tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69073323610155329412024-03-05T00:19:33.678-05:00Needle and Brush the pleasure is in the processDonna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-43866332029244476802021-11-02T13:39:00.001-04:002021-11-02T13:40:20.550-04:00Face-to-Face as Life Adjusts<p> 'While the pandemic has created a bubble of semi-solitude that, for some, has allowed for clarity of introspection, it has also fostered an increased dependency on technology. As we reached out to friends near and far over email, phones and Zoom, we have connected but have also reinforced our isolation. And we have become comfortable with it. Like donning a too-small sweater, we stretched its sleeves to make it seem more comfortable.'</p><p>I wrote this today in response to Diana Baur's post on Medium.com, <i>Romance and Privacy in Overexposed Times</i>. </p><p>Cell phones travel with us, keeping company with the ubiquitous water bottle we never seem to be able to leave at home. They tether us to a form of human contact that has nothing at all to do with companionship. </p><p>We 'touch base' and 'check in'. We scroll through Instagram and Facebook for snippets of someone's day, pleased that they had a good time, but not entirely happy, in comparison, with how we spent ours even though we did exactly what we wanted to do.</p><p>I have become fascinated with the psychological effects of the pandemic that has been with us for more than a year and a half. In setting out to discover the changes to my own habits, I fear that some may have become permanent and that aspects of my pre-pandemic mindset have altered in ways that will restrict my future desires much as the mandates and precautions have changed my present actions.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh207FhVGfgC37bVB9-Vo0vlLwTCgQ_cMx7EwnESVaYnDfepElHl7fYdz_O_3mjLBi3efsPD-Ot9LekFycBg9UlfFsOsG7eVk87rj2PgCvu-50d0t5iFRaYLy0ZjUnbLZ_BPXrBCyOfHOux/s2048/20200228_134754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh207FhVGfgC37bVB9-Vo0vlLwTCgQ_cMx7EwnESVaYnDfepElHl7fYdz_O_3mjLBi3efsPD-Ot9LekFycBg9UlfFsOsG7eVk87rj2PgCvu-50d0t5iFRaYLy0ZjUnbLZ_BPXrBCyOfHOux/w400-h225/20200228_134754.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The desire to travel, something I consider one of the important aspects of my life, has been tamped down by virus restrictions and slow recovery around the world. I still add to my planning book for the next adventure, soak up words in books written in and about Italy and keep my meager language skills alive with dubbed documentaries and Duolingo. I am hopeful that I can return to the part of the world that holds half my soul in its hands.<p></p><p>My reality, right now, is very different than it was when I returned from Rome on March 1, 2020. I stepped off the plane looking forward to a return to Europe in mid-March. Then the world started tipping on its axis and what seemed a minor inconvenience became a major upheaval. It seems so long ago and where have we gone since then?</p><p>Inward.</p><p>That is a good thing but also what I fear. That time ticked away in semi-isolation will forever change my outlook and that of others. Vaccinations have eased concerns a little, but I still see the hesitation on both sides of an anticipated hug. My small weekly group of girlfriends went to extraordinary effort to see each other last winter when we gave up on Zoom and sat huddled under blankets around an outdoor fire on blistering cold nights just so we could see each other face-to-face (or partially face-to-face, as it were).</p><p>We adjusted. We stocked up on scarce things. We stopped shopping as a means of entertainment, concerned that stagnated jobs might dry up reserves altogether. Libraries were closed and online services stepped up as books were downloaded to pass the time. Stores closed. Restaurants, too. Even parks and museums. </p><p>Since then, we have become accustomed to doing without extraneous things, and that money we feared would dissipate, actually stuck around. </p><p>Habits altered to fit the circumstances. Many cleaned and purged, going from selling clutter on Facebook to offering it on FB Buy Nothing pages. Charitable mindsets strengthened. As I explore the aspects of my altered life, I will discover more nuances, some that I like and a few I will miss. My travel bug? Well, circumstances being what they are in my life, I am tied to home for the foreseeable future. But I will nurture it carefully so that I am ready when the next chapter begins.</p>Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-13379475952524152412020-11-29T08:00:00.001-05:002020-11-30T09:47:53.695-05:00The Only Constant is.....<p>There is a rime of frost on the deck railing. The ground is
painted with it. The rising sun has begun to clear a path through the trees and it
illuminates the bark of its neighbors deeper into the woods than before.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is November and winter is close by. Our first snow was in October and it created an ethereal world of unique color. Change is in the air, at least for nature.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6PF72fnwn1suByeOCzgudFD4nbgJ8PVwCtwON_1Z9ci_bEHG8lcNhidsHb4DwuDyMVaP5V4fVuKLm4viGloMDnyt7i80Rr5z6Oa6isloSWTi78KSYGcGUW1MhXVbweLOBNdh_7VFNvTv/s1440/2020+10+First+Snow.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6PF72fnwn1suByeOCzgudFD4nbgJ8PVwCtwON_1Z9ci_bEHG8lcNhidsHb4DwuDyMVaP5V4fVuKLm4viGloMDnyt7i80Rr5z6Oa6isloSWTi78KSYGcGUW1MhXVbweLOBNdh_7VFNvTv/s320/2020+10+First+Snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Thinking back over the past too-many months, we have adjusted to many changes of our own. Summers, for instance, have always had days filled with laughter and
camaraderie, food grilled and shared, close conversations murmured late into the
night in front of flickering bonfires. Trips to the beach, travel to foreign
lands, hugging and touching and connections made without a care in the world. Our
winters, with layers of snow insulating us, kept us mostly indoors as we shared tables groaning with food and cozy visits where we removed our snowy boots in the hall and reached for warming cups of tea after a generous hug. We read,
make puzzles, cook sustaining meals, and think.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There has always been a natural balance to our seasons and it is missing
this year. Many of us have been too much in our heads for most all of this year.
Although it began optimistically, the days and freedoms quickly narrowed to one place and a
reluctant sameness ruled. We did what we needed to in order to keep others safe
from the virus. In the process, we discovered what we were missing most in our
lives. Some things were revelations, others a deep pain to the heart. We have
been separated from those who need us most, each of us having to shoulder
burdens of grief and distress virtually alone. As the numbers rise, I feel weary
of our careful restrictions, but plod on for the good of my family and friends.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I told myself that I am okay with more solitude, okay with
phone calls and listening to the joys of others expressed through a handheld
device instead of in person. But while I was okay with it for a while, I no longer feel that way. I am missing so much that it hurts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A big part of this is that my brother’s 62<sup>nd</sup>
birthday was this week. He died in July. We watched his Ohio funeral on You Tube. As
I went through my stash of birthday cards last week, I pulled out Jim’s, smiling at the
message. He will like it. I went back through the stack twice more, looking for
Jon’s. I always buy my brothers' cards at the same time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then I remembered. Tears have been gathering ever since.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I miss hugging something awful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the nurse cradled my arm against her hip
as she took my blood pressure a few weeks ago, I drank in the feeling of
contact. Someone laughed in another room and it felt remarkable. Sue and I,
safe for each other right now, worked on a puzzle together for the first time
since last winter. It felt marvelous. I am keen on noticing these small
pleasures. I drink them in as I would a spectacular sunset. Solitude, something I treasure, a state where I am my most creative,
I now find burdensome. I need to find a way out of all this waiting.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I do not mind the thick blanket of leaves on the ground this
year as they signal another passage of time that might allow us to reach some semblance of normal soon. I scuff through them on my way to the studio,
releasing their crisp autumnal fragrance. I dig out the cozy afghans, draping one over my legs as I settle into the corner of the couch to read. I cook –
even better than before – winging it and writing details down when the flavors prompt
us to scrape the juices off the plate with a heel of bread. I have forsaken TV
in favor of soothing nature films and vlogs on You Tube. They calm my anxiety over what I cannot
control and reduced the plethora of negative commentaries filtering into my brain during this contentious month.
