tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-206369452024-03-13T11:47:03.094-05:00Life is Better on the FarmTanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.comBlogger531125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-32488712743385914112023-12-22T13:20:00.005-05:002023-12-22T20:17:55.080-05:002023 IN REVIEW - IT’S BEEN A GOOD YEAR<p>Though it’s still a few days before Christmas, it seems appropriate to sit down and write a few lines in reflection about 2023- -a year with light as bright as can shine, as well as losses that dim the light with sadness and grief. </p><p>Five events definitely highlight the JOY…..</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>NASHVILLE IN APRIL</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">For the first time since Samuel and Cait moved to Nashville, I paid a visit in April at Easter. As I was Waiting for Samuel to pick me up at the airport, I got a call from him. I’ll never forget his voice, for he could hardly breathe. He and Cait had just learned that she was pregnant! Oh, goodness! The joy was uncontainable. Unfortunately, my back was really messed up, making it difficult to sightsee or celebrate. Samuel and I did make it down to Franklin, a sweet little town not far from Nashville, to enjoy an afternoon out.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzExJPePv7avOSeMpfiNQr1uqkSNiizu3arMedRR5OPD4pCHV7dOBhAojGLfjw2Ir5qGUBqB2EMurO1XS4xEYLwCwP4inFDXUzjI9AsrjyTmZa2act9JMUn5sec5O_uwkFXowAOCBm-wvcUjxbz0qi6RxwF1h6OzKoXrTTtzg1RfhcqQk-yVIq/s4032/IMG_4126.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzExJPePv7avOSeMpfiNQr1uqkSNiizu3arMedRR5OPD4pCHV7dOBhAojGLfjw2Ir5qGUBqB2EMurO1XS4xEYLwCwP4inFDXUzjI9AsrjyTmZa2act9JMUn5sec5O_uwkFXowAOCBm-wvcUjxbz0qi6RxwF1h6OzKoXrTTtzg1RfhcqQk-yVIq/s320/IMG_4126.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b>THE OUTER BANKS IN MAY</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The family took a trip to the Outer Banks in May in honor of my 70th birthday. Organized by the kids, our stay in Avon, NC, was a nostalgic return to the beach where we vacationed for years when the kids were young. Samuel and Cait and Alex and Eliza planned the trip, took care of details, and treated me and Myra to a grand time. Though I knew from my visit to Nashville a month earlier, the rest of the family learned of Cait’s pregnancy, adding immeasurable joy to our time there.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsvuEOnj9wvZQS_AYh62jM3GiJnFFo8enSqrT1kbJaYoAkosHxI8Npih_ZKTnZf9MkHhOpezBggzSOJ8efmctFk6g-ZJxj_WDQPV3v9bDbSuD5BDGPB7RJ61c1bojeL27j-_SSuTI7aAzIQJVYBHeQAtSuaBCtUnhcgfNYEiCcFXAVsAfbYpC/s4032/IMG_4304.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsvuEOnj9wvZQS_AYh62jM3GiJnFFo8enSqrT1kbJaYoAkosHxI8Npih_ZKTnZf9MkHhOpezBggzSOJ8efmctFk6g-ZJxj_WDQPV3v9bDbSuD5BDGPB7RJ61c1bojeL27j-_SSuTI7aAzIQJVYBHeQAtSuaBCtUnhcgfNYEiCcFXAVsAfbYpC/s320/IMG_4304.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqBNU22rZlz7KbUOAkzac0Qu7Z1GPtVjDAdQzgdlmdRPC_hG0nNX1BdrDnGmTGrMur96Y5SJd4NDHNHwTsnbF8JfwInPxecxebQNXty-nPVejmWMUrAX7tCHbndfuDa5BQBYx0yy28xbw-xWrNR_dfvCC2FWPX8rDGFCnhyT0rEdsTZN2BquB/s4032/IMG_4318.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqBNU22rZlz7KbUOAkzac0Qu7Z1GPtVjDAdQzgdlmdRPC_hG0nNX1BdrDnGmTGrMur96Y5SJd4NDHNHwTsnbF8JfwInPxecxebQNXty-nPVejmWMUrAX7tCHbndfuDa5BQBYx0yy28xbw-xWrNR_dfvCC2FWPX8rDGFCnhyT0rEdsTZN2BquB/s320/IMG_4318.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3K8TGcN6F-raJ9pJPvbDTUrsdxJUC8RZT4DZ_PsJHlRDI7Tasc_A1l3TZmuvdIv8DgLJXSUdbhp3AXZ7UuXKDrS_9Wkoqy3wcMHUIJzB8gs3gG-e6gnmxqdYYlwRh8Z8JM2-e_TlxhIPOWfEf60tWqf_NFMprSSz0zpDFMlZPAgZiH68PVpZ/s3088/IMG_4375.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3K8TGcN6F-raJ9pJPvbDTUrsdxJUC8RZT4DZ_PsJHlRDI7Tasc_A1l3TZmuvdIv8DgLJXSUdbhp3AXZ7UuXKDrS_9Wkoqy3wcMHUIJzB8gs3gG-e6gnmxqdYYlwRh8Z8JM2-e_TlxhIPOWfEf60tWqf_NFMprSSz0zpDFMlZPAgZiH68PVpZ/s320/IMG_4375.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>A WEDDING IN GERMANTOWN, NY</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Back in May 2022, Samuel and I went to celebrate a gallery show of Norm Sartorius’s work in Philadelphia. One evening, while we were hanging out with Andrew Sartorius, and his fiancé, Tanya Hamm, they asked us to be in their wedding – me, as the officiant, and Samuel, as Andrew‘s best man. So on July 8, 2023, in sweltering heat, and surrounded by friends from all directions, I married Andrew and Tanya with Samuel standing by Andrew’s side as his best bud. Andrew and Samuel have known each other their entire lives, and his parents, Diane Bosley and Norm Sartorius are dear, dear friends. For over 40 years, we’ve shared our lives as chosen family. Love radiated between the wedding couple and everyone there. Marrying my “second son” was such an honor. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(NOTE: Ironically, Tanya and I share the exact same name, Tanya Lee.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGS7t1QQYiVWn3hG2iCDZ_X1qKGXxFWB5MMmfuJUs5PV6Paxdjtzclep_JHloYjirlo9gCRctcDdwV6IoxpXR2aEoSneIIEkNlQy_C76D-Af7eyo8K30jm8aJsoWxOxeE5-TICd_J2YoBQbvMkbDxzgY9RqRSK-dZ2ShdIceZmXiZoTWE0lUc/s1280/IMG_4793.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGS7t1QQYiVWn3hG2iCDZ_X1qKGXxFWB5MMmfuJUs5PV6Paxdjtzclep_JHloYjirlo9gCRctcDdwV6IoxpXR2aEoSneIIEkNlQy_C76D-Af7eyo8K30jm8aJsoWxOxeE5-TICd_J2YoBQbvMkbDxzgY9RqRSK-dZ2ShdIceZmXiZoTWE0lUc/s320/IMG_4793.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba4JpLjcd2cPQqwsuTPSAlSkHzSZE03sa6XDye0OkgGeJrIdcniJ0K5EmNoPbx0GEepCivocgHBif2fOX6AyD7mdQJCcdF9EO8DUnvYUyqJa4BPHMS5_9n1kK8p6FGVd34bpTuD357Ywq6BYv2kQxYGOTinoUWHQVFt1F93Hxh7mT6eCpfX9b/s1600/IMG_4800.