tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52194947051662032932024-03-16T08:24:06.784-08:00 Meandering With KellyKellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.comBlogger238125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-84562919036683454862024-03-15T14:08:00.000-08:002024-03-15T14:08:41.886-08:00It's been a spell<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysDG4ErTLc8Hi5IXW3UPdIeGWoo-HecKN3WWL5KaRPSXl9Bn1Ik4l0z6VGjKqQgdIDkvItO3ny-LD1a3TJGUfqrqirKFneZuCd4XUD7LPIz4bC1sqCuMCnwrvFC6AoTvrOAC9GX0U_HOkdhZp6Lp_QMAkRWyrKpmqfYu0bLwgwI_l1-HEaeobhn4gJCQ/s5184/IMG_1746.JPG"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysDG4ErTLc8Hi5IXW3UPdIeGWoo-HecKN3WWL5KaRPSXl9Bn1Ik4l0z6VGjKqQgdIDkvItO3ny-LD1a3TJGUfqrqirKFneZuCd4XUD7LPIz4bC1sqCuMCnwrvFC6AoTvrOAC9GX0U_HOkdhZp6Lp_QMAkRWyrKpmqfYu0bLwgwI_l1-HEaeobhn4gJCQ/w640-h480/IMG_1746.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you search online for quotes about change, you could easily find hundreds, even thousands of references. You might view some as poignant or reflective or applicable to your own life. Some might be inane or glib. Some might make you laugh out loud while others bring you to tears. Whatever your response, like it or not, as living beings we all go through change. Years pass, phases come and go, interests shift. It happens to all of us whether we embrace it or not, whether we are open to it or not. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">During periods of my 30s and 40s, I sometimes thought that I needed to cling to the things that made me happy (friends, habits, jobs, hobbies, etc.) because if things were good, why allow things to be different? I could be pretty hard on myself if my gut/heart was telling me that something was no longer serving me while my mind was saying "you can't let ____ go! You spent money/time/effort on ____!" I would convince myself that if things remained status quo (assuming things were overall going well), well worn paths were worth my loyalty. Clearly, I was afraid of change.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">(This, of course, didn't exclude some new experiences or new knowledge because being of the world pretty much means novelty is always coming our way. Additionally, the people in our lives are also going through their own chapters of revision. Thus, the proverb 'the only constant in life is change' seems spot on.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now that I'm in my 50s, I actively try to worry less about change. On some level I manage to embrace it. Even when I'm feeling fearful, overwhelmed or vulnerable. The processes of aging, grieving loss and acknowledging my limitations helps. Remaining curious about the world helps, too. Carrying on with practices that continue to bring joy is indispensable. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnn0D_SAZkQZY0Lau3i9pZn0ehCgK1cfw397VbFZ_s4sybv5hj24HbLVxxORy2KD32YGGSAekR-GPGthGZ7u8g95MY_sOsc0Vgm2wVX3YckLqVyvxynKWHOkQKhJmhaL-UhlIg7wMRHmwJ2fy_NwD4z1-iPFiLrZcTjwLAMu-9pIUiL0rbmB1RwJS0TI/s4676/IMG_1749b.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="4676" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnn0D_SAZkQZY0Lau3i9pZn0ehCgK1cfw397VbFZ_s4sybv5hj24HbLVxxORy2KD32YGGSAekR-GPGthGZ7u8g95MY_sOsc0Vgm2wVX3YckLqVyvxynKWHOkQKhJmhaL-UhlIg7wMRHmwJ2fy_NwD4z1-iPFiLrZcTjwLAMu-9pIUiL0rbmB1RwJS0TI/w640-h532/IMG_1749b.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The idea from that last sentence has brought me back to this blog. I can hardly believe it has been years since I last posted. Looking for things to photograph and taking the time to put my thoughts down was an enjoyable practice. It made me pay attention to details and enhanced my motivation to get out into natural spaces. So why did I let it fall away? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, a lot has happened since June of 2021 - both in a wider, planetary context and certainly in my own life. My mom went into a nursing home in late 2021 and passed away unexpectedly and quickly eight months later. Just seven months afterward, my older sister (and my oldest friend) died the day before her 52nd birthday, mere weeks after being diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Shortly thereafter, we lost my Aunt Barb. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">While in the process of mourning, it can be near impossible to find joy or practice gratitude or just not feel numb. These last few years have been a whirlwind and held some of the saddest days of my life, frankly. Yet somehow there is a feeling of late that I've gotten through the worst parts of grief. I don't know that it will ever be fully resolved, but my spirit feels less weighed down by my sorrow. So I'm hoping to photograph and write more often. To actively look for birds, mushrooms, sweet cat moments, eye-catching landscapes, crafty things, etc., etc. and post about them. I hope whomever bothers to read this will also find something worthwhile.</span></div><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/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfBOgkIjFJrHeI3MRBHWs1mCA33eVc3oXwueJEW_zMoPDh1ep_PNMEMpWv16aRsVmkvXeBzKz7DDXSWCGuDUMKFrKN19zMJTHfBE21p8_ih5rIpj6tNrpzWwI52QLgU2Q2CHzo5lI-gjv5CUjxesu6TpNa-zMFR1LBBXYkQW0-bCKzV0xWGFlHVn8l9I/s5184/IMG_1745b.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3627" data-original-width="5184" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfBOgkIjFJrHeI3MRBHWs1mCA33eVc3oXwueJEW_zMoPDh1ep_PNMEMpWv16aRsVmkvXeBzKz7DDXSWCGuDUMKFrKN19zMJTHfBE21p8_ih5rIpj6tNrpzWwI52QLgU2Q2CHzo5lI-gjv5CUjxesu6TpNa-zMFR1LBBXYkQW0-bCKzV0xWGFlHVn8l9I/w640-h448/IMG_1745b.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-26917140178859839192021-06-29T13:10:00.004-08:002021-06-29T13:20:14.954-08:00Bimbling about, here and there<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjum6L4M73XefevDfj5FRh17RE-XkPHF5WoEegrh4HJ1jIf3UjdMgQmFoeQRk6FyoF7id5HvqJ_MpSLtTbAU4-Rbm2LB7Od4lrjjrxbwaE9zj_LJQCdGSpF5RiVzUWceDbPZmbKeJlTjtY/s5184/IMG_9703.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3888" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjum6L4M73XefevDfj5FRh17RE-XkPHF5WoEegrh4HJ1jIf3UjdMgQmFoeQRk6FyoF7id5HvqJ_MpSLtTbAU4-Rbm2LB7Od4lrjjrxbwaE9zj_LJQCdGSpF5RiVzUWceDbPZmbKeJlTjtY/w480-h640/IMG_9703.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Eklutna Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uCoXuZ5FvlBxndKn6FshEfjfmQDgKGkg01NiovD0WtozCsgVcN_xFnTa4a-DbfhyijWEtNoNfMs2qb1uYqPHuDZkVDrSW9wQ_6JG3MLx7i7FpQLiXcYQ6TzlVMhgusQ3VZqD4g1z12w/s5184/IMG_9637.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2912" data-original-width="5184" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uCoXuZ5FvlBxndKn6FshEfjfmQDgKGkg01NiovD0WtozCsgVcN_xFnTa4a-DbfhyijWEtNoNfMs2qb1uYqPHuDZkVDrSW9wQ_6JG3MLx7i7FpQLiXcYQ6TzlVMhgusQ3VZqD4g1z12w/w640-h360/IMG_9637.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq4S8RxDm54iEI3p4zhEskSUcijxGzx-w6NByL4BeVYvbee59E8ewte7SCPzzWuZxVgFPcVGdkjqfCUq98gl2jlq6IbkzEPW_4TXZvZfmVsawBfoCe7wMmB4ShKRUCweFVFiwItVoEws/s5184/IMG_9669.