I bake bread, learn new things. I clean my home and purge out the unused and no longer
necessary. I meditate, stilling my fractured mind. I accept what I cannot
change (sometimes not particularly gracefully) and pay attention to the blessings that
will console me when times are difficult.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is still too early to put the birdfeeders out. Bears are
roaming, foraging for their last few meals before hibernating. Once they do, winter will bring the pleasure of birds nearer to my windows. The cooling air brings with it cozy nights and
snow-blown days. Whiteness offers a refreshing vista. The slate is clean for a
while. I can draw what I want on it. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I do not want this winter to have the sameness of the previous
nine months, or even the sameness of last winter. With the snowfall, I will
clear my own slate in order to welcome new experiences, new thankfulness.<o:p></o:p></p>Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-26220927223216445172018-03-02T13:08:00.000-05:002018-03-06T13:12:21.445-05:00Italian VisionTravel affords us a unique perspective. At least it does for me. Travel keeps me in the moment, without cares and concerns to distract me from soaking in my surroundings.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIb6Dn9FRu55J7lD83QfOTqy6VAPd-k-L8v9tN2kjLyyvq6YOWZoh1dNY3RzwZEteNL6XenpWqmvreN-5HuA1Bs9D-djwzTOvtZC8lis11CJnh0XQFWbnsXmmdwDY_RRw-KvDVXenC_ic/s1600/2018+3+2+Window+to+Rome+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="533" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIb6Dn9FRu55J7lD83QfOTqy6VAPd-k-L8v9tN2kjLyyvq6YOWZoh1dNY3RzwZEteNL6XenpWqmvreN-5HuA1Bs9D-djwzTOvtZC8lis11CJnh0XQFWbnsXmmdwDY_RRw-KvDVXenC_ic/s320/2018+3+2+Window+to+Rome+1.jpg" width="177" /></a>I am drawn to Italy, as are so many others, by one's immersion in its history. Antiquity rubs shoulders with the modern world. Here, unlike anywhere else, present and past meld together. There is a sense of rightness to it that transcends analysis. In fact, it is best to avoid thinking too much and just savor its blend.<br />
<br />
There is no 'before and after'. No chapters. No division. It feels as if history is one continuous flow and that you are part of it all, no matter where you came from or where you are going.<br />
<br />
The wavy glass in the windows of Palazzo Altemps enhances the view. Old and new blend under its spell.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrY9OIxWs7UZXcGJbl2zYw2kFLInM5jpA4ZyHQtAOxh55E_IdzGDcdQc5gTlR11lK0XTZthXwnQhY8c_Dfm8Mp8KIMVFqW9-sGc5EcyMBgNB8glCHDTLCucZszL25fy1N22Dvu8cw5VPd/s1600/2018+2+26+Revelry+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="960" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrY9OIxWs7UZXcGJbl2zYw2kFLInM5jpA4ZyHQtAOxh55E_IdzGDcdQc5gTlR11lK0XTZthXwnQhY8c_Dfm8Mp8KIMVFqW9-sGc5EcyMBgNB8glCHDTLCucZszL25fy1N22Dvu8cw5VPd/s200/2018+2+26+Revelry+1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Rome's cobblestone streets are adaptable. Repairs are easy. Pile up a heap of cobblestones, repair or level what is underneath, put them back into place. Dig deeper and you find remnants of a previous community, one that sidles up to you and caresses your thoughts with the possibility that all flows continuously through your veins. Between the stones, reminders of a party, a gathering of revelers.<br />
<br />
Wish you were here.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com1Rome, Italy41.9027835 12.49636550000002441.524646 11.850918500000024 42.280921 13.141812500000025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-91219145658486576942018-02-26T13:15:00.000-05:002018-03-08T15:34:35.146-05:00Snow in Rome<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIlvgj0xUsjR09oJk6zVY_jDSCtsDXjaToBtialz4pgxCZWFawdfGX4BS7LY8PCizUcDnNxPtWkMzShWywF4ai3NPvWHpqeA3j7LiYCj6G-A5FplegpsTOeCZZUzVQR6JNrBIOPcE-aph/s1600/2018+2+26+Rome+Terrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIlvgj0xUsjR09oJk6zVY_jDSCtsDXjaToBtialz4pgxCZWFawdfGX4BS7LY8PCizUcDnNxPtWkMzShWywF4ai3NPvWHpqeA3j7LiYCj6G-A5FplegpsTOeCZZUzVQR6JNrBIOPcE-aph/s320/2018+2+26+Rome+Terrace.jpg" width="320" /></a>I thought it was supposed to be warm? That's what the weather predictions said for all the months leading up to the trip. That gauze shirt I brought? Didn't see much wear. My sweater, though? My constant companion.<br />
<br />
You know how, once in a while, you are in the right place at the right time? Who knew it would snow in Rome? The last time was in February 2012, six years ago. To be there for such a rare occurrence made me smile...no, it made me grin like a fool.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMyylHgV7jThF1deoPwFQvLDqAx_lC_4MavlDhQXqh-U9GJBiR9Zgojbl3coY79GnpMnACxh8J9P4Xd6m_BBMsMFHroBPEUeIDBxp2bHqXfLhTWxdufmDIK19qvD4vUbvTyhiQdkHMuqT/s1600/2018+2+26+Spanish+Steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMyylHgV7jThF1deoPwFQvLDqAx_lC_4MavlDhQXqh-U9GJBiR9Zgojbl3coY79GnpMnACxh8J9P4Xd6m_BBMsMFHroBPEUeIDBxp2bHqXfLhTWxdufmDIK19qvD4vUbvTyhiQdkHMuqT/s320/2018+2+26+Spanish+Steps.jpg" width="320" /></a>Now, some may bemoan the inconveniences, but we reveled in the uniqueness of the scene. Waking to the crackling of crispy white flakes falling on the roof and several inches of snow covering the terrace was a delicious treat. How exciting!<br />
<br />
While I got dressed, my daughter went out to take take photos of Trevi Fountain while it was still snowing. When we set out for the Vatican to be on-time for our tour appointment (silly us), we found the taxi stand around the corner barren, the Spanish Steps almost deserted. Only a few people were gingerly ascending, and most everyone was walking in the center of the deserted streets.<br />
<br />
We suspected that they were mostly tourists. Any sensible Roman would still be at home, sweaters on and a hot espresso between their hands. It has a lot to do with what you are used to, I guess. Being from New England, four to six inches of snow is not an crisis. But since our boots were in the closet in Massachusetts, our toes began to feel the icy effects of the snowy streets in short order. Still, we plodded on.<br />
<br />
The tour had been canceled, St. Peter's was closed, as was the Vatican Museum. Hundreds of visitors walked the snowy streets trying to figure out what they were going to do with their day. Most probably didn't have the luxury of an extended stay. 'Wasting' the day was not an option for them. They were moving on or going home in short order. I am glad we had the time to linger.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZn_d-xqBr7RRFECcGt8KrMd8mZRLu2vjSyRmlhhTDZsnZV7ajFllO4xKfi_gqaBaxEqUYDa_r_rYDkRa9OwnO-Abps-CvKfVbmRzhqSVYgOLeBbbEgFcuzf09hE8Bj0dlJo8ZqUi_4zQ/s1600/2018+2+26+Snow+in+Rome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZn_d-xqBr7RRFECcGt8KrMd8mZRLu2vjSyRmlhhTDZsnZV7ajFllO4xKfi_gqaBaxEqUYDa_r_rYDkRa9OwnO-Abps-CvKfVbmRzhqSVYgOLeBbbEgFcuzf09hE8Bj0dlJo8ZqUi_4zQ/s320/2018+2+26+Snow+in+Rome.jpg" width="176" /></a>As we left the tour check-in point and headed back across Piazza San Pietro, laughter and singing greeted us as priests, parishioners and students flung snowballs, slipping and sliding in the wet snow. It was glorious. Nuns created a snowman complete with a real clerical collar. After months of bad news and governmental strife at home, it felt like a cleansing breath to see and hear such carefree joy.<br />
<br />
The third attempt was the charm and we took our special Necropolis tour the next day. It offered us a different view of Rome, one that was reverent, meaningful in a different way. Deep underneath the Vatican, we explored streets of the dead with two-thousand year old 'houses' built specifically to honor members of Roman families who had passed on. Rather than feeling macabre, it felt peaceful.<br />
<br />
As history's events flow in a tidal wave of reminiscences, so do its people. We each have our place in the river of time with recollections and stories passed down the line until we are also included in the telling.<br />
<br />
We are born into families whose history spans the millennia and beyond. Whether we know all the details is not important. The history is there regardless. We grow, we learn, we age, and we eventually die. Some will miss us, others might have cause not to be concerned. So be it. Perhaps our contributions make us seem remarkable beyond the family and honors are bestowed. A statue marks our spot and our story is told. We provide inspiration for generations to come. Over and over, people flow in and out of life's river. They grow our society, contribute to its welfare, and if we are lucky, impart their wisdom, art, and compassion for others to build on.<br />
<br />
Finally, we blend back into the grains of sand of the universe. We are once again part of the realm of earth and sky. We are carried on the wind and find harbor in the hearts of those who loved us. Memories hold us dear. Stories keep us alive.<br />
<br />
When I think of the works of the great writers I have enjoyed, I know that each have given me insights that have shaped my thinking. When I see the creations of nature and man, I am inspired. When I hear music, I am soothed. The embrace of God, the hands of craftsmen, the minds of the thoughtful, and the curiosity of the explorers are the silt that runs along the bottom of the river of man. They are our foundation.<br />
<br />
They are our salvation. Learn or weep.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0Rome, Italy41.9027835 12.49636550000002441.524646 11.850918500000024 42.280921 13.141812500000025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-27100427270250749452017-10-17T13:15:00.000-04:002017-10-17T13:33:22.257-04:00Wants and Needs<div class="MsoNormal">
I am reading a book called <i>The Little Paris Bookshop</i> by Nina George. At first quaint,
somewhat frivolous, but then its characters fill out and its messages become deeper, more meaningful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PKEuHUNBuZwsduPD5Oqy-14szEF8aTSyKT2aTvlZ8koHPtvl7AYiTOkPTtni9Du9UOXtu03tCpjaPnV23IihQyHz-dMe5dS_etPgQlWl5_SH9JcUMANQZbJtNW0EqqQl_DUZeoJYIX9Y/s1600/BK+The+Little+Paris+Bookshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PKEuHUNBuZwsduPD5Oqy-14szEF8aTSyKT2aTvlZ8koHPtvl7AYiTOkPTtni9Du9UOXtu03tCpjaPnV23IihQyHz-dMe5dS_etPgQlWl5_SH9JcUMANQZbJtNW0EqqQl_DUZeoJYIX9Y/s1600/BK+The+Little+Paris+Bookshop.jpg" /></a>Which means I am now writing down phrases – snippets of
wisdom that provoke further contemplation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>‘Love may come and go, but the caring goes on.’</i> Oh, yes, it
does. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>‘It only takes one word to hurt a woman, a matter of
seconds, one stupid, impatient blow…but winning her trust back takes years. And
sometimes, there isn’t the time.’</i> Life feels shorter under the task or maybe, one perceives they have little left and therefore there isn’t time to figure out how to regain her
trust.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>‘And that is why it hurts so much. When women stop loving,
men fall into a void of their own making.’ </i>Yes, they do and it is horrible to
see because it becomes obvious that they don’t comprehend, don’t acknowledge, that their new-found