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba4JpLjcd2cPQqwsuTPSAlSkHzSZE03sa6XDye0OkgGeJrIdcniJ0K5EmNoPbx0GEepCivocgHBif2fOX6AyD7mdQJCcdF9EO8DUnvYUyqJa4BPHMS5_9n1kK8p6FGVd34bpTuD357Ywq6BYv2kQxYGOTinoUWHQVFt1F93Hxh7mT6eCpfX9b/s320/IMG_4800.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIUW65TDyQOm9UWWg6bcpZ48e3AEfVnVy3AoVHTQ9Mpl3rfzpXjAbXoDFNGGKSW_SVU4azZrzc9LMdUwubYxPyT2UbCza7FcE-hovQ5c1CjBRE8iGo3cWJW2iroabuxM6XNx02HXLxqogyPPCXMVjsgtqj4-AHUR_72aLzx3M_G-nxRtb0L8b/s5184/IMG_5271.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIUW65TDyQOm9UWWg6bcpZ48e3AEfVnVy3AoVHTQ9Mpl3rfzpXjAbXoDFNGGKSW_SVU4azZrzc9LMdUwubYxPyT2UbCza7FcE-hovQ5c1CjBRE8iGo3cWJW2iroabuxM6XNx02HXLxqogyPPCXMVjsgtqj4-AHUR_72aLzx3M_G-nxRtb0L8b/s320/IMG_5271.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIFQ9XtOJE8hAj4vYJHNFEXDt7XqRKoWuB8ovo4-NwvUwlNB5-AekxQ3VKATIiXZR7akKT7wxrVD8B0lolHH11voBLGqAvpLhGpPssm-m8Dg8HbwEUBVVzQV2mfhTYMshzGo20Nt8HYGAf-CILdrC7tfjz36rrjOgzuLjzXgFitZv-wb_ZNia/s1424/IMG_5646.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1071" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIFQ9XtOJE8hAj4vYJHNFEXDt7XqRKoWuB8ovo4-NwvUwlNB5-AekxQ3VKATIiXZR7akKT7wxrVD8B0lolHH11voBLGqAvpLhGpPssm-m8Dg8HbwEUBVVzQV2mfhTYMshzGo20Nt8HYGAf-CILdrC7tfjz36rrjOgzuLjzXgFitZv-wb_ZNia/s320/IMG_5646.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>DOMINIC’S WEDDING</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Due to circumstances beyond control, Alex’s son, Dominic was not able to attend Eliza and Alex’s wedding in November. To include him in the love and joy of their commitment, they organized a ceremony in October, which we called Dominic’s wedding. Under beautiful trees in October and with a brisk breeze blowing around us, we watched as Alex, Eliza, and Dominic stated their commitment to each other as a family. Dominic was so proud of his maroon suit, and he stole the day as he announced his commitment to his dad and Eliza. All of Alex’s family came down from Michigan, and we had a wonderfully special occasion in honor of their coming together as a family and in celebration of Dominic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBqBZTlog_JLZjHfXLPoauxzBKyv3mIlKusagU_mxT4cJ6fCfa3qu5pcPtrRKAqUeTb6zQ7KXCtRbjzKD0UBRKxzl1Dqv9wCZYAD-8GZnVAOYYSNuBIEC88K7tW38nl1TDffnqbFlnYWbjYSFG3IPDNOqwApW_AWspb6apL5PKkJWD0NXeeRC/s3302/IMG_5202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3302" data-original-width="2669" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBqBZTlog_JLZjHfXLPoauxzBKyv3mIlKusagU_mxT4cJ6fCfa3qu5pcPtrRKAqUeTb6zQ7KXCtRbjzKD0UBRKxzl1Dqv9wCZYAD-8GZnVAOYYSNuBIEC88K7tW38nl1TDffnqbFlnYWbjYSFG3IPDNOqwApW_AWspb6apL5PKkJWD0NXeeRC/s320/IMG_5202.jpeg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Rt7xVAlDsmged8ZhJXME17Yk5p0GamZxaAaeyhwPD4AUs2zEenH4IhbDJj_Wq_zbcQwazlZNOmr55HxJkIfrjGB3EZ9HpgaEXOOjgyB-CwV-vxE05SLpVxszIvTvuHHyHkmqFhycnS2oNe8Nvl9NK9Ey-Vs1Qbe8fJKm8bz72Ogx04EFXBOC/s2532/IMG_5221.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Rt7xVAlDsmged8ZhJXME17Yk5p0GamZxaAaeyhwPD4AUs2zEenH4IhbDJj_Wq_zbcQwazlZNOmr55HxJkIfrjGB3EZ9HpgaEXOOjgyB-CwV-vxE05SLpVxszIvTvuHHyHkmqFhycnS2oNe8Nvl9NK9Ey-Vs1Qbe8fJKm8bz72Ogx04EFXBOC/s320/IMG_5221.jpeg" width="148" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>ELIZA & ALEX GET MARRIED - 11/18/2023</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This day had been in the planning stage for two years. Not a stone was left uncovered in that process, so, when the day arrived, everyone involved had nothing to do except participate and celebrate. I know I am partial, but this wedding was one of the most beautiful I have ever attended. Eliza was radiantly happy and glowing, and Alex, stunningly handsome. They are blessed by a large group of wonderful people who serve as their chosen family in Cincinnati, and people from all directions came to Cincinnati to celebrate them. Held in The Monastery Event Center in Cincinnati, an old renovated Benedictine monastery which now serves as an event center, the wedding was love-packed and so special. The Mols and the Wilders get along famously and consider each other family. Samuel served as officiant, Eliza’s friend Kaelyn as attendant, and Ed, Alex’s brother, as best man. Fourteen or so special people from their group of friends represented their “court,” a group committed to travel along with them in their marriage, lending a hand and sharing love and guidance along the way. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IAm0VoUb5yiPzQ73Y-YT_z0BgRAWqaq_TSF2Ban-ykHq9FUh5PefS4h8VpkvH2NqjbgVcT_9f_0yOHk6dC57hnAPt3bH0wl1UyUOSi3sBn2N4sptkRx-fyhIHKh7md3p-I-rb4a_9aCI_WiDV78zLDc2JR-6F0gIcpdDUaIbvZFF8zFbJugO/s2495/IMG_3328.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2469" data-original-width="2495" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IAm0VoUb5yiPzQ73Y-YT_z0BgRAWqaq_TSF2Ban-ykHq9FUh5PefS4h8VpkvH2NqjbgVcT_9f_0yOHk6dC57hnAPt3bH0wl1UyUOSi3sBn2N4sptkRx-fyhIHKh7md3p-I-rb4a_9aCI_WiDV78zLDc2JR-6F0gIcpdDUaIbvZFF8zFbJugO/s320/IMG_3328.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzMOH19UFOZWyl4o0rpLKlETdtISN1ytc7Q8jy8AZAnNlpFTyK8So0a7pX323Cg2Z486BWTXx_h2IaneDEktXsjkePLgUFF_leMlgzT413xF9pOkwtyCW0_yxwvjbj7qi4nv_YBG1oJzvGYip0H0RXbPMC51hSvENKrxhxJsc_UIiAdnItaie/s4032/IMG_3329.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzMOH19UFOZWyl4o0rpLKlETdtISN1ytc7Q8jy8AZAnNlpFTyK8So0a7pX323Cg2Z486BWTXx_h2IaneDEktXsjkePLgUFF_leMlgzT413xF9pOkwtyCW0_yxwvjbj7qi4nv_YBG1oJzvGYip0H0RXbPMC51hSvENKrxhxJsc_UIiAdnItaie/s320/IMG_3329.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUAmtadWvRwS0Ol5EYzwsirww5R76ZN9p4ffkw53-4OKlsvOyT63KR-IV-gJCf-OeRgsU2szOVqv9o-OtSfc3tm_0oKMW8deB0giVlfNKIJnKZaACVOrieY1IVjVsKLASK7sUHHzEfvCnKJkhuXq1CUqRwe23A-fdzB4ovpTvHM8K_coH3ft8/s4032/IMG_3330.