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3436" data-original-width="5184" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq4S8RxDm54iEI3p4zhEskSUcijxGzx-w6NByL4BeVYvbee59E8ewte7SCPzzWuZxVgFPcVGdkjqfCUq98gl2jlq6IbkzEPW_4TXZvZfmVsawBfoCe7wMmB4ShKRUCweFVFiwItVoEws/w640-h424/IMG_9669.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGl0bKivMmHbtreqvpmbHsmzWQNZwBhFE7P9GND3MpCi4HTUg0G3UC_TyLezxOk6rpJX4m3adr4ZIDzL3U9MsFO8PrLA-D8QDJgaRImb23E1OcwdiHgqYRhZc_E0vXKlHd1VJ07zhhto/s5184/IMG_9685.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGl0bKivMmHbtreqvpmbHsmzWQNZwBhFE7P9GND3MpCi4HTUg0G3UC_TyLezxOk6rpJX4m3adr4ZIDzL3U9MsFO8PrLA-D8QDJgaRImb23E1OcwdiHgqYRhZc_E0vXKlHd1VJ07zhhto/w640-h480/IMG_9685.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-21136773678970735172021-06-06T15:37:00.002-08:002021-06-06T15:39:50.521-08:00the best evenings<p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">It seems each year I see more and more people actively interested in birds, seeking them out with binoculars and bird guide in hand. Even folks who seem only to be strolling along are often intrigued and excited when they see others viewing one bird or another. I read somewhere recently that bird watching is the second most common outdoor activity behind gardening. That definitely seems true.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">My husband and I went out the other evening in search of feathered friends, and we were not disappointed. We share a small point and shoot style camera (although I'm always daydreaming about upgrading) which isn't great at catching birds at a distance, but Tim managed to get a few nice photos on our walk. There were Mallard ducklings, our first of the season, Red-necked Grebes, scaups, a Sandhill Crane pair, a Green-winged Teal drake, dozens of gulls, Black-billed Magpies, Canada Geese, American Wigeons, and yellowlegs among others. Below is a glimpse of those that photographed well.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAZPQVAjv5wXkhK32bV30JqsjaqV0QbH16GW_zKGzTu8buDolJfOrBClhD-A2yBa-cNvroJgefvyP1j7cbDz5jTVhUKeCpAu6Gq0VculvPuo8ZpXDmoPypuY-UsYug-sP17ReXnszlno/s5184/IMG_9599.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAZPQVAjv5wXkhK32bV30JqsjaqV0QbH16GW_zKGzTu8buDolJfOrBClhD-A2yBa-cNvroJgefvyP1j7cbDz5jTVhUKeCpAu6Gq0VculvPuo8ZpXDmoPypuY-UsYug-sP17ReXnszlno/w640-h480/IMG_9599.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Arctic Tern - they are such a joy to listen to and watch fishing, flying, or resting.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw0-UE9hW6rMoLW_1TXr3KSrysGXq46CZsf6mYDW2_EJWB0MRi-pPhfZgRqlvQDqZgB3-hRokp9s9PCYURpVDymWF5EWyLNpw0qHPgQJfIPgGuMQ59hW9MPTJvceU1F1PW1ON67f_aNw/s5184/IMG_9606.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw0-UE9hW6rMoLW_1TXr3KSrysGXq46CZsf6mYDW2_EJWB0MRi-pPhfZgRqlvQDqZgB3-hRokp9s9PCYURpVDymWF5EWyLNpw0qHPgQJfIPgGuMQ59hW9MPTJvceU1F1PW1ON67f_aNw/w640-h480/IMG_9606.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Gadwall pair</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmtV7g12L4QH0hphnwBuoVafb0FO7k0_3w38-xCP5N7XuBb06cQXTmLXsaqQC_u1dLUhPDnQ8Sxgj7wQOYhjJvRHQ3NeNr1ovY7-Dxek2QAv4UZjhn8BtL2lJE8ReDPp8us53obfSLW7Y/s5184/IMG_9609.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmtV7g12L4QH0hphnwBuoVafb0FO7k0_3w38-xCP5N7XuBb06cQXTmLXsaqQC_u1dLUhPDnQ8Sxgj7wQOYhjJvRHQ3NeNr1ovY7-Dxek2QAv4UZjhn8BtL2lJE8ReDPp8us53obfSLW7Y/w640-h480/IMG_9609.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Gadwall drake - at first glance, they seem pretty plain, but check out the scallop look to their feathers.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5I0hURDE3fJrVw_lkJ16543s2dg69YYegdOoWRoEz2PIc8HuxEL1AhrngpI8zsTHt7yF0RVA-u6lgsqwfvh42cus5rozystfSkmt3rNkkQOOBThF7_qbvBGTLvjjwHRszWDY8ONYvY9g/s5184/IMG_9535.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5I0hURDE3fJrVw_lkJ16543s2dg69YYegdOoWRoEz2PIc8HuxEL1AhrngpI8zsTHt7yF0RVA-u6lgsqwfvh42cus5rozystfSkmt3rNkkQOOBThF7_qbvBGTLvjjwHRszWDY8ONYvY9g/w640-h480/IMG_9535.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Bald Eagle - chased into the tress by gulls, it stuck around preening and ogling the humans that were admiring it. It may have been eyeing the waterfowl not far from its perch as well.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cSfnMPE7Qr1oWzq3UBwRhUDPDUt5zOLWfvV92sNJ-tOMTprP0VbD-6_riVynFKb7vdrC-q8KRP8Ux-WaEzl3A7SeBvfDplyPD0R1K1hHKGK9EPgV7DFMX0p9-mYDj0TepF-NRZZvqtA/s5184/IMG_9593.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3888" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cSfnMPE7Qr1oWzq3UBwRhUDPDUt5zOLWfvV92sNJ-tOMTprP0VbD-6_riVynFKb7vdrC-q8KRP8Ux-WaEzl3A7SeBvfDplyPD0R1K1hHKGK9EPgV7DFMX0p9-mYDj0TepF-NRZZvqtA/w480-h640/IMG_9593.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Even if they were as common as American Robins or Mallards, I'd always stop to admire an eagle.</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-51451568478499528782021-05-23T22:39:00.001-08:002021-05-23T22:41:43.590-08:00“Every bird, every tree, every flower reminds me what a blessing and privilege it is just to be alive.” – Marty Rubin<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjXjZD8L0bB4CtPtodRyLvu27l6JAfPl34UuRmOQVzvjMxw6x2xp17A9qJr1xrIf3VQwyQTatZ6qs_sbfLusKjbdn3lJrOy2WRIWFH9ZbLAClDS21GZx6OOLA-lgF_FuWqXvlQdnzqG0/s5184/IMG_9391.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjXjZD8L0bB4CtPtodRyLvu27l6JAfPl34UuRmOQVzvjMxw6x2xp17A9qJr1xrIf3VQwyQTatZ6qs_sbfLusKjbdn3lJrOy2WRIWFH9ZbLAClDS21GZx6OOLA-lgF_FuWqXvlQdnzqG0/w640-h480/IMG_9391.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-Hv6207P_Mon5DTP8z5k4a9PVp9RT8jHLpBv24naWKQe58ybP-2tDVRvDRv2Vw1paFS32mLdo9Anw9sQ3NUeJcnkNQk_Q4XjOerkRq20C4sj0mjEbh9sSgK939PiFPg6p88FMdyhWWI/s5184/IMG_9201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-Hv6207P_Mon5DTP8z5k4a9PVp9RT8jHLpBv24naWKQe58ybP-2tDVRvDRv2Vw1paFS32mLdo9Anw9sQ3NUeJcnkNQk_Q4XjOerkRq20C4sj0mjEbh9sSgK939PiFPg6p88FMdyhWWI/w640-h480/IMG_9201.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And now...the birds.</span></div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-43684996294129117692020-06-14T15:53:00.000-08:002020-06-14T15:53:58.564-08:00heart-searching<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It’s quiet in my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tim is sleeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Penny is in the
window, not meowing for once as she looks into the back yard she hasn’t been
allowed to roam for weeks now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside I
can hear birds and airplane noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
is always airplane noise in Anchorage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days ago I sat quietly
at an estuary, listening to the tall grasses moving with the breeze while gulls
and Sandhill Cranes made occasional sounds across the flats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about how nature is a balm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How the absence of human sounds is a
blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How simply sitting amongst
bird calls and sunshine and trees and the sound of water is where I wish I
could be most, if not all, of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I looked back on my best days in Yellowstone and how so many
of them were when I was completely alone in the wilderness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting by a river with my feet in cold
water, sketching or writing in a journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Walking on and off trail, finding things like animal skeletons, broken
bird eggs, colorful insects, and unexpected wildlife sightings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just listening to the sound of the breeze
amongst the sage and grasses, watching stems of wildflowers buffeted by the
wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Glimpsing soaring</span> butterflies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Observing herds of elk grazing or bison
meandering through a geyser basin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
much of my time there was spent solo, exploring, learning, discovering, moving
my body along paths marked and unmarked, enjoying the grand scale of life in a
place so splendidly wild.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I miss it terribly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt like I belonged anywhere as much as I belonged
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The quick friendships formed over
shared meals, hikes, and camping trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The comradery with people also in love with the natural world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The visceral fear of living in a place with
wild animals being ever present but sublimated by the sheer wonder at seeing
them in their historic, natural ecosystem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Getting to live where bison and elk roam, mate, sleep and give birth
within sight of where I worked and lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Spending much of my days outdoors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It’s a place that changed so much for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel
burdened by my family, my history, my story, how I never fit into the molds set
up for me by any number of people – teachers, my mother, a sibling, aunts,
grandparents, uncles, friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I no
longer had to be <i>that version of Kelly.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was free to be the emerging Kelly, the one who always felt behind the
curve of what a girl my age “should” be doing, seeking, wanting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could freely be the Kelly who wanted people
to know me for who I was, not where and who I came from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was, well, just me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And surprisingly, the me that I was allowing
myself to become as I drove across the country en route to Yellowstone and
allowed myself to show to the world once there, was well-liked, happy,
adventurous, excited, eager, and unbound by my past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one cared that I was a fatherless
daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one cared that I was in my
late 20s and unmarried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one cared
that I wasn’t a career woman with a five-year plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one cared that I grew up poor in a single
parent household with a mentally ill mother and severely dysfunctional extended
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just Kelly from New
York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take me as I am or don’t
bother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was that simple, and I
couldn’t believe it could EVER be that simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was so caught up in being defined as the person everyone back in
Schenectady deemed me to be that I had never before really questioned why I
didn’t know for myself who the hell I was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I met a woman in my hometown after my second summer in the
park who told me I was brave for choosing to move across the country by myself,
away from everyone and everything I knew to be familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This was right after deciding to pack up all
of my possessions and move out west for good.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was flabbergasted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me
brave?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve got to be kidding me, I
thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brave people marched for
change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brave people stood up to
authority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brave people explored the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brave people started businesses
from scratch or were the first to do something monumental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How was moving to a national park where I had
already spent two summers anything remotely akin to brave?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blew off that comment then and for years
afterward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Looking back now, I think perhaps it was a little brave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To leave behind a life that I had envisioned
for myself prior to my time in Yellowstone as bleak at best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure I would one day marry a jerk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would be “useless” or a “cheat,” a “drunk”
or “only good for his paycheck” or any number of negative things the women in
my family had always assured me were typical of <b>all </b>men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would have kids I didn’t want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would be unhappy, likely working a job that
was unrewarding and unfulfilling while also doing all of the housework because
women were, above all else, martyrs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is what I could expect, and it’s completely possible that had I not taken the
opportunity to work seasonally in the park, I would have done all of those
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, I would have been
following the example of every single relationship within my family and most of
those of friends, parents of friends, neighbors, and colleagues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t even an unspoken expectation – it was
spelled out explicitly – expect to live a life of toil and disappointment
because EVERYONE does, especially women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took traveling