feelings of loss are the result of their own actions. So they do nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she can do nothing more than continue the caring. Because
she wants to.<o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-42219863803501758912016-11-09T11:49:00.000-05:002016-11-09T11:49:07.462-05:00Trying to Understand<div class="MsoNormal">
My words are stuck in my throat
this morning and writing is my only solace for the welling of emotions careening in my head. I can't seem to stop writing. I feel like someone or something died and I need to make sense of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hardly slept for checking the updated election results throughout the night. Got a few hours towards morning. While my forty minute drive into work this morning looked the same, it sure didn't feel right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have always felt
so proud of my country and this election has uncovered things I never even
contemplated about how half of our citizens may feel and think.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One can only hope that the
rhetoric of his nasty campaign was the result of the heat of his battle, but it
is hard to forget his words or actions when contemplating his true nature or to
imagine his plans for our country and our relations with the world. I am still trying to wrap my mind around the
fact that there are so many people in this country - who are so different from
the people I know - who feel such hatred and bigotry. I am stunned. It has been quite the revelation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the
other hand, half our society feels strong, responsible and open to diversity of
both people and thought. I'm with them. If nothing else, this has pushed me to dig deeper, be better, be stronger, and more involved.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rambling, I know, but just
trying to work things out in my head and having an awful time of it. <span style="color: #1f497d;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-14112054320149647282016-08-04T14:59:00.001-04:002016-08-04T14:59:22.118-04:00Ad-Less<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pC-Piz4DsUJ191xsoJAo5IYnpjEpCQ0TIjbQlZrFmzLOJ44DqWPxWpMJ6Azovpty-GtNR7CB3v4Cwj-y4YXpLk0GMUIJMSdfsBM-VecaNE05ovPtVRdKoBkdXgw7MLW9OisZufk0Ep29/s1600/AD+Nauseum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pC-Piz4DsUJ191xsoJAo5IYnpjEpCQ0TIjbQlZrFmzLOJ44DqWPxWpMJ6Azovpty-GtNR7CB3v4Cwj-y4YXpLk0GMUIJMSdfsBM-VecaNE05ovPtVRdKoBkdXgw7MLW9OisZufk0Ep29/s1600/AD+Nauseum.JPG" /></a></div>
The assault is insidious and completely over-the-top. More stressful that one could imagine. Consumerism, media-hype, claims and counter-claims.<br />
<br />
Why, you can't even go to a public toilet without looking at an advertisement on the stall door. Grocery cart? Yup, ads there, too, in case you need a funeral home or a bottle of wine.<br />
<br />
I just perused my Pinterest account, one of the few places sans ads. Nope, as I cursored down, a stylish pic of fruit popsicles showed up, sponsored by Outshine and 'picked just for you'. Seriously? Shame on you, Pinterest.<br />
<br />
I have Sirius Radio in my car to avoid ads and listen to the music I like best. I pay for it. A lot. If I want ads to disappear from my phone's Solitaire game, I'd have to pay for that, too. Even my email account has a line of ads running down the side as I try to pay attention to my incoming correspondence. I can't pee without seeing an ad, drive without staring at the back end of a heavily emblazoned vehicle touting its company's finer points. Even bumper stickers sell some kind of message.<br />
<br />
I rebelled. I watch little TV. Frankly, that was also because I have better things to do that I have been neglecting for too long. Fun things like reading and painting and being outside soaking in what nature provides (for free). I don't miss the box. I certainly don't miss foot-tapping through commercials or fast-forwarding and still seeing them as I try to spot the next segment of the show. I got rid of magazine subscriptions. They had more ads than articles. The ones I really liked closed down because of lack of advertising. Of course, they did. I choose my news for its content, not sensationalism. There are ways to do that but it takes effort. It is worth it.<br />
<br />
Don't forget to like us on Facebook...for even more ads.<br />
<br />
I want to be childlike again. Outside more than in, exploration and conversation trumping entertainment via electronics. Laze in a hammock, pull a few weeds, make America beautiful and fulfilling.<br />
<br />
Because it is beautiful, it is fulfilling. We don't have to sold a bill of goods to know that fact in our hearts. Go forth, ad-less, and enjoy.Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-62220128389692061172016-04-08T11:15:00.000-04:002016-04-08T11:26:24.988-04:00A Penny for Your Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUhT72WzZqN4RjVm-Kgp9WPf_Z_5vk-csI-ucXmCCUkBUhBk7lapE5bjFKYlxJed0_LE0HaR-0Ey29LcOPF_q889S9JXQ1Swyb7NhVUsqexNEuQgktjX0Ho6Tb1Zaqo6c8ggY9R62THJ9/s1600/SD+Fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUhT72WzZqN4RjVm-Kgp9WPf_Z_5vk-csI-ucXmCCUkBUhBk7lapE5bjFKYlxJed0_LE0HaR-0Ey29LcOPF_q889S9JXQ1Swyb7NhVUsqexNEuQgktjX0Ho6Tb1Zaqo6c8ggY9R62THJ9/s200/SD+Fish.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> "A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. …<br /> </span></i><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> Else tomorrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another."</span> <span style="color: #3d85c6;">-Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
Bits and bytes of information bombard every one of us every day. Each single seed can also be deposited in the minds of millions of other people. Everyone’s thinking is influenced by what is seen, felt, read and observed. We process most information on a subconscious level. It becomes a Dagwood sandwich, wrapped and stowed for later consumption. <br />
<br />
In sleep, some of those random thoughts gel into dreams; recent impressions form the scenarios. If aware of it, we can even smell and feel in our dream state which always startles me when I experience it. The devil of it is that when the curtain comes up in the morning, another good dream is obliterated. Poof!<br />
<br />
Its impression, most likely, remains in our subconscious. Hence, the reoccurring dream. All these thoughts swirl, lay claim to lockers in our storehouse of a mind. The combination is lost, found, lost again. The bits gather with other bits, form communities of thought.<br />
<br />
There is a lot of simmering going on under the surface. And simmering is also going on in the minds of others, too. Even those we have never met may have the same thoughts we do. It explains the scientists on two different continents coming up with the same premise or similar research results. Happens all the time.<br />
<br />
"Gee, I thought of that years ago,” a young man laments when he reads of a new discovery. “If only I had acted on it, I would be the one in the newspapers. I would be the one who made millions.”<br />
<br />
“He stole my idea.” Ah, no. No, he didn’t. He just was more intrigued than you were about the idea batting around in his head and did something about it. A missed opportunity for one, growth and satisfaction for another.<br />
<br />
A penny for your thoughts?Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-76605062285458800942016-04-01T13:50:00.000-04:002016-04-07T04:44:47.908-04:00Perspective Requires Much Consideration<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">"The universe is transformation; our life is what our thoughts make it."</span><span style="color: #45818e;"> </span> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #76a5af;">Marcus Aurelius</span></i></div>
<i><span style="color: #76a5af;"><br /></span></i>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG21aibk7DncMnQvLnHgs5NgRAfWJpwPC0UFccDOn7dPCqvOgtxpltsYzMXEV-X_Nhbf1qVM6dDziI6kHkSXFPcA146YE0Tcu8HMsiUxkBgM-I_xgHFfAy8icnuIWlUHkfkBS2MQteEYR9/s1600/2016+3+21+Writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG21aibk7DncMnQvLnHgs5NgRAfWJpwPC0UFccDOn7dPCqvOgtxpltsYzMXEV-X_Nhbf1qVM6dDziI6kHkSXFPcA146YE0Tcu8HMsiUxkBgM-I_xgHFfAy8icnuIWlUHkfkBS2MQteEYR9/s320/2016+3+21+Writing.jpg" width="240" /></a> I picked up a neighbor to give him a ride part of the way to work this morning. I often do this and we mostly talk about the weather, or he does and I listen because I think each day's weather is interesting. Today he talked about a job posting and that it only paid $10 hour. He griped about it and the sad state of affairs in America and had told the interviewer that times were changing and soon it would be $15. Perhaps so, but I imagine it didn't further his cause.<br />
<br />
It got me to thinking of my recent experiences in Hungary where I was surprised that the American dollar bought so much more than the Hungarian populace could afford. They would, perhaps, be excited about $10 an hour instead of looking for more from the get-go.<br />
<br />
We all want to live a good life, a prosperous one. Most do their best to achieve it. Some complain endlessly and get nowhere.<br />
<br />
Personal perspective forms from your own particular point of view and your thoughts are, of course, its basis. Others may sway your thinking. Nasty little inroads of doubt may creep in. But just as often, fresh air may flow through your thoughts when the stars align and things are going well. Life is like swaying on a swing. Sometimes you reach the sky and sometimes your feet get muddy as you hop off.<br />
<br />
"Our life is what our thoughts make it." Yes, it certainly is.Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-8307319079396380172016-03-02T15:29:00.000-05:002016-03-02T15:29:20.590-05:00I fear I have been doing a bit more reading than usual...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAi2EZdk9SxvjoRXE53RLdCXy6TZqf8vfmj9ov2nnkOvd7AzOPPMe9FsLtmYzDyNA45aI8ithdPU89uALX1LmuUs83LPC7WIVGev9WbMzsDra-VVPhII3pl4nY6ImXmQzRWPlDBHNh3clJ/s1600/So+Many+Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAi2EZdk9SxvjoRXE53RLdCXy6TZqf8vfmj9ov2nnkOvd7AzOPPMe9FsLtmYzDyNA45aI8ithdPU89uALX1LmuUs83LPC7WIVGev9WbMzsDra-VVPhII3pl4nY6ImXmQzRWPlDBHNh3clJ/s400/So+Many+Books.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-10200952520047413552015-09-16T14:11:00.000-04:002015-09-16T14:11:41.276-04:00Passionate Serenity<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJry2tdRb4W9PDcfP7UBcAO54iOrLta9zajMhPmfZKFVU-CKyYypoRumSHV58Xpen34DfF7428bZcaRyJ5FBbQMzwaAF6Oc_2sa6cBhL1V6IDnuisr03dguCDex0N7GEbUlnF30qOy-SY/s1600/BDV+Our+dwelling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJry2tdRb4W9PDcfP7UBcAO54iOrLta9zajMhPmfZKFVU-CKyYypoRumSHV58Xpen34DfF7428bZcaRyJ5FBbQMzwaAF6Oc_2sa6cBhL1V6IDnuisr03dguCDex0N7GEbUlnF30qOy-SY/s320/BDV+Our+dwelling.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #45818e;">Cozy and warm, restorative and peaceful</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One can find peace in so many places if open to it. Sometimes, the
right place falls in your lap unbidden and you take up the reins to embrace it.