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUAmtadWvRwS0Ol5EYzwsirww5R76ZN9p4ffkw53-4OKlsvOyT63KR-IV-gJCf-OeRgsU2szOVqv9o-OtSfc3tm_0oKMW8deB0giVlfNKIJnKZaACVOrieY1IVjVsKLASK7sUHHzEfvCnKJkhuXq1CUqRwe23A-fdzB4ovpTvHM8K_coH3ft8/s320/IMG_3330.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtrUN-YdYtfgkTIcUJ_D-NtOUbU1dr1ggX68jzsdDdVoKQRg4PhlYbpzmULoKmPEWQmbQ0eIGjY_VxR7bc72NXi1db2Yv7KaRRNbHksQiepZDXG01Vwx4e4gNl5_RWwo_aaxLBlKsd6TPdJF_K8hCK_gYIJWxxDQmLpoVGshe8cEAbeoMeE93/s4032/IMG_5350.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtrUN-YdYtfgkTIcUJ_D-NtOUbU1dr1ggX68jzsdDdVoKQRg4PhlYbpzmULoKmPEWQmbQ0eIGjY_VxR7bc72NXi1db2Yv7KaRRNbHksQiepZDXG01Vwx4e4gNl5_RWwo_aaxLBlKsd6TPdJF_K8hCK_gYIJWxxDQmLpoVGshe8cEAbeoMeE93/s320/IMG_5350.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>WINTER LOU WILDER ARRIVES!!</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>12/14/2023 @ 9:46 AM</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What can I say except that our little Winter Lou arrived safely and healthily. She weighed in at a healthy 7 lbs.5 oz and is a 19”long. Every one of us is smitten! This baby will not lack ever lack for love, for she is swaddled in the love of parents, an aunt and uncle, her great-aunt Myra, and Grandma T., as well as the celestial love of her Papa and Petie. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">JOY, GREAT JOY!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4lWH3UWs_JrIoukWxikeeBNX9zcoH_o2THFa16YROwWslZCXUzryhYEPtbhOE9JQKGuNYdSLFX8GAEeXi64EH2QDV81nZBn5w9ZSIwfdA_VMHnFtAqG-n6iqAPlXkNBWWDpfEPnrDeOOmYPDSFGGMYpKm2-s8tF3FG1x-YBJPqAkWTWkJmL5/s2048/IMG_0704.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4lWH3UWs_JrIoukWxikeeBNX9zcoH_o2THFa16YROwWslZCXUzryhYEPtbhOE9JQKGuNYdSLFX8GAEeXi64EH2QDV81nZBn5w9ZSIwfdA_VMHnFtAqG-n6iqAPlXkNBWWDpfEPnrDeOOmYPDSFGGMYpKm2-s8tF3FG1x-YBJPqAkWTWkJmL5/s320/IMG_0704.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXypYNQ7Xx6SOLSW9kEuiaaq9CA2R8dY2RIcFyLDfR-tyGkL_-dVsF_icwBG7vAA37M72jaBiT5hclcq3XXoqHIegT9NNfuStqhmlsdEbmNBQSES8ZiEvEH5zHDPy2lLSlP4444ohFOT37WImFqZwtWullFM-SKkcRSz6bHfRIpEf8u59kQ0F/s1101/IMG_6258.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="876" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXypYNQ7Xx6SOLSW9kEuiaaq9CA2R8dY2RIcFyLDfR-tyGkL_-dVsF_icwBG7vAA37M72jaBiT5hclcq3XXoqHIegT9NNfuStqhmlsdEbmNBQSES8ZiEvEH5zHDPy2lLSlP4444ohFOT37WImFqZwtWullFM-SKkcRSz6bHfRIpEf8u59kQ0F/s320/IMG_6258.jpeg" width="255" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtO-7z-uYWfcCHll95FPbxh4mLwdV1lVseEAuqv0LMXVOz61DiwFbphVO4f-uanyJuX5yaXeiguFtv8r58I430tPV0J0U_rX4H0TZ1SLs_9RpJGqopPIGjrIikGe-PtGxWwyJOjwGKP4_Or6BbL9jvlOqgxYwQV69p7qhgGW1fc87mbKqwjzzp/s1106/IMG_6261.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="881" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtO-7z-uYWfcCHll95FPbxh4mLwdV1lVseEAuqv0LMXVOz61DiwFbphVO4f-uanyJuX5yaXeiguFtv8r58I430tPV0J0U_rX4H0TZ1SLs_9RpJGqopPIGjrIikGe-PtGxWwyJOjwGKP4_Or6BbL9jvlOqgxYwQV69p7qhgGW1fc87mbKqwjzzp/s320/IMG_6261.jpeg" width="255" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Isn’t she adorable?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> After spending time compiling all these joys, it’s hard to think about those things that brought some tears throughout the ears, so I'll leave that for another post. I am so grateful for this year’s blessings for my kids, sister, family, both chosen and blood, that my heart’s running over in rivers of love. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thanks for taking the time to read the “ole’ blog!”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-82403816203186054362023-12-22T11:26:00.000-05:002023-12-22T11:26:48.508-05:00END OF YEAR - 2022<p>I <span style="font-family: arial;">remember as a child how slow the year went by from one Christmas to another. There was always just a tiny tinge of feeling bummed on Christmas morning knowing that the next Christmas was so far away. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, it ain’t that way anymore! Seems like yesterday I was packing up to head to Boone for what turned out to be our Covid Christmas. Everyone remembers those Christmases when the kids were small and someone invariably had a cold or an upset stomach; last year the majority of the Shook Wilders got the “Vid,” but we made up at Farchmas (named by Eliza, I think) with a family gathering in Cincinnati which brought us the joy and togetherness we missed in December. 2021.This year, we’re again planning on a merry-making family time in Boone, strongly committed to making up for the “bust” that was Christmas, 2021)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As with every year, 2022 was chock full of wonderful moments, as well as a few that pulled on the emotional depths of the heart. Some dear friends and family members took flight into the world of spirit, and the farm took on a new look with the deconstruction of the barn. Both Samuel and Eliza had some wonky health issues - nothing serious, but momentarily unsettling, and my sweet MerryBelle now requires that I carry her quite a bit since her back legs don’t support her any more.It’s my honor to support her as she ages, and I can tell I’ve gained strength as the result of our trips outside.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">However, many joyful moments of the heart ruled, making 2021 a year of wonder and delight.