>
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Working all day has it's perks. I can't complain.</div>
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But, when I am away from my little green babies, I worry about them. </div>
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<i>Are they warm enough? Are they getting enough light?</i></div>
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I do what any loving mother would. I rush home, open the west facing front door and run to gather and place all my seedlings and herb babies in my make-do incubator and chlorophyll inducer.</div>
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Even Charlie participates in the frenzy. </div>
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I might be wrong, but I think she's under the impression that if she sits in the window long enough, she'll grow too. <i> </i></div>
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At least she's optimistic, right?</div>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00786700673294273946noreply@blogger.com0