When they stay with you as an integral part of your being, you know you have
found a piece of your soul’s place of rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Borgo di Vagli, high in the mountains east of Cortona in
Tuscany, has a quiet serenity than soothes and uplifts. How fortunate we are
that, this time, there was no room at the inn and it was recommended to us as an
alternative. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_qA-XNzC2EVykWSbHIvUNpKQotu6q5RnObC8pAsE4aZpTDdZ0Y3U6F_1HTQ_Vfbr04TceHXwQG7O7H0DchnXnKWcz3IxH75RripFYKOc2i406nh2P-ufWfFNhUWW6BMoaprP56d1A4gj/s1600/BDV+Terrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_qA-XNzC2EVykWSbHIvUNpKQotu6q5RnObC8pAsE4aZpTDdZ0Y3U6F_1HTQ_Vfbr04TceHXwQG7O7H0DchnXnKWcz3IxH75RripFYKOc2i406nh2P-ufWfFNhUWW6BMoaprP56d1A4gj/s320/BDV+Terrace.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #45818e;">Our terrace - with a 10th century castle ruins in the distance</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only two places in my life have caused me distress. The home
I thought I’d grow old at in Ohio and Borgo di Vagli. After we packed the car
on that last day before heading to Spoleto for lunch and Rome for the airplane
home, we sat on the terrace, drinking in the view. Reluctant to leave, we
relaxed into the sensations and sounds enveloping us until tears formed and
hearts welled with exquisite pain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driving away, traversing the two km of winding dirt roads
with heavy hearts filled with longing, we said arrivederci. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Till we meet again.<o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-50413879486279425292015-02-26T11:43:00.000-05:002015-03-20T11:45:03.028-04:00Just Saying...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFJAe28TRmSbYKpXBYqU1gh3im4118H4MtpHYDyQG9KuoQLTUgEIhqfNXH4E9iofuvGT6stykC6E56jzXJzDm121DZhrTcEsrrrU1zG2XWwfoiWvgzuvTE0gUNUYmCzhB8YWgGct-z-9g/s1600/Loyal+Person.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFJAe28TRmSbYKpXBYqU1gh3im4118H4MtpHYDyQG9KuoQLTUgEIhqfNXH4E9iofuvGT6stykC6E56jzXJzDm121DZhrTcEsrrrU1zG2XWwfoiWvgzuvTE0gUNUYmCzhB8YWgGct-z-9g/s1600/Loyal+Person.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-67568094072136992252015-02-09T11:41:00.000-05:002015-03-20T11:41:51.147-04:00Six feet and counting...It's getting mighty deep out there! We can't shovel it fast enough.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqIXiC0I4YkVTuPDZYxrG2uwJnzScsKol-uErS6Rh5SevRQecR_m3u4n-qW1CKtKvQ4kcR4vDY3RMna-ZeU86US_Jwro1mN4ZgCcOBdtRWoENBGnnpfAi7ASHpBwLxegFZ256L-5pm9oB/s1600/DSC01712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqIXiC0I4YkVTuPDZYxrG2uwJnzScsKol-uErS6Rh5SevRQecR_m3u4n-qW1CKtKvQ4kcR4vDY3RMna-ZeU86US_Jwro1mN4ZgCcOBdtRWoENBGnnpfAi7ASHpBwLxegFZ256L-5pm9oB/s1600/DSC01712.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWUYuutg_bpnlJJg6PYLMJGv0UIXtSGfC0P0NHVjZXrsaEj9aTlZQfDfVgjkDHQwuReyxDWOYCukYHjeYICkCEADqI1RnmPicXPjq9vOLGEftoGYapieVrUO3vvs3fXwmlUekHXGrZr_-/s1600/DSC01713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWUYuutg_bpnlJJg6PYLMJGv0UIXtSGfC0P0NHVjZXrsaEj9aTlZQfDfVgjkDHQwuReyxDWOYCukYHjeYICkCEADqI1RnmPicXPjq9vOLGEftoGYapieVrUO3vvs3fXwmlUekHXGrZr_-/s1600/DSC01713.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-32891671170869804402015-02-06T11:36:00.000-05:002015-03-20T11:37:54.656-04:00Windblown and BuriedNew England has so much to offer and it never disappoints. Cold and snow plummets down from the Arctic and buries us in fluffy white snow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHr97ddmd_cEYagMbuzZFqbB0Ac4lw5elJIplVCDTIDeQqlDvR1p71kFIEFxKstWJIvg8A-sP-j9pre9zvDprXAm37HWmIBm2W_3q5jcKY99CFytchRUcUxzHGnjCsHy-ZrKvZSNNMzWd9/s1600/DSC01711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHr97ddmd_cEYagMbuzZFqbB0Ac4lw5elJIplVCDTIDeQqlDvR1p71kFIEFxKstWJIvg8A-sP-j9pre9zvDprXAm37HWmIBm2W_3q5jcKY99CFytchRUcUxzHGnjCsHy-ZrKvZSNNMzWd9/s1600/DSC01711.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-5554222732467646332015-01-11T11:23:00.000-05:002015-03-20T11:26:01.733-04:00The View from Inside the Mind<div class="MsoNormal">
When one wonders about the minds of visionaries and you land
on the incredible art created by Van Gogh’s supposedly disturbed mind, one can
only be reminded that no two people see the world in the same way. Some only take
in the surface and others see more deeply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoBrdvCHQTqtSWg6zsuXU9mu06nZ-K8o66sSYL9A9BpmE3z66mJHWnma-iXJjvQYQIDkXdIHtkzVI55Lr4RbYSI3-sLA4DAMu392_TQr0dkwYSPprsUzFSOZamHCWuFSV3Wx30FaevcsN/s1600/Starry-Night+Van+Gogh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoBrdvCHQTqtSWg6zsuXU9mu06nZ-K8o66sSYL9A9BpmE3z66mJHWnma-iXJjvQYQIDkXdIHtkzVI55Lr4RbYSI3-sLA4DAMu392_TQr0dkwYSPprsUzFSOZamHCWuFSV3Wx30FaevcsN/s1600/Starry-Night+Van+Gogh.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Van Gogh's Starry Night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhDbiRArmEudZTj3ktJ5x6NgYe4JU2WH92Sieqr7IpYfuJ_Xn6Q9iEmgVWDHfXCE-hQRpuDbXFlodq4IT8ADaOPjKg3SAhbsWegtZFaTWpuE0ThcbW1kKyKSIHtfJ3E4AhBxig2QufosO/s1600/Timelapse+stargazing+in+Atacama+Desert,+Chile+Adhemar+Duro+Getty+Images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhDbiRArmEudZTj3ktJ5x6NgYe4JU2WH92Sieqr7IpYfuJ_Xn6Q9iEmgVWDHfXCE-hQRpuDbXFlodq4IT8ADaOPjKg3SAhbsWegtZFaTWpuE0ThcbW1kKyKSIHtfJ3E4AhBxig2QufosO/s1600/Timelapse+stargazing+in+Atacama+Desert,+Chile+Adhemar+Duro+Getty+Images.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
Time-lapse photography while stargazing in Atacama Desert,
Chile<b><i><span style="color: #1f497d;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Adhemar Duro Getty Images</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-73991962137869578972014-09-05T13:22:00.000-04:002014-09-05T13:22:18.576-04:00Sunflower Glory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAOv5_4IBUJZnC3v9TII5792T8NYPDiq4CLU8nipXvYPx3iIfxH6Hmluha4FaqLGsmfy1JEiCCtAf-hRdJKpqSLo-rO9O32ZPPQN9lW5Wc4yUvO3PdwCMlHQrgxT29fRN5s9rISjDqK3i/s1600/Sunflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAOv5_4IBUJZnC3v9TII5792T8NYPDiq4CLU8nipXvYPx3iIfxH6Hmluha4FaqLGsmfy1JEiCCtAf-hRdJKpqSLo-rO9O32ZPPQN9lW5Wc4yUvO3PdwCMlHQrgxT29fRN5s9rISjDqK3i/s1600/Sunflower.jpg" height="320" width="192" /></a></div>
In the land of paint and pencils, there are many temptations. All the time. Everywhere.<br />
<br />
Pastels tickled all my creative bits when I signed up for a class at our local library taught by Gregory Maichack. I am in love with the luminosity and can't wait to experiment with more flowers, clouds and the ocean. This one, started in the class is after a Georgia O'Keefe painting.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness there are a profusion of sunflowers at the farm stands right now. These deep, bronzy red ones I put in my blue vase will be wonderful to paint.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhRCO6L0F6TSCXfT6K7mV2mc0MY_AqfZp9-v56Sm9Y-NHpkb0U0hC_QtqA8ZFC7aJLoeB2rf8GVlMCAvj39qRUOrM79leyB_ozTarT5o4wEtMKsaunOb0s0YpGnRYX2FTON18atGVVyj9/s1600/DSC01364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhRCO6L0F6TSCXfT6K7mV2mc0MY_AqfZp9-v56Sm9Y-NHpkb0U0hC_QtqA8ZFC7aJLoeB2rf8GVlMCAvj39qRUOrM79leyB_ozTarT5o4wEtMKsaunOb0s0YpGnRYX2FTON18atGVVyj9/s1600/DSC01364.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a>Our Northeast summer has been glorious - a gift of clear skies, gentle breezes and warm weather. Cool nights, perfect for sleeping, are a blessing and we enjoyed them virtually every night.<br />