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1. In May I travelled to Philadelphia for Isabella Tighe’s graduation, followed by a wonderful weekend celebrating Norm Sartorius’s retrospective exhibit at the Center of Art in Wood, also in Philly. Samuel met me there, and we spent meaningful, fun time celebrating with our chosen Bosley-Sartorius family. Over the course of the weekend, Andrew asked Samuel to be the best man at his wedding, and I was asked to marry Andrew and Tanya Lee Hamm in New York in July 2023. So, as we look to celebrate Eliza and Alex in November, we will also be a part of the marriage of my “second” son and his wonderful fiancée beforehand.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">2. Later that month, Samuel was asked to by the Punch Drunk Lit Series in Asheville, NC, to read some selected poems he’s been working on. Oh boy, what a wonderful time my sister and I had listening to him present his work! It’s difficult to make a splash in any literary world, but Samuel keeps his pen to the paper and continues to write amazing stuff. I’m so proud of him. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">3. In early June, I took off to visit my lifelong friend, Peg Martin-McGuire in Regina, Saskatoon, Canada. We could write a book or TV show on our adventures and crazy doings. Air Canada knocked one day off my trip with cancelled flights, and I had to go to California to get to central Canada, but once there, we enjoyed a week of day trips, raccoon feedings, and laughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">4. Two weeks after Canada, I ventured over to Cincinnati to go to a Bonnie Raitt concert with friends that go back to New Orleans days. Mavis Staples opened up for Bonnie and had the crowd ready for an amazing evening of Bonnie doing a tribute to John Prine, as well as a combo of her oldest and latest songs. A most memorable night, for sure.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">5. Eliza Wilder may be the most organized bride ever! We went wedding dress shopping, and my heart swelled with emotions as I watched the beautiful woman into which she has become try on dress after dress. There was not a single dress that didn’t look stunning on her, and she found the one she’ll wear on November 18, 2023. She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out, and I so look forward to her wedding. Samuel will be her officiant, and many friends will support her and Alex in their court. Tears of complete joy fill my eyes as I envision walking her down the aisle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">6. I will be forever grateful for the spouses my children have found. Caitlin Wilder, such a beautiful woman, and I shared time together this year, and the more I get to know her, the more I love her! She’s the perfect match for Samuel and holds her own quite well with her poet husband. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Alex Mol fits the mold for perfect son-in-law, as well. What a kind, thoughtful, loving man he is! Eliza may be the luckiest girl in the world, for he embodies everything one would want for a daughter’s husband. The two of them make a wonderful couple, and they go into their marriage much wiser and prepared than almost any other pair I’ve witnessed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">7. My Bobbi stays in close contact and bombards us all with her wisdom and love. She’s deeply committed to spiritual growth through the I Am Heart programs and has been instrumental in introducing me to some wonderful meditation experiences. Bobbi’s been in my life for 42 years now - first as a foster daughter and always as a daughter of the heart. My world is deeply enriched and filled with laughter and joy every day by her special spirit.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I look forward to 2023 and what the next year will bring my way. I imagine quite a bit of knitting, making some paper, doing a little painting. I realize that I don’t have a thing to complain about. I have what I need materially, I have the love of my family, I am super blessed with a ton of friends around the country and globe, and I’m healthy. No extraordinary wealth, tons of real estate, trips around the world, or 5-star acquaintances can compare to the love I experience, and for that, I am eternally grateful.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">From the old farmhouse that has been home for 42 years now, I send my love and a huge hug to all. </span></p><p><br /></p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-36818252316637784112022-08-25T10:15:00.003-05:002022-08-25T17:32:29.842-05:00A CHANGE OF LANDSCAPE<p>Mother Nature tests my patience from time to time. Over the course of the last five years, strong winds have brought down five trees around the house - two chestnuts, a walnut, and a pecan tree, as well as a huge oak out the lane. In addition, the maple tree at the corner of the house at my bedroom succumbed to a mini-derecho that hit unexpectedly in June.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ahH6UYgCmV-R7Ybhl-ZPMb0GBrNbyqVYec9YINZKpX2seXhdBsxFdPeh4bdcAltmMSS7eFWnSJjVnNfoK1oLtHkIC-l2JeiR3ywKFIf-0fAiJBlSHzGIUOChKczyZey9QUg_nm4CP3n2OmFSZfp4mo9VPTn0SoH-UdEf9Wm2Ef3g_Nhe9A/s4000/IMG_4429.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1792" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ahH6UYgCmV-R7Ybhl-ZPMb0GBrNbyqVYec9YINZKpX2seXhdBsxFdPeh4bdcAltmMSS7eFWnSJjVnNfoK1oLtHkIC-l2JeiR3ywKFIf-0fAiJBlSHzGIUOChKczyZey9QUg_nm4CP3n2OmFSZfp4mo9VPTn0SoH-UdEf9Wm2Ef3g_Nhe9A/s320/IMG_4429.JPG" width="143" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I should add that all these trees fell while I was away, leaving several days of work once I returned back to the farm. It’s always a shock to see open space where big trees once provided cherished shade on hot, sunny summer afternoons. It’s an adjustment but one that quickly becomes the new lay of the land. I adjust, the corgis adjust, the birds and critters adjust, and I work feverishly to relocate cherished plants that will perish without the cover of shade under which they once flourished. Once established elsewhere, the plants and flowers adjust, take root in a new location, and open again to bloom come spring.