across the country and meeting people from all walks of life to make me unlearn
those insidious messages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
unlearning, I realized how unconsciously I had accepted all of those messages
as soon-to-be my truth instead of what they actually were – expressions of
sadness, grief and anger by people who didn’t or couldn’t change their own
path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Well, fuck that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure,
my life hasn’t been without hiccups or sad times or lonely times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve made mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve said stupid things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve hurt people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve made people uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve avoided tough conversations and allowed
people to say racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and mean things without
reproach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve loved and lost and taken years to get over failed relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve let potentially amazing opportunities pass me by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve failed people who needed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not communicated well. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve let once important friendships fade
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not believed in myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not spoken up or listened as often as I
should have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But through it all, I have
learned a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I continue to
learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continue to <i>un</i>learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m working toward enlightenment and
change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m doing the work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“As you grow older, it dawns on you that you are
yourself—that your job is not to force yourself into a style but to do what you
want.” – Beth van Hoesen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”
– Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-15401317201506073352020-05-21T20:17:00.001-08:002020-05-21T20:21:22.316-08:00avifauna<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I think the most important quality in a birdwatcher is a willingness to stand quietly and see what comes. Our everyday lives obscure a truth about existence - that at the heart of everything there lies a stillness and a light. - Lynn Thomson</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My husband and I spotted this <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Whimbrel">Whimbrel</a> over the weekend and excitedly watched as it repeatedly stuck its long bill into the mud along Knik Arm. Their diet includes mollusks, crabs, worms and insects, and occassionally we saw it successfully pull something from the muck to consume. We returned to the area this afternoon and were delighted to see three Whimbrels rummaging in the mud. Lucky us! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sunday was our first ever sighting of a Whimbrel, and we also had first time sightings of <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Black-bellied_Plover">Black-bellied Plovers</a> and <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Bonapartes_Gull">Bonaparte's Gulls</a> that day. Unfortunately, we didn't get any clear photos of these other birds, but we sure had fun spotting and identifying them. We're quite blessed with avian life here in Anchorage. Today we also watched an Arctic Tern fishing, a Mew Gull defending its nest from a Black-billed Magpie, a nesting Canada Goose, a foraging Sandhill Crane, and a wading pair of Wigeons among other birdie riches. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">view from the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail across Knick Arm to the Talkeetna Mountains</span></td></tr>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-2526663525977039792020-05-09T12:16:00.000-08:002020-05-09T12:16:53.047-08:00deluge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Beginning in early March, I started signing up for free online summits ranging from using creativity (in its many manifestations) for healing to learning how to write my story, from trying new ways to revive energy levels to painting big, bold flowers. My intentions were ambitious, and I actively watched instructional videos and interviews while signing up for more and more content from various presenters. I was feeling positive and motivated for the first several weeks, and then, suddenly, I wasn't. I've allowed my inbox to reach an overwhelming number of read, starred, and unread emails while actively avoiding doing anything about it. Instead, I now only look for specific emails about mail order prescriptions or those from friends and family. The number of tabs open on the laptop I share with my husband has also gotten a bit out of control. So what gives?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm in overload with the deluge of artists, makers, writers, life coaches, advocates, and teachers whom I've invited into my inbox by signing up for free classes and subscribing to interesting websites. So why have I done this? Because I'm always looking to learn new things and watch new things and discover new creative people and their work. Because so many people have been offering access to ways to cope with how our lives have changed amidst this pandemic at no charge. Because each new website I subscribe to gives me links to even more creative people that I want to know about. It's me grasping at loads of learning potential, but maybe a little <i><b>too much </b></i>learning potential.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Overwhelm sometimes comes easy for me as someone who identifies as highly sensitive so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that I'm feeling it now in the midst of social isolation and a constant news cycle about the coronavirus and COVID-19. The thing is, however, that my life hasn't really changed all that much since this pandemic began and restrictions were put in place. Or so I thought. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm a homebody now, and I was homebody before this. I don't have a wide array of friends that I socialize with in person on a regular basis since, truthfully, I just haven't met that many people in Alaska since my husband and I moved here two years ago. (My long-term friendships are with folks scattered elsewhere around the US and beyond.) My infrequent outings have been with co-workers of my husband and their partners. Also, I'm not someone who is missing getting my nails done, getting a haircut (it's been nearly three years since my last one), eating out, going to the gym, getting massages or shopping. I enjoy some of these things, but I'm okay not getting to do them just now. Thankfully, my husband is an essential employee and has additionally taken on the role of grocery-getter. Therefore, my time is spent largely at home with my forays outside limited to walks, bird watching, or taking our cat into the fenced back yard. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But maybe there are some things I haven't been acknowledging about my feelings of saturation and overload. By that, I mean the stress of how much things have actually changed + the unknowns + the worries about my loved ones might be making too much learning potential feel like a burden because those opportunities are, well, more things to think about. Added to these things is my status as someone with an underlying condition which puts me at greater risk were I to fall ill from this virus/disease. There is a level of fear inherent in any outing now, something I'm not sure I was recognizing until these last few days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are loads of folks out there, pretty much on a daily basis, telling us that it's okay to feel all of the feelings we have. It's okay to not do anything, to put things off that can be put off. It's okay to not be productive. It's okay to feel sad or mad or fearful. It's okay to feel overcome by responsibilities and to do lists. And it's okay to feel like creativity can be put on hold until you're really interested and focused. So that's my plan for now - stop worrying about what's not getting done and allow feelings to come and eventually go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Coming from a place of privilege in knowing my husband and I still have savings and money coming in, that we have the means to keep ourselves entertained, that we live in a beautiful place, that our well-being remains stable, and that we have health insurance, it would be arrogant entitlement to wish for more than what I currently have and can do while so many are suffering. </span><br />
<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-82254220707906496712020-04-29T23:52:00.003-08:002020-04-29T23:59:42.371-08:00Bees! Art Elements theme challenge <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7ALDvgMhRdvkotk9RBsiF-6O-vKBzAa9gE-42TsASuPJ9m_YRZwqhpIr6jC_X2QVfexXsYKBVj9UmWWzFreI677p0SBa598l6Pjo16XGVgzg7U6pBFoHopPKyh-nsxOFY7V5E24izSE/s1600/IMG_7727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7ALDvgMhRdvkotk9RBsiF-6O-vKBzAa9gE-42TsASuPJ9m_YRZwqhpIr6jC_X2QVfexXsYKBVj9UmWWzFreI677p0SBa598l6Pjo16XGVgzg7U6pBFoHopPKyh-nsxOFY7V5E24izSE/s400/IMG_7727.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Today is reveal day for the <a href="https://www.artelements.net/bees-the-april-theme-reveal/">April Art Elements theme challenge</a>. The subject this month, chosen by contributor Niky Sayers, is <b>B<span style="color: #f1c232;">E</span>E<span style="color: #f1c232;">S</span>. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As a lover of honey, flowers, fruit, nuts, and vegetables, I'm a big fan of bees. Without their pollinating prowess, our world would be a drastically different place. Although most folks may only think of how we benefit from their industriousness, bees are pretty fascinating creatures in their own right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I grew up with a mom who was terrified of bees, wasps and hornets. She'd been stung many times as a kid, and her fear was palpable whenever one buzzed nearby. Fascination outweighed dread for me despite being stung by a bumblebee when I was eight or nine years old. I still feel that way and often take the time to watch them at work, especially when roses are involved as you can see from the next few photos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When this challenge was first announced, I had loads of ideas. Collage, jewelry, embellished fabric hearts, watercolor, and so on. As happens, time got away from me before I could create all that I imagined, but I did dig out lots of supplies and make a few bee-related things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This necklace has bronze bee charms in the middle strand, and the color scheme came from thoughts of honey in its many shades from amber to dark brown.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">These earrings were inspired by the typical coloring we associate with bees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hearts are kinda my thing. I collect them and sometimes create them in one medium or another. A good chunk of wall space in my craft room is dedicated to all things decorative and heart-shaped. Finding the bee fabric and buttons as well as the other items amongst my stash to make this particular heart was a big part of the fun in doing this challenge. The hand sewing, maybe a little less so. Ha Ha.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is my first time participating in an Art Elements theme challenge after years of viewing what others have created from month to month. I enjoyed it and hope to take part again in future.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Please visit the links below to peruse the lovelies other folks have created. Enjoy!</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">AE team:</span></strong></div>
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<a href="https://silverniknats.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Niky</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://susankennedy.net/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sue</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://jdaviesreazor.com/blog/?fbclid=IwAR3gM4844eBkKMce5c-IDqLA6DDziQRpnVw7lOJELymlxof_5yRGg8cIGQk" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jenny</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="https://jencameron.net/march-theme-reveal-gnomes/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jen</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://cmendola.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwAR0ddWSb1zS7Ccql3iBwsmpv1wHColr4Mtu26selshhQJw_SgSkJJvervgw" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Cathy</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="http://blog.marshanealstudio.com/?fbclid=IwAR0pg5KkbfFTH_MKhYT1mF5T-0RMcmVvS5vKF6B7frDFj80qn45PdTB0BsE" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Marsha</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Guests:</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.paisleylizard.com/blog/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Tammy</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://catswire.blogspot.de/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Cat</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://chicchixnchampagne.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Alysen</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="https://bay-moon-design.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kathy</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="https://sjdesignsjewelry.blogspot.com/2020/04/art-elements-theme-of-month-april-2020.html" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sarajo</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://meanderingwithkelly.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kelly</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="http://ebbeadandmetalworks.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Evie and Beth</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228;">