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Even when life throws curves, little glimmers of enchantment remind me that there is so much more to consider in the scheme of things. Thank goodness.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">"Life is brief, but if you're brave, it's deep." - Elissa Schappell, author</span></i>Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-19129643165903826852014-08-05T23:06:00.000-04:002014-08-05T23:06:50.375-04:00The Rocky Path of Progress<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17a8YF0powPzDZ7UfoKEoHwohpFYxL4FM_h85hUH1RIUWy5EyX9LyP1arLy5nYNN0YUVI7RbxPGuLM-CQNWjO5oqTBL2qevv47Ku68nzpOU2UIxfP4Gyk_SBvkegeHfGJj3CI5TYcE_Qd/s1600/DSC01349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17a8YF0powPzDZ7UfoKEoHwohpFYxL4FM_h85hUH1RIUWy5EyX9LyP1arLy5nYNN0YUVI7RbxPGuLM-CQNWjO5oqTBL2qevv47Ku68nzpOU2UIxfP4Gyk_SBvkegeHfGJj3CI5TYcE_Qd/s1600/DSC01349.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">My writing corner</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Living so close to historical touch-points as I do here in
New England, I find myself intrigued by the minds of people who lived here
before me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been reading Henry
David Thoreau’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Week on the
Concord and Merrimack Rivers</i>, and I have a new appreciation for the portion
of the Concord River which passes under the freeway close to my work in
Billerica, MA. His boat journeyed along this spot in 1839 on his way upstream
and I can imagine his oars dipping in the serene water, dripping with
sun-glistened droplets with each upswing of the paddle, his eyes scanning the
shore for signs of life to think upon. Looking either way as I head for my exit,
I see uninhabited shorelines thick with trees and underbrush, a
stone bridge the only manmade element in sight – much as he would have seen the
river 175 years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So much can change in the course of a single man’s life and
a multitude of changes are wrought in a century…or two. Even as Thoreau
bemoaned the dams that blocked the alewives and salmon from their spawning beds
and changed the pattern of river flooding that had reached far into fertile
fields each spring, he melded his observations with historical facts to better grasp
the dangerous road man was taking in the name of progress. What once could be
fished or grown with moderate toil now could not and village people downstream
from the mill towns suffered from the loss caused by demands of the industrial
revolution. Fruitful soil reverted to sand. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is impossible that everything in life changes at once and
all that is familiar disappear. There is an ebb and flow to our journey. There are
touchstones that keep the thread of our experiences alive and growing. We have
history, our own and that of others, to ground us and we can compartmentalize
what we learn. We have evidence of prior efforts, their causes and effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That we repeat mistakes, or refrain from anticipating how
our actions will affect others, is a product of our hurried (and harried) lives.
Thoreau felt his era was no less active but his considered thoughts ran along a
grand scale and he saw the effects created by the dams, for instance, built to
harness water’s power for the mills. He grasped that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">each action has a complete and opposite reaction</i> in a way that
Newton may not have intended but that was apt for his time. Man’s forward
motion will, by nature, change something that went before. If Thoreau had not
traversed mountains on foot and sailed rivers under his own physical power, he might
not have fully understood the effect man was having on his environment and its
inhabitants. That his words are apropos today illustrates the importance of
considered knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We stumble along, making plans, building pipe-dreams and
skyscrapers without regard to maintaining a balance within our natural lives.
Fish go extinct, plants become invasive in new environs, manmade chemicals do
dire damage to ecosystems, seas rise and threaten our shores, and we lose sight
of what is important in the grand scheme of things. Like Thoreau, we need to
simplify and consider our impact on, not only nature, but on those around us
and them on us. We need to walk along our path at a slower pace in order to
fully consider our purpose in the scheme of things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is not enough that we strive to correct the mistakes of
the past but that we not perpetuate them in our present in order to save our
future.</span>Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-26774058510720863912014-03-30T07:55:00.001-04:002014-03-30T07:59:52.944-04:00Violation<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6y143Ga_1s8XIzZEaptVDVyMC3CpAvryG1fbmIft8dnBDPGuEZx8OHplWbWQICMw_EVpVm6xvP9VJGUEmAU1sC1ZycdI_IyxqECGpWBsfJU64MVi1lqkBqi9gMl98gLg3zaGHETBhzVp/s1600/DSC00235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6y143Ga_1s8XIzZEaptVDVyMC3CpAvryG1fbmIft8dnBDPGuEZx8OHplWbWQICMw_EVpVm6xvP9VJGUEmAU1sC1ZycdI_IyxqECGpWBsfJU64MVi1lqkBqi9gMl98gLg3zaGHETBhzVp/s1600/DSC00235.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #45818e;">Place Marcel Ayme, Montmartre</span></td></tr>
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On the day I left for Cologne, most likely very soon after I left for the airport and my husband clicked the leash on our dog to go for a walk, someone broke into our house and stole from us. It seems to have been a brief attack, only charge cards, money and gift cards were taken. Then we noticed the missing prescription drugs. Where was my husband's wedding ring - rolled under the bed or gone for good? Rolled coins, nestled in boxes in the closet - a collection of state coins in the process of being gathered for the grandchildren - are gone. The boxes are there but they gape open in their emptiness. What else will we discover missing as we reach for something out of habit and come up empty-handed?<br />
<br />
I suppose we are lucky. This may not be a first for us, but it is a violation felt to the core just the same. We are physically safe and I am thankful for that as we hold each other in quiet contemplation of our vulnerability. Our minds are damaged and our hearts leaden with pain at the prospect that it maybe someone we know. Is it? I don't know. I hope not. The tragedy is that it make us susceptible to the idea. The police said it often is, especially when other things which could be sold are still here. I rebel against that idea but the notion is now seeded in both our minds.<br />
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The losses are greater than a few dollars and the inconvenience of mopping up the details of someone's major shopping spree while I was out of the country. The real loss is much more personal.Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-62738151254783458272014-01-19T10:21:00.000-05:002014-01-19T11:10:02.018-05:00Life and the Gross Domestic Product<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLDqAMx_uWV8xJMMJn5ClfawMOQc4gExh1ryDttfnRlWyyyBECCly-qXtXyxmGqWlQN7Of9-lSfAc2qqXp4LeXUOxbYBRi4i_R-rybePYCJDBygkQZXSuSvqcpCbywqOziK59d40QnVOv/s1600/livingsimply.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLDqAMx_uWV8xJMMJn5ClfawMOQc4gExh1ryDttfnRlWyyyBECCly-qXtXyxmGqWlQN7Of9-lSfAc2qqXp4LeXUOxbYBRi4i_R-rybePYCJDBygkQZXSuSvqcpCbywqOziK59d40QnVOv/s1600/livingsimply.jpg" height="304" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Via <a href="http://www.rowdykittens.com/">www.rowdykittens.com</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I just began Tammy Strobel’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Can Buy Happiness (and it’s cheap),</i> yesterday after giving up
on the soft mush of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Memories from Acorn
Hill</i>. I finished the first short story in which everything turned out peachy
but couldn’t get more than a chapter into the other one before realizing that
reading it would be more of the same and I would gain nothing from the
exercise. Life is too short to eat milk-toast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I moved on to a non-fiction book for a change of pace.