</p><p>In my 42 years at the farm, people have come and gone; farm daughter, Bobbi, was the first; then two little Wilders made lifelong memories on the land, dogs and cats have thrived in the open spaces 30+ acres provide, and wild animals have lived safe from hunters and poachers. Despite the many changes the farm family has experienced over time, one structure has remained a constant presence for all: the beloved barn. Many a morning, I’ve taken my coffee out on the deck to watch barn swallows practice their flight patterns, swooping in, out of, and around the old structure. Our resident indigo bunting has announced sunrise and sunset from atop the lightening rods for years, and Fatty, our farm groundhog, has produced several generations of little ones in her den by the silo. My dad once caught one of her babies bare-handed, infuriating my mother who found Zeb on the ground, unable to get up because of the groundhog he held in his bare hands.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9zB9DWyO6JQOlfdnLNdQ3fGcPfkZA_3xGaz_QogN9xa88sRfhklCu31NUhQ-YY8JtXt0J5rWyfkd1CoZTODMYg5Af7DSvXXW1ndNekJTYjvqp9_3IcD8NEsczqQ8o7hPRzmTcxXj0zPEb4ASv0lUVdOyLTGTbbl-d0i4D0b-d99FcRlq7jw/s4032/IMG_2593.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9zB9DWyO6JQOlfdnLNdQ3fGcPfkZA_3xGaz_QogN9xa88sRfhklCu31NUhQ-YY8JtXt0J5rWyfkd1CoZTODMYg5Af7DSvXXW1ndNekJTYjvqp9_3IcD8NEsczqQ8o7hPRzmTcxXj0zPEb4ASv0lUVdOyLTGTbbl-d0i4D0b-d99FcRlq7jw/s320/IMG_2593.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><b>(I found this sketch I did of the healthy barn back in1989. Our chickens lived in the attached addition on the right. This is a south view.)</b></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;">Built about 100 years ago, the old cattle barn has served as recorder of memories on the farm, witnessing more joy than sadness and remaining steadfast despite the battering of intense west winds, torrential rain storms, the weight of several feet of snow on its shoulders, and the heat and humidity of Mid-Ohio Valley summers. With HOME inscribed across the north end of this humongous structure, everyone who circled around the house was welcomed to a place where they could feel safe. The farm is and has always been “home” to many, and the sight of the barn has always conjured up the sanctity of the farm. The spirit of love and HOME has resonated in the hearts of many “farm kids” as they have traveled around the country and the world, for that is what the farm is - HOME. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANEQKQXCDyj1jdaBo8gChl6NwqrsHxzeITLLOSSRuv7QAyMqMdbCLZqyBSBRHLjX8s4Ig1mlLmcy6ezLLzOods8WxdSrVEE7bgeQO1ryXedY8l0s7ajINLXeieCdKoEHitKcZVdkSr9QkRSMeRhP4-muQj6iu3xEj_1d7PBuwsgrWRFxH9g/s4032/IMG_3021.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANEQKQXCDyj1jdaBo8gChl6NwqrsHxzeITLLOSSRuv7QAyMqMdbCLZqyBSBRHLjX8s4Ig1mlLmcy6ezLLzOods8WxdSrVEE7bgeQO1ryXedY8l0s7ajINLXeieCdKoEHitKcZVdkSr9QkRSMeRhP4-muQj6iu3xEj_1d7PBuwsgrWRFxH9g/s320/IMG_3021.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Thinking about the barn conjures up memory after memory: the time I turned the corner of the driveway and saw the north end of the foundation had collapsed; watching Mr. Ambrose Arnold jack the entire barn up, put in a cement block wall underneath it and then move the structure back on the foundation with a team of oxen; shooting basketball at the old hoop left on a beam from the days when the barn was the “gym” for the schoolhouse at the end of the lane; sending the kids down to the barn to play on a rusted potters wheel that I confiscated at Marietta High School; watching Eliza and her friend Desiree sneak down to their “special clubhouse” near the silo; feeding chickens in our barn “coop” on freezing winter days, and making many evenings of music in the silo, which could only be accessed by climbing on the feeding stalls underneath. And, I always marveled at the height of the dried Christmas tree fire just outside the barn door as we prepared for a sweat lodge or celebrated New Year’s Eve. Just as I reflect on those times, I’m sure the barn had stories to tell to its seasonal inhabitants about the zany antics of the people who traipsed through it all those years. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Age and the weather began to take its toll on the barn several years back. Boards fell off the west side, leaving it completely open to the elements. Then the east side boards began to come loose, eventually leaving the barn completely open. Regardless, the “bones” of the old girl held on, and she never fell until the back side broke apart this past winter. At that point, the roof began to sag, and signs pointed to inevitable collapse.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2WnJ6SEkTFKr5Box_QDDYKaIiZBAtPBtHWDpO7mKXfiXqtWsMI-6f9FE81NoaLq2kekx2AwqbGdM2bSPxKsCms-JWIOtIaeZX5RaYQThfbHdvdBBIiymgn2qt-bH-_H6Lgzt0jLCpDH-IFl3ISHZcJdCRjItk46Lh3y7y5zpPzPD80xcWA/s4032/IMG_3037.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2WnJ6SEkTFKr5Box_QDDYKaIiZBAtPBtHWDpO7mKXfiXqtWsMI-6f9FE81NoaLq2kekx2AwqbGdM2bSPxKsCms-JWIOtIaeZX5RaYQThfbHdvdBBIiymgn2qt-bH-_H6Lgzt0jLCpDH-IFl3ISHZcJdCRjItk46Lh3y7y5zpPzPD80xcWA/s320/IMG_3037.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yCsnQBQa2zeWB11s8jxcAMgRQvLlId8kNFUTMOJ8i_KVIQp7r6XfDRTrHra0LFc1179SSAZ-tJLmniJOaiZ7rPtOPWjqLgjPJJYoBsD3H3M5bueQ60TX4A4EwQg_Xf-nqEj39INy8AesSY9Izb0kX5QDeOVc35no3WN3EQJxsGr3JVz5fw/s4032/IMG_3033.