<a href="https://craftyhope.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hope</span></a></div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-85873208536780731812020-04-28T09:10:00.001-08:002020-04-28T09:10:55.467-08:00Wherever there are birds, there is hope. - Mehmet Murat Ildan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-36453225617160237312020-04-22T21:26:00.000-08:002020-04-22T21:26:03.203-08:00In need of a flower fix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm feeling a bit homesick for upstate New York these days. Spring has a way of reawakening memories of visiting a favorite rose garden and tulip festival despite now living over 4,000 miles away. Of course, I miss my family too. My sisters are in the medical field, and my parents have chronic health issues so I'm worried for them. Knowing they are vigilant and taking care of each other helps, however. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As the temperatures warm here in Alaska, we're still weeks away from seeing blooms on flowers and trees. Meanwhile, I'll share some photos from a few years ago and daydream about colorful gardens.</span><br />
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-55806468877350278072020-04-18T14:57:00.000-08:002020-04-18T14:57:44.948-08:00If people did not love one another, I really don't see what use there would be in having any spring. - Victor Hugo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">During these last several weeks while stay at home mandates have been in place, my travel has mostly been limited to taking walks through the neighborhood. I've noticed more chickadees flitting about and heard the occasional Steller's Jay making noise outside our home, but I'm very much longing to see the return of spring migratory birds. There is still snow on the ground and some waterways remain largely frozen here. However, warming temps are quickly melting the remnants of winter. Thankfully! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Many of my favorite spots to bird watch aren't currently ideal for maintaining a safe distance from others so I'm patiently awaiting mud season's passing. The hope is that clearer paths and the ability to step off trail will soon make exercising and bird watching easier. This might seem like a silly concern or ambition in the midst of a pandemic, but nature has always been my respite from stress and worry. It is my soother, a way to seek calm and peace, the literal path to joy and repose. Watching birds has become yet another way to attain tranquility while outdoors. (Confession: my husband and I have been watching <a href="https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=bird+videos+for+cats">YouTube videos of birds</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=cornell+webcams">The Cornell Lab</a> webcams to both amuse our cat and to get our avian "fix.")</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So until restrictions lift and risks are eliminated, I'll peruse and post photos from previous years (like those above), watch birds from my windows or yard, and enjoy glimpses caught while walking. Stay safe everyone.</span>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-1559227527210734342020-04-06T17:39:00.002-08:002020-04-06T17:39:54.705-08:00Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. - Albert Einstein<br />
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-78876915153264272452020-04-05T22:04:00.000-08:002020-04-05T22:04:55.967-08:00In snowbound, voiceless, mountain depths, to herald spring, pine trees sound in tune. - Princess Shikishi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the back of our house, in our neighbor's yard, there lives a large evergreen tree. It is the dominant view from the windows of both my craft room and our bedroom. It's a place of refuge and source of food for several bird species and the occasional squirrel. Its year-round forest green color is something of a balm to me whether the branches are swaying in a breeze, still and steadfast, covered with snow, or accompanying vibrancy to surrounding leafed out trees. It is tall and strong and constant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While watching Black-capped Chickadees fly in, out, and around this tree a few days ago, a strong memory from my childhood came to mind. From first through eighth grade, my family lived in an Italianate style building with four flats and a large shared yard. There were blackberry bushes intertwined with the rusty fence, a lawn divided by a concrete path, and a huge pine tree in this yard. At some point in my childhood, I inherited a snowmobile suit from an older cousin. Because it was so warm and toasty inside that suit, I could spend hours outside in the snow. I recall clearly how one winter the snow had fallen and begun to melt around this pine tree in such a way that it created a perfect icy bowl, ideal for jumping on my plastic sled (literally a sheet of plastic with a handle at one end) and circling around the tree a few times before slowing at the base of the trunk. It was similar, I guess, to how water drains from a sink. Round and round until it disappears, but in this case I simply would come to a stop and stare up at the tree before getting up to do it again. I loved this! I had discovered the best way to amuse myself and sled in what was essentially a flat yard and stay warm while doing it! I can almost hear the sound of the plastic as it glided and scraped over the somewhat crunchy snow, feel how my fingers held on tight to the plastic handle through my chunky mittens, remember fully how gleeful the movement felt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My older sister tells me that I remember everything, and I think it's because I can sometimes recall things in detail that she doesn't remember at all. That goes both ways, however. I know that I too have gaping holes in my memory, the specifics of place and time forgotten - as happens to all of us with age. Perhaps a lot of these memories are just latent, awaiting a spark to rekindle the echo of an experience. Like how a pine tree that lives behind the house where I currently reside in Alaska could bring to the surface a vivid memory of a pine tree behind a house where I lived for the better part of the 1980s in upstate New York. Fascinating how the mind works.