Tammy, who has a blog I check in on frequently called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.rowdykittens.com/" target="_blank">Rowdy Kittens</a></i>, has pulled all her research and her lifestyle
changes into a new book. I am only on page 40, but she has already given me lots to think about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In her personal life, she has simplified to the nth degree.
She and her husband live in a 128 sq. foot home on wheels that they built. Minimal
space means minimal clothes, minimal furniture and minimal tablespoons. She loves
her lifestyle and I presume her husband embraces it, too, although I am not
sure of his thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since I have been simplifying for the past two years (but
not to this extent, obviously, as one peruses our home), I understand the
benefit of removing clutter in both the physical environment as well as within
my mind. As things become fuzzier as I grow older, I think this will be all the
more important to me. There is also the time lost on maintenance and cleaning
to consider. I do not like to devote more time than absolutely necessary to the
chores. I want to open up my time to experiences. Hence my dilemma and
subsequent epiphany. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">An economics major, Tammy has the stats to back up her words.
She also quotes other writers and statesmen. This statement from Robert Kennedy
gave legs to my thoughts and backbone to my decision to minimize, not only my
things, but my exposure to the excessive materialism and the mind-warping violence
and ridicule on TV that has become so prevalent.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first comment is Tammy’s and the second part is quoted
in her book. I included the first paragraph of Kennedy’s words because it is
also relevant to my point of view.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Below is a quote from Bobby Kennedy on
what the Gross National Product means and more importantly what it does not
mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would have a made a fine
economist...<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>Too much and too long, we seem
to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere
accumulation of material things. Our gross national product ... if we should
judge America by that - counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and
ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our
doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our
redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm
and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots
in our streets. It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television
programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Yet the gross national product
does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education,
or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the
strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the
integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage;
neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to
our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life
worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud
that we are Americans."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Robert F. Kennedy
Address, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas, March 18, 1968<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Tammy drills down to her own place of happiness and hones
her point of view, I benefit from her observations. Her words resonate with me.
Food for thought and they take up minimal physical room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, as she delves further into the issue, she questions the
wisdom of excessive growth, not only with the GDP, but also on a personal
level. The more we make and the more we buy does not increase our core happiness.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Money is not the measure of our contentment and happiness,
our experiences are. Things are, well, just things. A bobble-head may remind us
of an excellent sport’s event but does it make us happy? Going to the event would.
Buying an artificial flower arrangement to match our living room might look
nice for a while but then it would just be part of the scene. Bringing in a
handful of flowers from the patch we grew by the back door would enchant us
every time we walked by it. Once past its prime, a new and different bundle could
appear, appreciated for its own uniqueness and brevity of appearance. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It occurs to me that it is unfortunate that we raise our children during the time
period of our peak acquisition. We are buying homes, furnishing them,
decorating them. We buy toys, swing sets and different sized bikes in rapid
succession. We renovate. We move, prompting more acquisitions. They see us buy
out of boredom, replace perfectly good cars and fill closets, theirs as well as
ours, with clothes. They embrace all this buying and expect something in every
store they are dragged to, often becoming frustrated to tantrum level when the
random object of their desire is not forthcoming. Then they see their parents
buying what they want and the seed is planted. ‘When I grow up…,” becomes an
internal mantra and a habit is born. Buying things will make me happy. When I
don’t get them, I am angry/sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I have no basis in fact to substantiate this next thought and I will
learn more with research, but in cultures with extended families close by and where
grandparents, aunts and uncles are part of day-to-day living, is the acquisitive
influence diluted? For instance, I think we can assume that grandparents are in
a stage of life where they pretty much have all they need. They are comfortable
with their furniture, have knitted a few afghans to keep warm on chilly nights
and they are down to four coffee mugs in the cabinet. Lamps may have seen better
days but they see no point in replacing them. The books that line their shelves
are fewer than were there in earlier years but are old friends. Pictures lining
the wall are of family. Friendships, not things, give them the most pleasure. Family
antics make them laugh. Crayoned drawings are taped to their refrigerator.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think back on the years when my children were growing up.
We bought a home, painted, put up wallpaper and decorated while my son was
little and my daughter approaching birth. Finances were tight so we made do and
did for ourselves. Visits to parks were more the norm than forays to stores. Playing
outside was fun and the swing set was in the grammar school playground. We traveled
to see family, hooking side trips to the seashore onto the journeys. After a number
of years, we built a house in another town and moved. Things were better, our jobs
providing more money to spend. Saving wasn’t on the horizon yet. We bought new furniture.
While my son was in school and my daughter on half-day kindergarten, I shopped
after school let out. She went along on my forays to buy fabric and placemats. I
made curtains and pillows. I bought things to decorate our home –a lot of
things – it was a country haven, befitting the time, complete with Shaker pegs
to hold stuff on the wall when the other surfaces were full. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son shuns excess stuff in favor of his passions. My
daughter fills her home with things. I am getting the picture. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Facing up to responsibility is uncomfortable. I can see how
my actions may have subconsciously influenced them. Don't get me wrong, it wasn’t all
materialistic. I am glad we filled their childhood with experiences, too. They each
have varied interests and a love of the seashore and appreciation for bed and
breakfast inns. Visits to parks, boating on lakes and exploration in different
areas has had an impact on their lives – I see it now in their choices. I am
glad that I never felt the need to buy trinkets emblazoned with logos to
remember every trip. I am glad I never felt the compulsion to collect figurines
(oh, whoops, there is the Christmas village I put up every year during the
holidays). I have had way too many books over the years (all but my favorites have
now been sent out into the world for other readers to enjoy). I still need to
attack my closets so I am thankful for doors that close tightly. My art supplies
will never be reduced except by use. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is balance in every life, mine and theirs included. Some
tip one way or another as we each work through our stages. The groundwork is
laid earlier than I thought. Was my mother’s habitual Saturday shopping day
part of my foundation? Perhaps. But so was the frugality of those early years
when money was tight and we made do. I count myself lucky to have had those
days when my best Christmas present of all time was the Barbie clothes my
mother painstakingly made for months on end and getting a bike was a really big
deal. I have carried the necessity of that philosophy in my pocket my whole
life. It colored many of my decisions. I also had the benefit of two
grandmotherly points of view when I grew up. One was frugal and loving, the
other more critical and cheap. Although at a distance and not visited more than a few times a
year, they both had an impact on my development. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps if there was a Tammy earlier in my life, I would
have understood my impact on others more fully and trimmed my sails. Would have
saved me from going through this exercise of purging now and, I am sure,
enhanced my life’s experiences in the process. Live and learn...again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is now obvious that it would have influenced my children’s
values as well.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that I look back with open eyes, I see that my
experiences and growth were probably like that </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKSeDt10H-Lgu8LA5mJfwpA1nJkCzObHSp9l88OSVD5z4QyeRwq37e3zUJGarJjKoI-odLHGUJ7-om5Ucsj4jCdyT5Y-z5Y82TTorMGK1ZJwBTAfkSVhGoZWdTqkwwTUV5Yf1FtUlsKsm/s1600/Who+You+Used+To+Be+notes+from+the+rocket+net.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKSeDt10H-Lgu8LA5mJfwpA1nJkCzObHSp9l88OSVD5z4QyeRwq37e3zUJGarJjKoI-odLHGUJ7-om5Ucsj4jCdyT5Y-z5Y82TTorMGK1ZJwBTAfkSVhGoZWdTqkwwTUV5Yf1FtUlsKsm/s1600/Who+You+Used+To+Be+notes+from+the+rocket+net.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://www.notesfromtherock.net/">www.notesfromtherock.net</a></td></tr>
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of many others of that time. I don’t
know if it is my time of life that is dictating my shift in course or the times
which are changing because of the accessibility of different points of view via the internet. All in all, there are few things I would alter because, ultimately,
they made me who I am. I would have assessed my materialism differently,
though. My personal search for happiness was impeded by it and I never knew. As I watch my children make their own choices, I both applaud and
lament. <br />
<br />
I wouldn't be a mother if I didn't.</span><br />
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Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-33698064257069528122014-01-01T14:03:00.000-05:002014-01-01T14:03:09.765-05:00Through the Looking Glass<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Montmartre Reflection</span></td></tr>
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<![endif]-->Ah, a new year arrives. It is a crisp, cold day and the sun
shines down on the shiny coat of thick ice on the lake. A massive storm is
brewing to the west, churning and drifting our way. Tomorrow, the scene may be
very different but inside, warmth will fill the rooms and there is always tea to
heat the body from the inside out.