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yCsnQBQa2zeWB11s8jxcAMgRQvLlId8kNFUTMOJ8i_KVIQp7r6XfDRTrHra0LFc1179SSAZ-tJLmniJOaiZ7rPtOPWjqLgjPJJYoBsD3H3M5bueQ60TX4A4EwQg_Xf-nqEj39INy8AesSY9Izb0kX5QDeOVc35no3WN3EQJxsGr3JVz5fw/s320/IMG_3033.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjul7QW6u8V_V6CLYF1SuKahTmUaBKzbWmnw_3Ve0ltRakzEH9AB_nQJmFOAlMRfVa4TQousGPQt_18_ibHOoSJ620pYpXa5nrUM9V9oYQ-UE8MZ4ZKIh4eH06_KQdg0qsHXixOaEg5kJrIlgPZAZ2vaMXn3ZXjB4eY6EhE6Vl0bavj6yBupg/s4032/IMG_3014.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjul7QW6u8V_V6CLYF1SuKahTmUaBKzbWmnw_3Ve0ltRakzEH9AB_nQJmFOAlMRfVa4TQousGPQt_18_ibHOoSJ620pYpXa5nrUM9V9oYQ-UE8MZ4ZKIh4eH06_KQdg0qsHXixOaEg5kJrIlgPZAZ2vaMXn3ZXjB4eY6EhE6Vl0bavj6yBupg/s320/IMG_3014.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Over time, I’ve told everyone who remarked on the fragility of the structure that I’d know when it was the right time to bring our beloved farm barn down. I began to worry every time a storm came through. I had to keep the corgis out of it for fear they’d fall through the floor, and when I mowed around it, I had momentary flashes of the rafters breaking on my faithful mower and me. The last few months were like being on death watch for a friend, knowing I could not wait too much longer and sadly realizing I had to take action.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So on June 18th, two days after I returned home from NC, the crew from Doug Lowe Construction arrived with a huge track hoe to begin the task of bringing her down. My only request was that they try to save the HOME section (which they successfully did). When the hoe made the first hit on the middle of the roof, the structure collapsed from both ends to the middle, and the clean-up began.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPTs7tlHfUL_ysva__H1XhDWIoYWFCy4Uo-nQbtB7-oYClZXfgFklzNImK3GUBHMd0IDwogJR1JaD-mAquzACiP5QeX0yIPy_BSka0nx8CXllc10QvP9uTg0fZJ9Qs7pyKfLNorUbZBR56GzXbhV5Bnfpa3JXOgCAWMB1AMTw_tnK1PjIww/s4032/IMG_3077.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPTs7tlHfUL_ysva__H1XhDWIoYWFCy4Uo-nQbtB7-oYClZXfgFklzNImK3GUBHMd0IDwogJR1JaD-mAquzACiP5QeX0yIPy_BSka0nx8CXllc10QvP9uTg0fZJ9Qs7pyKfLNorUbZBR56GzXbhV5Bnfpa3JXOgCAWMB1AMTw_tnK1PjIww/s320/IMG_3077.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUavD0neUmjEbGUMX6YsQ8hAOLwh3f1O6UD9j73C-OMgV_xVGG8aPPPLWn10X_DSY8B7qmg-51ci0AG3m8du5UPmPy6erRHGq53aaKxviWrXBSygYih-MjXadZXme_YhaELoPpWYhnkEQV8HoJxr3hTSPLmt8i5cmsrswJqS9lOrwQtSp9g/s4032/IMG_3074.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUavD0neUmjEbGUMX6YsQ8hAOLwh3f1O6UD9j73C-OMgV_xVGG8aPPPLWn10X_DSY8B7qmg-51ci0AG3m8du5UPmPy6erRHGq53aaKxviWrXBSygYih-MjXadZXme_YhaELoPpWYhnkEQV8HoJxr3hTSPLmt8i5cmsrswJqS9lOrwQtSp9g/s320/IMG_3074.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I could not have asked for a more thoughtful crew from the (de)construction company. Bill and Jason stood patiently as I said goodbye. I took my sage bundle and smudged in and around the structure, leaving the sage burning inside as the old barn fell to the ground. I shed a goodly number of tears as I watched her crumble, and then to my surprise, I felt a HUGE wave of peace and relief. I was ready to get the debris cleaned up, the ground shaped and manicured, and enjoy my new open space. The silo remained intact - a marker to the burial site of concrete foundation, termite infested beams, pieces of the old tin roof, and the block foundation. It would now become the keeper of memories - those housed by the barn as well as new ones that began as the barn came down.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4r7Frr0WAMtiOVJW6hACjlTV-PCgaVanFDhZZfF95MM6GTpX7EaMnydIQjM_NV9kWKStCpKWDcOvVDqp_h852dTCeXsV1f-8GPmQN8tdUjYzoHKQF6tRyjNZjRoaYWcl7H2lav2Hn-kP5Mnew0n6Ied5GU1Ye9A26Rch4zNCxIjg7qguCg/s4032/IMG_3131.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4r7Frr0WAMtiOVJW6hACjlTV-PCgaVanFDhZZfF95MM6GTpX7EaMnydIQjM_NV9kWKStCpKWDcOvVDqp_h852dTCeXsV1f-8GPmQN8tdUjYzoHKQF6tRyjNZjRoaYWcl7H2lav2Hn-kP5Mnew0n6Ied5GU1Ye9A26Rch4zNCxIjg7qguCg/s320/IMG_3131.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWySpziRxm42-zfh92ZTnj240bfqSBD9h-GCMCZ-BptbwuhHBRyS4Xtc2RevUeeqwmwoYVVX6uv1AOqnklNuzzAY665dis7VdyZ1zAf08IHSH3L8UjVCB3zxIx43Lv0tG83jiyjklos7u6PstQXll1zNJXMlIUgEwKq7grl57I-it9ac55A/s4032/IMG_3123.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWySpziRxm42-zfh92ZTnj240bfqSBD9h-GCMCZ-BptbwuhHBRyS4Xtc2RevUeeqwmwoYVVX6uv1AOqnklNuzzAY665dis7VdyZ1zAf08IHSH3L8UjVCB3zxIx43Lv0tG83jiyjklos7u6PstQXll1zNJXMlIUgEwKq7grl57I-it9ac55A/s320/IMG_3123.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapqfenBDhEWFz1VXvx_LEc_bclcLQ5mQ3lXt63OGfywg2Z0Zbj8P1h3xTwMqr0o68YN-4p8KIP9uxKit9wHtEfjLkl6MqAVIsbE-pguciTTHKFv-evEQgC4oB18Mew3V5R2qvxgkS28aMV0IrUpV4hHZZcHGirxERHopdpOIcHtvm08LxWA/s4032/IMG_3128.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapqfenBDhEWFz1VXvx_LEc_bclcLQ5mQ3lXt63OGfywg2Z0Zbj8P1h3xTwMqr0o68YN-4p8KIP9uxKit9wHtEfjLkl6MqAVIsbE-pguciTTHKFv-evEQgC4oB18Mew3V5R2qvxgkS28aMV0IrUpV4hHZZcHGirxERHopdpOIcHtvm08LxWA/s320/IMG_3128.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Bill worked on and off all week, overseeing the massive burn that had to take place before burial could take place. He worked the bulldozer to cover debris, and he skillfully broke up the foundation and retaining wall. Then he began to move dirt and shape the new “lawn” where the barn had stood. He planted grass seed and covered it with straw. Regular rain showers quickly encouraged the grass to come up, and before I knew it, I had a beautiful new view to enjoy - open space into the back field with the silo in the foreground. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRs92iMFSFMcz6-t0fw4f6UQNHhgdD__zXWatCRBEKtd6apt10FMbk2d6hKj1XmXy5ZOi3jmBcbqaHme0EHOXg24PHPrNImfnh9qG6LoLeAv2jNW8WNIM19KArTUmvl3JuKlBIT2KYfOgOvl4E8xSEGLkFtznOJxVgC90V5Al1Bv1EtpADJw/s4032/IMG_3142.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRs92iMFSFMcz6-t0fw4f6UQNHhgdD__zXWatCRBEKtd6apt10FMbk2d6hKj1XmXy5ZOi3jmBcbqaHme0EHOXg24PHPrNImfnh9qG6LoLeAv2jNW8WNIM19KArTUmvl3JuKlBIT2KYfOgOvl4E8xSEGLkFtznOJxVgC90V5Al1Bv1EtpADJw/s320/IMG_3142.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKFAp1xWAqLXtAUmPszvlINyam6wAAYWgW3phmvk7W5YiIBe23rK23c5mQtOfzYBZb3kXQtlae-zj86KIjzVUTperP6AcLSN9FbmdzzaX2EgRMLtdqYi4VSmHz9oA4HcnAt_XAER3ncWg5uSz7TdjuzfZCDVWO69w-GWe3jZC4QukM32FGA/s4032/IMG_4558.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKFAp1xWAqLXtAUmPszvlINyam6wAAYWgW3phmvk7W5YiIBe23rK23c5mQtOfzYBZb3kXQtlae-zj86KIjzVUTperP6AcLSN9FbmdzzaX2EgRMLtdqYi4VSmHz9oA4HcnAt_XAER3ncWg5uSz7TdjuzfZCDVWO69w-GWe3jZC4QukM32FGA/s320/IMG_4558.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUiQ9H8xuzZayHfofhG1gA9UTUGAokaMyhyWUgwmE7HqQdEXrLJ1RvevDw8rsWAzQu-M0MWnvcxUhj-UtE-Cfaw4JJ6YcsvYSZPl5Ctp9fwj9BiUA9xllMocnF3gkXsan2j0bnJmYlpDOKXs6kaKbQQEymcOjrZSi8yhyv60I_CmzPzpAIw/s4032/IMG_4590.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUiQ9H8xuzZayHfofhG1gA9UTUGAokaMyhyWUgwmE7HqQdEXrLJ1RvevDw8rsWAzQu-M0MWnvcxUhj-UtE-Cfaw4JJ6YcsvYSZPl5Ctp9fwj9BiUA9xllMocnF3gkXsan2j0bnJmYlpDOKXs6kaKbQQEymcOjrZSi8yhyv60I_CmzPzpAIw/s320/IMG_4590.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I still have many of the old sandstone foundation blocks that I had used to make my terraced deep beds by the barn where the chicken coop once stood. Except for the fact that they each weigh a ton, I’d love to take them with me wherever I end up going in the future, but that might be an unlikely wish. I WILL make a fire pit out of some on the spot where the sweat lodge fire burned on solstices and special occasions.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Onward!”as my friend Diane says. I’m eager to see the fence line in the back field as the leaves turn. I plan on planting sunflowers around the silo next spring. I’m going to clean out the silo and make some steps up to the first “window” so I can climb in to play my flute and have folks come over to make music again. I also want to use some of my photos and try to draw the barn from the front (north) side. And of course, I’ll plant some flowers to bloom over the summer in my new “yard.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love the new landscape. The change has been 100% good. I loved the barn and will never, ever forget her, but I’m very happy that we were able to put her to rest with the love, respect, and restoration of the place where she stood for a century or more. Cheers to the barn! Cheers to our new landscape! Onward, it is!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kB0uqvvBhVnqkW7MMVGHQJbhAXIeg2TUtqMLQMmtRv0lXacDzL1rtPYym0cAU51HU3PUvd_3-MMlc50mLeL7ERRpR1m2QRXiSnyJmEq40uc7nJXKsFXmLT_4vOipETqRBFD2aZNn0VqeT8Bmn7PGpxjcxvQtn1CGDCD-TaoVdhq_H7xg3g/s4032/IMG_3394.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kB0uqvvBhVnqkW7MMVGHQJbhAXIeg2TUtqMLQMmtRv0lXacDzL1rtPYym0cAU51HU3PUvd_3-MMlc50mLeL7ERRpR1m2QRXiSnyJmEq40uc7nJXKsFXmLT_4vOipETqRBFD2aZNn0VqeT8Bmn7PGpxjcxvQtn1CGDCD-TaoVdhq_H7xg3g/s320/IMG_3394.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-7354682855556180622022-08-24T09:41:00.003-05:002022-08-24T09:41:56.142-05:00SAMUEL WRITES POETRY & HARRISON RUNS A KICKASS BREWERY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sAk6ITo6CT9jgfJWcVeMKS0F5PiOdasEGbsPHKm8JMu-gaY4zm456ixwRGWmMTO9aEqAQCOps3tGhe6pUihwe1-edqQksUAhb_e7ycQWEwtNy9IjpUtSbDFF2OCfA5Zk8nyKlTRS1v1a2eg7XxBsbJ4DU6ynGfNSkykIPzA-98-0MZN1PA/s3088/IMG_2890.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sAk6ITo6CT9jgfJWcVeMKS0F5PiOdasEGbsPHKm8JMu-gaY4zm456ixwRGWmMTO9aEqAQCOps3tGhe6pUihwe1-edqQksUAhb_e7ycQWEwtNy9IjpUtSbDFF2OCfA5Zk8nyKlTRS1v1a2eg7XxBsbJ4DU6ynGfNSkykIPzA-98-0MZN1PA/s320/IMG_2890.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These two very loving goofballs are the best definitions I know of as “brothers of a different mother.”They met at Appalachian State University in a rather alternative, experiential learning pod called Watauga College, and from there, they bonded - a soul connection in the best way.There are no other two like them. Harrison, a photography major who’s artistry manifests in various directions, and Samuel, the guy who loves words and putting words together while working as a medical editor for EverSana.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over the course of the last seventeen years, they’ve lived together and traveled all over the place. While in DC, they were robbed, held at gunpoint, and lost their computers. Both bartended to pay the rent, both love to make music (Harrison, the guitarist / Samuel, the drummer), both savor good booze, and both rely on the other for encouragement, support, and craziness. They’re goofy and funny, serious and contemplative….and each other’s best bud! Theirs is a connection unlike many people ever get to experience - tied at the hip by some awfully strong, wonderful knots.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-46110023593875989832022-01-09T14:11:00.002-05:002022-01-09T21:33:24.165-05:00WELCOME 2022 ! A BLOGPOST IN LIEU OF HOLIDAY CARDS THAT DIDN’T GET IN THE MAIL<p>I am grateful to begin my posts for 2022 in good health and spirits. The final two weeks of 2021 didn’t measure up to great celebration, but when there’s a new beginning with a lot of things vanishing with the “water under the bridge,” I’ll be optimistic.