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-82151058054317070112020-03-18T18:43:00.000-08:002020-03-18T18:43:17.106-08:00Histrionicus histrionicus<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not sure about anyone else, but my inbox has been inundated this week with suggestions on ways to de-stress, declutter, deep clean, spring clean, get creative, practice self care, stay healthy and so on. Much of it is helpful. All of it, I believe, is folks trying to say "hey, I'm worried too. Here's how I'm coping." I get it. While I have the luxury and privilege to be at home, my husband has gone to work and is willingly giving up his weekend to work for those in his office with existing health concerns hoping to minimize their risk of getting COVID-19. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems several cities have now asked residents to stay at home all together. No shopping, walking, driving, going to work, socializing, etc. While several people have tested positive for this virus in Alaska, we've yet to get any orders to shelter in place. Yet home is where I'm spending most of my time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few days ago, Tim and I did head out to see if there was open water at one of our favorite spots. This time last year, we were seeing American Dippers. No luck at the first place as all wet areas but one small circle on a creek were still frozen over. We did, however, spy some waterfowl at our second stop where plenty of people were ice skating, walking, and running. While keeping our distance from humans, we spotted Mallards and a handsome, immature Harlequin Duck (<i>Histrionicus histrionicus</i>) drake. I kinda fell in love with this little guy while watching him fight the strong current and pull himself onto a shelf of slippery ice, all the while doing his best to avoid the much larger Mallards around him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the emails I've received came from <a href="https://www.audubon.org/news/birding-perfect-activity-while-practicing-social-distancing">the National Audubon Society</a> suggesting that bird watching could be a good antidote to the current health crisis. As the news brings us more information, so much of it seemingly stark and fear-inducing, I know I'll be tempted to see what migratory birds will be arriving in the upcoming weeks. But it's likely I'll live vicariously through the lens of someone else's camera via online apps rather than risk being around other avian enthusiasts. Alaskans endure long winters, but I'm not sure spring fever gives me permission to freely move about, potentially putting myself and others at risk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, may you stay healthy and able to care for yourself and those you love. May we keep in mind those that are now ill with this virus and those who have lost their lives to the disease caused by the virus.</span>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-62387510142627836302020-03-09T12:47:00.001-08:002020-03-09T12:47:35.925-08:00enumerate, classify, tabulate, chronicle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Amongst several projects-in-the-works on my desk, there is a pile of</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> to do lists. There is one for an upcoming garage sale. There is one for craft related items I want to acquire, and there's another for crafty ideas I want to put into action. There is a list for stuff that needs doing around the house and another for financial things my husband and I plan to sort out. There is a file of garden projects for our back yard, and there is a checklist of books and authors I'd like to read. You get the notion - my inclination for writing things down for fear I'll otherwise forget all about them. I've been a list maker my whole life. Or at least as long as I can remember. While perusing an artist's profile recently, I laughed out loud when she stated that making to do lists is one of her greatest pleasures. It wasn't funny because I also find it highly pleasant but, unlike her, I feel they're more an obligation than a delight. Well, more like an obligation <u>and</u> a necessity. It's not uncommon for me to joke that my husband is my memory. When he turned 40 last year, I told him he is not allowed any mental decline as he ages because it's his duty to recall things I can't. Kind of joking....kind of not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is the story I've been telling myself for years now - they why of list making. On further reflection, the truth has more to do with my propensity to procrastinate by recording my intentions for later action that often never comes to fruition. So why is that? Why do I continue to write these things down? Why do I keep these lists for months or years, even the ones that have never seen a single item crossed off as accomplished? I suspect the reason is fear. (Not just a fear of forgetting, which is genuine.) I'm not talking so much about the reading list or the errand list or the stuff that needs to be sold or given away list although these weigh on my mind to a degree. I'm referring to the creative ideas list and its companion - the things to buy to actually make some of the things on the creative ideas list. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Like so many, I long to be a maker of handmade things that people would actually want to buy. So I write lists and sketch ideas. I buy or borrow books and magazines full of ideas and instructions. I peruse the internet and subscribe to blogs written by artists who inspire me. I watch YouTube videos and sign up for online retreats hosted by artists of various genres. I decorate my craft room with colorful framed prints, plates, ceramics, glass ornaments and carefully organized knickknacks. I have two bookshelves and four IKEA wheeled carts full of supplies in the closet plus two</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> cupboards full of jewelry-making needs and fabric in addition to a small dresser teeming with paper.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> A large garden trellis covered with hooked screws laden with strands of beads lives next to my desk. I am surrounded with the instruments to create all day long so what's stopping me from doing so? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fear. I'm afraid that I'm not creative enough or talented enough and that my ideas aren't original or unique. I'm afraid that I would pour my time, money and daydreams into producing items that no one would deem worthy of purchasing. And, sadly, somewhere along the way, I decided to believe that any artistic ambitions weren't feasible. Sure, my elementary/middle school art teacher made it clear (to my mind) with just a look that I hadn't the talent to be an artist when she asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Indeed, </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a much-respected college professor once told me point blank that I was afraid of success, and all I could do in response was cry. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yes, I've received criticism from folks over the years when I've given them handmade presents or sold my jewelry. Certainly, I've made mistakes while creating things which didn't turn out well or as planned. Well, there's no success without failure so why not dust myself off, continue learning and creating and get on with it? Especially when I know that becoming good at anything requires practice and dedication? Especially when I know that every job I've ever had, even the ones that I did truly enjoy some aspects of, was never a vocation that was my passion? Not even close to something that continuously lit my inner fire or made me want to leap out of bed in the morning for love of doing the work? Fear, that's why. And at an age where 50 isn't far into my future, one might further ask - what the hell am I waiting for? What </span><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">AM</span></b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I waiting for? Good gravy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My goal for the remainder of 2020 is to make things. Create things. Try new things and turn old ideas and sketches into tangible items. Put my sewing machine (freshly oiled and running smoothly) to use and actually work through some of my fabric hoard. Accept mistakes and learn from them. Watch YouTube videos when I have the supplies in front of me to make what is being taught as opposed to while I'm in bed late at night. And to do it all just for the fun of it and for the pure enjoyment that creating brings. Not because I'm thinking of who might buy it or that the end result is wanting someone to buy it. Just create to create because that is what brings me joy. Okay, I may make some things as gifts, but that's not the same as anxiously wondering if someone would lay down money for my handmade creations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It just seems silly, ridiculous even, that fear of making things no one might find worthy of buying prevents me from making anything. It is not as though I had a brick-and-mortar store or online shop that failed. It's not as though I set up tables at a craft market and sold nothing. I haven't been brave enough to do these things. The few times I did put my jewelry up for sale at a small venue, I actually sold several pieces or sets. I even had folks commission items in different color schemes afterward. Even so, that fear of not being good enough has remained, and I'm weary of it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So I'm going to create for the sake of creating and see what happens. Flip through sketch books and journal pages and trays of unfinished projects to give life to my ideas. See what troubleshooting needs to take place and how designs might evolve. Just for the joy of bringing my daydreams into existence. If it leads somewhere else, I'll be happy to see how that journey unfolds. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>“If you feel like there’s something out there that you’re supposed to be doing, if you have a passion for it, then stop wishing and just do it.” - Wanda Sykes</b></span></div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-57714989886760471312020-02-05T00:33:00.001-09:002020-02-05T00:33:32.977-09:00echoes of Wien<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-4807706911585198332020-01-15T23:04:00.003-09:002020-01-15T23:04:59.470-09:00One kind word can warm three winter months. - Japanese Proverb<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-21776966472889950612020-01-06T15:32:00.000-09:002020-01-06T15:32:34.450-09:00You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream. — C.S. Lewis<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The beginning of a new year can feel both hopeful and also somewhat intimidating. Hopeful in that it brings the opportunity of twelve new months yet to be lived. Somewhat intimidating in that there are twelve months ahead to be filled with purpose and experiences and adventure and new things and new people. Looking at it like that is a recipe for getting overwhelmed by possibility or for enhancing fears of wasting time not pursuing every worthwhile opportunity. Regardless of hope or worry, a new year and a new decade are upon us. Might as well embrace them and be mindful of taking things as they come since I'm unsure fretting serves anyone's ambitions, however large or small.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On the topic of ambitions, one of mine (not going to call it a resolution) is to spend more time at the spot in the above photo. This is what lives directly in front of me when I sit at the desk in my craft room. Upon the desk are to do lists, an old cheese box full of beautiful ribbon, a new watercolor paint set gifted by my husband for Christmas, a silver metal box with drawers full of bric-a-brac, a bowl overflowing with business cards and stickers, loads of beads waiting to become jewelry, and a few unfinished projects. The windowsill is home to an assortment of memories - photos of the women in my immediate family, clay things I've made, a felted birdie from a gift shop in Montana, a plastic cow toy from a great friend in Austria, a Meadowlark trivet given to me by an old boss, garage sale finds from a few different states, dried roses from an anniversary bouquet, and so on. The arrangement on the windowsill changes from time to time, but ultimately it's a display of mementos. They simply make me happy as would spending more time at this desk creating things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Part of my fabric hoard, awaiting a well-oiled sewing machine and my imagination.</span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jewelry seems to be on the back-burner these days as I use my beads for other things like these dangly suncatcher-type things and embellished paper ornaments. Any excuse to rummage through my stash of beads and paper... </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now that all things Christmas have been put away, this little up-cycled cutie resides on our living room mantle. We found him at a craft show in November, and his maker has inspired me to learn embroidery. We'll see how that goes.</span></div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-65906634671084942872019-12-20T12:16:00.000-09:002019-12-20T12:16:57.720-09:00Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home. - Edith Sitwell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-86880365160365549022019-10-14T14:58:00.000-08:002019-10-14T14:58:12.091-08:00Oh, autumn....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If a year was tucked inside of a clock, then autumn would be the magic hour. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">- Victoria Erickson</span></div>
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219494705166203293.post-39366220933368657322019-10-07T13:38:00.000-08:002019-10-07T13:38:01.569-08:00Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. – Stanley Horowitz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12268892068265943767noreply@blogger.com0