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These past five days have been restorative. I have picked up
my clutter, rearranged my sitting room so I can fit in my paints and supplies
for the winter. Curtains, a project long overdue and neglected, have been sewn
for the guest room sliding door – lush thick folds of fabric to keep the chill
outside where it belongs.</div>
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Mending has been done, Marlena de Blasi’s new book, <i>Antonia
and Her Daughters</i>, a gift from a friend, is slowly savored so as not to rush
through the pages and reach the end before I am ready for it. I am traveling
soon so I brought the rolling suitcase down to ready it for the trip. I will
leave the Christmas tree up until Saturday – a few more days of enjoyment
before memorable ornaments are once again stored away. </div>
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Their brief appearance makes them special. Released from
their slumber, they evoke memories of holidays filled with laughter and good food,
traditions long enjoyed. These accumulated treasures represent a lifetime of
Decembers. Like old friends, they are a small part of the solace of the season.
The rest is spiritual comfort and reflection.</div>
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Now I am ready to embrace my passions and grow. There are only a few
pledges I will make to set the character of my new year. Now, more than ever,
action requires the parameters of a plan.</div>
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I surrender to the notion that I will always be a person with myriad interests. I intend to fully give each its moment of attention
without gazing lustfully at the ones not chosen.<br />
<br />Embrace the path – I will take one step at a time on paths
which intrigue me and trust that they will not lead me astray. This will keep
me upright in more ways than one. <br />
<br />Cherish relationships – in the moment and always.<br />
<br />Like the eagle, I will ride the wind with grace and
strength, and return to a nurturing nest of inspiration and respite. <br />
<br />I will continue to balance activity with quiet contemplation
and appreciate the growth from both. Simplicity will hone my focus.<br />
<br />
Let's see how that goes.... <br />
Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-32294505453789521512013-08-09T19:53:00.001-04:002013-08-19T12:58:03.095-04:00Martha's Vineyard and A Fine Romance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DiD-O03WqZlQxunbo0_DcUy7uKu9RNEiUq81G-WcgQzProCTwXs4lcbHpq3kuf_jjW98RA-iRl1BvnO42uqrsSvosEy8EhXfRJQiC2ZQlvdRSlgyZcETfNC2AM4hAwGFz2mMFBuiVUZz/s1600/Susans-New-Book-AFR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DiD-O03WqZlQxunbo0_DcUy7uKu9RNEiUq81G-WcgQzProCTwXs4lcbHpq3kuf_jjW98RA-iRl1BvnO42uqrsSvosEy8EhXfRJQiC2ZQlvdRSlgyZcETfNC2AM4hAwGFz2mMFBuiVUZz/s320/Susans-New-Book-AFR.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
I am heading for the Vineyard next week for Illumination Night in Oak Bluffs. If you have never been - you'd be in for a real treat if you can go. The charming gingerbread cottages are decked out with colorful (and in many cases vintage) Chinese lanterns for one night every year.<br />
<br />
Susan Branch is releasing her newest book as we speak and I just found out that she will be signing at the Bunch of Grapes Bookstore in Vineyard Haven on Thursday, August 15th (4 - 5:30). It is my favorite bookstore ever and I have a lot of wonderful books on my shelves that I bought there. Each has a purple-inked Bunch of Grapes bookmark inside. <br />
<br />
I plan to be there with bells on! When I met her years ago, I was enchanted by her thoughtfulness and bright outlook on life. I followed her trip to England on her blog and enjoyed every minute of it as she took all her 'girlfriends' in her luggage with her. Having been to some of the same places and loving walking back into history, her stories were that much more interesting.<br />
<br />
Go to her website for more info on <a href="http://www.susanbranch.com/" target="_blank">A Fine Romance</a> and go back through her blog to join her on her travels by boat (Queen Mary II, no less) to England. Or join me at the book-signing and get your own copy to read and reread to your heart's content!Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-49411562282434110592013-05-06T15:46:00.001-04:002013-05-06T15:58:47.990-04:00Creative Evolution<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvm2fNnXPTsyFsp4kk9WQvKsUn5frfz6aWG3oes6fpnZxWzKQBqEPIMJw9xvcCnHFncoqEIAIqb1VaXo99DKY3gQ7AzvZMPausHXjkC4l0ounO3wfGU6YK8RpnddXTT6zMuwthbJBEsrN9/s1600/Discover+your+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" mwa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvm2fNnXPTsyFsp4kk9WQvKsUn5frfz6aWG3oes6fpnZxWzKQBqEPIMJw9xvcCnHFncoqEIAIqb1VaXo99DKY3gQ7AzvZMPausHXjkC4l0ounO3wfGU6YK8RpnddXTT6zMuwthbJBEsrN9/s200/Discover+your+work.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/lettergirl" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">(C) Gina Sekelsky</span></a></td></tr>
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I have reached a point in my life when I know who I am and what is important to me. I am not saying the trip was a smooth one but I have tried many things and have grown as a person and an artist from each experience. I relish the thought of expanding my exposure for all my days to come.<br />
<br />
I read articles and postings where people are trying to find themselves or direct others onto a path. The premise is that you can't do everything so you better find your focus and be happy with just that. The world is your oyster but, wait - you can't have the whole plate.<br />
<br />
To be creative is a blessing to be explored without restrictions. You don't have to put a name to it. <em>I am an artist</em> or <em>I am a welder</em> or <em>I am a story-spinner</em>. I don't feel it is important to distill an abundance of creative interests into a narrow channel. Spending time attempting to do this denies the expansiveness of what makes you YOU. It is frustrating and limits your exposure to creativity's bounty. Just as our minds expand and can hold the words to countless songs, our creativity mellows and morfs but can remain complete because each foray into wonder expands our focus in ways that strengthen our talent. The more we 'see' the more we grow.<br />
<br />
Time spent worrying about who you are and what defines you keeps you away from discovering that very thing. Deny nothing, avoid nothing and fine-tune your music by drawing from all the creative interests and awesome sights you have (and will) experience. Appreciate your mind for its plethora of interests. You will find you have been yourself all along.<br />
<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-33796581310725981262013-05-05T10:10:00.000-04:002013-05-06T15:48:02.369-04:00I have been writing...just not here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As a female of the species, I excel at multitasking. Well, I did in my earlier life. Now I single-task in a multiple fashion. Moving from one thing to another, my mind plans the next foray with aplomb except for the occasional brain fade when I get to the next room and forget why I went there.</div>
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Single mindedness comes with age - at least I assume it does. It has for me. I savor more, do things completely so I don't have to come back to them and I ignore an overburdened closet simply by closing the door. Hey, it is important to pick your battles.<br />
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Art and writing are more important to me than dust. Lately, though, construction has planted plenty of the stuff on every surface of the house so I am back to multitasking. I write a bit and swipe a cloth over the desk. I sweep out the studio in prep for the summer, taking paints from their winter storage out to their regular home, while simultaneously swiping a counter top with a cloth as I pass by. I clean plaster dust and wood splinters from the inside of the washing machine (I mean, really guys?) and then do the wash. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0swrjljz2x9Iw0iUCCJOUR_Y-HKmSPAz-PbBn_-3u7MkKUHDvYHz5FO4tobDYe5EDqYktWaSiKb_ZytVAxNql_KXnQ2c1u1E7RbCJodS-xNbfk78lQZWcXaPhyphenhyphen2_-FgZyATueDxOVeLY/s1600/DSC00450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0swrjljz2x9Iw0iUCCJOUR_Y-HKmSPAz-PbBn_-3u7MkKUHDvYHz5FO4tobDYe5EDqYktWaSiKb_ZytVAxNql_KXnQ2c1u1E7RbCJodS-xNbfk78lQZWcXaPhyphenhyphen2_-FgZyATueDxOVeLY/s200/DSC00450.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
The new bathroom is coming along nicely. I will be happy when we can stop going down two flights of stairs to use the other bathroom. It will be a twofold luxury when it is done in a few weeks.<br />
<br />
I've kept up with my journal, adding watercolors to the pages when a light touch is needed and pictures of trips and construction progress to illustrate the dialog of my days. I spent four nights at an inn in Gloucester a few weeks ago, painting at a beach I found in Manchester-by-the-Sea on the first day. The air was cool - mid to high 50's - but the sun made it feel warmer. I sketched the scene, adding notes to my drawing so I'd remember the color of the water and the sweep of the clouds. The next day I set up my easel, digging the legs into the soft sand and, stretching a bungee cord over the tray, anchoring it with two big milk bottles filled with water. I accepted its quirky tilt - uneven ground being what it is.<br />
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Life is uneven. The axis tilts this way and that and I find my footing either by digging in and firmly planting my thoughts or flowing with it. Both work to different degrees. It would be plenty boring if there was a sameness to every day. I know people with lives like that. I guess they must like it that way because they continue to do it year in and year out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSq_0hSe21BMSFOfqB-c5oVp8kYT5J6FETejZJClfuByfRdI53-XWvnbZdKdXW7LBViArIU64PBX2IhflFG6N4da_sOMl-Kb96F00gaWFmOVqO1JhYiZafr6c5UxY8eN4GFGcLOp0TjXly/s1600/White+Beach+Sea+Glass+4+20+13.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSq_0hSe21BMSFOfqB-c5oVp8kYT5J6FETejZJClfuByfRdI53-XWvnbZdKdXW7LBViArIU64PBX2IhflFG6N4da_sOMl-Kb96F00gaWFmOVqO1JhYiZafr6c5UxY8eN4GFGcLOp0TjXly/s200/White+Beach+Sea+Glass+4+20+13.jpg" width="200" /></a>I prefer edges that shift and change like the waves on the shore. When I was in Gloucester, the beach was different each morning. The clear, rocky beach of that first afternoon became riddled with seaweed on the second day. The sea pulled some of it out with the next tide so the arrangement was different - undulating strips of seaweed hiding sea glass treasures in with the pebbles underneath their mounds. I accepted the changes with a sense of excitement and discovery looking forward to rounding the corner to find out what I would see. <br />
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When things are serene, I find untold pleasure in my own discoveries. A good book, rhythmic stitches woven into the shawl I am working on and the plunge and pull of silk thread through a needlepoint canvas. Good conversation with friends culminating in laughter and hugs. I am grounded by my pleasures. They help me meet my challenges with a bit more grace. <br />
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<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-14562281918535441522013-02-27T23:00:00.000-05:002013-05-06T23:38:46.786-04:00Continuance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvqUgF1SXxDx7NxECDiC-NRTmYkBfeABGhZQpeinqubfy4wKGcqakqnEoSXJ2xArhyphenhyphennMB7I_hfYCe_EGVrce0POKbID-HyDr-0vCH7Vt9s0oGfU9BFAbG60pzc7tAfBOEvDEzcNnav699/s1600/DSC00145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvqUgF1SXxDx7NxECDiC-NRTmYkBfeABGhZQpeinqubfy4wKGcqakqnEoSXJ2xArhyphenhyphennMB7I_hfYCe_EGVrce0POKbID-HyDr-0vCH7Vt9s0oGfU9BFAbG60pzc7tAfBOEvDEzcNnav699/s320/DSC00145.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #45818e;">Westminster Tower</span></td></tr>
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The sun is going down and it highlights the iconic monuments with burnished light. As dusk approaches, one of the most dramatic part of the day begins.<br />
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Over the years, business has taken me to London numerous times. Little bouts of exploration leave me enchanted with the different lifestyles in this world city. I have seen much, even with the time constraints of work and energy. I push through and enjoy a selection of different things on each trip. One time, it might be museums and art so vibrant it takes my breath away. On another, a walk through alleys and thoroughfares brings architectural discoveries. Mamma Mia at the Prince Albert Theatre and Evensong at St. Paul's, a tradition since 604. Sunday service at Westminster Cathedral just months before William and Kate's wedding had me studying the carvings and nave knowing that they would be doing the same thing gave me a sense of belonging to a stream of history. At least a little bit.<br />
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Continuance. There is what came before and there is what will come, but now is the real present. A gift of experiences and wonder. Challenge and acceptance. Wonder and love.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEFoiQHQD067vhCuT58eYs1CQMEWZJEaFTIrPfREfK-OdtduqJb3IntSVRyePmIxjGjFP3FOkEUTpAYxIEm7FaebE-fd_OnoRIps6_EAVtUk_E4cGDIUg4PcVoXKZm5P9Q8hZbIP3eghZ/s1600/DSC00272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEFoiQHQD067vhCuT58eYs1CQMEWZJEaFTIrPfREfK-OdtduqJb3IntSVRyePmIxjGjFP3FOkEUTpAYxIEm7FaebE-fd_OnoRIps6_EAVtUk_E4cGDIUg4PcVoXKZm5P9Q8hZbIP3eghZ/s320/DSC00272.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Close-up of Art</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguriXnH8hb5lN8LQuszGYoXvSnWkO-sZ0Qp7HyrwqQsg-gqDTtnhyphenhyphenE33-UTMXX63y29MIyuVIcYVREnUWphnb42_voJvmnTLhgQvpElm19Qq3bhzlx5hISXZdO7RIvw19vI8KcsuMjCB4u/s1600/DSC00273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguriXnH8hb5lN8LQuszGYoXvSnWkO-sZ0Qp7HyrwqQsg-gqDTtnhyphenhyphenE33-UTMXX63y29MIyuVIcYVREnUWphnb42_voJvmnTLhgQvpElm19Qq3bhzlx5hISXZdO7RIvw19vI8KcsuMjCB4u/s320/DSC00273.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Brussels Alleyway</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Appreciation. I cannot walk without admiring what went before me. Art
so intrinsically molded into the facades of countless buildings which
are left to weather the elements, sometimes for hundreds of years, and
still they survive. Did he know - the builder - the carver - the mason?
Did he ever think that I would be walking in front of his work eons
after he died reveling in his vision? Did he realize that thousands more
just like me would stand where I am standing and soak in his beauty?<br />
<br />
Wow. Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6907332361015532941.post-60793410252867902502013-02-10T15:10:00.001-05:002013-02-10T15:10:16.625-05:00Blizzards and PatienceAs the media got hyped up for the impending New England storm last week, I listened with increasing excitement and delicious pleasure. While I knew it was probable that we'd lose electricity if the winds were intense, it didn't overly worry me. We had a fireplace, lots of wood and a freshly tuned-up generator.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEN_-jVziWnszPFfdGJZceNVtGRP3pA2ezhFQLe7j__oRqnW2EpxrUyUf2pkY0r07YqERkTRS_6TQPhidb1ZWdPA9S17Hzt25LQ5SB4b3syLVSmkn1xxRAwZqZ3QbGb5aq5XMU3rPB3YF-/s1600/DSC00086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEN_-jVziWnszPFfdGJZceNVtGRP3pA2ezhFQLe7j__oRqnW2EpxrUyUf2pkY0r07YqERkTRS_6TQPhidb1ZWdPA9S17Hzt25LQ5SB4b3syLVSmkn1xxRAwZqZ3QbGb5aq5XMU3rPB3YF-/s320/DSC00086.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Shawl from Nature's Wrapture by Sheryl Thies</span></td></tr>
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I did what most New Englanders do, I did all the electricity-necessary chores, put fresh batteries in the flashlights, cooked soup and a chicken pot pie, got out my knitting and made a fresh batch of cookies loaded with chocolate chips. Nothing says comfort during a storm than chocolate chip cookies.<br />
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It is odd to watch a storm gather on a TV map and take a walk outside under a field of puffy clouds in a clear sky. They did fill in, though, towards the middle of the week and we knew the 'Euro model' would likely prove correct and we were in for a pissah of a storm.<br />
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My only disappointment was that the bulk of the storm was overnight on Friday and I missed it. The high winds rattled the rafters and I could hear the gritty sound of snowblast on the siding as I fell asleep. It was soothing. This one didn't feel like a threat.<br />
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While it was still coming down Saturday morning, things started dissipating before noon and then the skies cleared and the sun dazzled as it reflected off the pristine snow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEUYz0qB2QOA6abL5aROFQIKwtvbhJuPpercL3SM7c1p805GQdwmLaxaO5dxWRUeHm2qLfVgwSo3s1o9jbMxfACsDXAvRB8AGHtVxzN_UgV_xUNwOJASMogaJE9h9I7I_rNlQ3Ng9Qx70/s1600/DSC00093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEUYz0qB2QOA6abL5aROFQIKwtvbhJuPpercL3SM7c1p805GQdwmLaxaO5dxWRUeHm2qLfVgwSo3s1o9jbMxfACsDXAvRB8AGHtVxzN_UgV_xUNwOJASMogaJE9h9I7I_rNlQ3Ng9Qx70/s320/DSC00093.JPG" width="240" /></a>The snowplow didn't get to us until mid-afternoon (actually my choice when I answered his phone call). <i>Take your time...in no hurry...won't be going anywhere.</i> Smile, smile. I like the feeling of being snowbound. It is cozy, safe and there is something about it that prompts me to take it easy and do things I might not make time for - easy things, pleasurable things. I knit, packed for my trip coming up on Friday and, of course, cooked.<br />
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This time, there was no electricity loss in Lunenburg although southern Massachusetts got a triple whammy on that score. No one was allowed on the road after 4PM Friday which was taken seriously so accidents were few and emergency people and plows could do their jobs with fewer impediments. Oh, I imagine there may have been a few foolish people but I wasn't out there so I didn't see them and I prefer to think they were all sensible and did what they were told. After all, it was only a 24 hour storm. What could be so important that you just had to get to a store during the storm? I mean, surely you knew about it <i>beforehand</i>?<br />
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I am so glad we settled here. There is so much to enjoy - good friends and family and maple syrup and blueberries to pick by hand. Oh, floating in the water - lake or sea, take your pick, both are awesome. Mountains and vistas, seagulls and an occasional bear tramping through the backyard. Okay, I can do without the last one. But warm beach sand you can sink your toes into until you reach the cool layers below, that is a scrumptious pleasure. The smell of the ocean, the feel of the breeze off the water as it cools your heated skin.<br />
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The hushed silence of the world during a snowfall and your sense of peace rediscovered when you experience it.<br />
<br />Donna Saiiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099631762718829213noreply@blogger.com0