</p><p>The Shook-Wilders arrived in Boone in batches for Christmas. Myra and I got home early to assist in the hospital care of cousin Bill Rominger, who was recovering from open heart surgery and a second surgery to repair a hole in his gut. It was touch and go for a minute, but he’s home and recovering now. Samuel and Cait arrived on the 26th, and the celebrations heightened with Harrison coming in on the 27th. Eliza and Alex drove in on the 28th, and there the unraveling begins - not at all as a result of their presence, of course.</p><p>Caitlin had a sore throat. She had gone to CVS to “pick up a few things,” one of which was a covid home test. Literally at the moment, Alex and Eliza pulled into the driveway, we got word that she had tested positive for covid. I felt so sorry for her and Samuel, for they had looked forward to spending time with Eliza and Alex. </p><p>Fortunately, the weather was nice, and we had about 2 hours to enjoy each other outside, distanced and masked. We opened presents, laughed a bit, and savored each minute together. Shortly thereafter, Cait and Samuel packed up to return to Nashville, Harrison and his dog Ace split for Asheville, Eliza and Alex debated as to their next move, and Myra and I settled in to disinfect the house and hope like the dickens no one else came down.</p><p>That was wishful thinking for the next morning, I was met with a sick sister, masked up and sitting in the recliner in the den. Eliza and Alex headed back to Cincinnati, dismally sad and in tears. Within two days and following two “official” tests at the local health department (negative for both Myra and me), our testing strip on the home test came back with every indicator possible for Covid. I didn’t feel poorly at all and would describe my “covidity” as basically asymptomatic….well, almost that way </p><p>In between healthy days and testing positive, I was able to see Richard Randall, our angel who looked after doggies as Myra and I spent time in Hickory with Bill, and Terri Langdon. Otherwise, isolation and quarantine defined the days. (On a positive note, Myra and I spent a lot of quality time together, and I enjoyed being with her, even through croupy days.) When I drove back to Ohio after New Years Day, I didn’t even stop along the way in order to avoid spreading my “viral load.” </p><p>The corgis and I arrived at the farm with very full bladders and joyful hearts. Even if I haven’t gone anywhere or seen anyone for a few days, we get out to walk and enjoy the outdoors without concern. Quite a relief, I must admit.</p><p>There were many highlights during 2021, including……</p><p>Eliza’s and Alex got engaged! Alex orchestrated the most wonderful proposal on a mountainside in Vermont, where the two of them had hiked to enjoy the brilliant fall colors. The joy we feel with their engagement is over the top. Alex already fits into our family like he was born into it. He and his son Dominic add so much love that all I can do is smile and savor the warmth in my heart for Eliza and him as they plan their life together. Wedding plans remain incomplete, giving them time to plan the ceremony. Love, love sweet love prevails in their house and hearts. </p><p>Samuel and Caitlin purchased a house and moved to Nashville. Both of them were able to stay with their companies, and now, they work remotely from the comfort of their house on Treutland Avenue. I haven’t visited their new place yet, but a trip’s in the works. I’m so happy for them and proud of the way they went about searching, negotiating and finally acquiring their home. Caitlin’s fine eye for beauty and decoration will make their home a home. Samuel continues to read voraciously and write as time allows </p><p>I spent a week in May with Bobbi and Isabella in Cape May, timed perfectly for the spring migration. Bobbi and I birded every day, and I’d say were took the award for the island’s nerdiest birders as we biked around the point in our birding attire and nerdy hats. Isabella and friends joined us to celebrate her 21st birthday, and Robert Knisel came to spend a day with us. Robert and Bobbi are good friends from Philadelphia. Since then, Bobbi and her partner Mark have purchased two houses in Cape May, and I have a hunch, we’ll be spending some good migration time there. Isabella has grown into a beautiful woman. I still see the little girl twinkle in her eyes. I enjoyed every minute with her!</p><p>The corgis are aging; I can’t deny that fact. Regardless, they feel fine though long walks are off the table these days. Mac still loves to play “stick” outdoors and fetch old socks inside. My hearing suffers as a result of their LOUD barks, but I don’t know what I’d do without their companionship, especially during the spikes and isolation of the pandemic. Mac, MerryBelle, and I form a tightly-bound pack that hangs close to the farm and to each other. I realize I’m as much of a dog as a person, but I don’t bark or go outside to pee.</p><p>The Esbenshade Series of Marietta College suffered the effects of the pandemic, but we’re up and running again. I see my time as director coming to a close, especially with wedding planning on the horizon. I don’t know what the future has in store, but it would seem this is the year for the barn to come down and for me to chart the next move in my life. I’d love to have more time in the mountains and travel, as well as have a place to hang out here in Marietta. That’s what I’m going to manifest. Put it out there with me, please!</p><p>I have added drawing to my list of interests, and I’ve posted many creations on Facebook. Inspired by others who are sharing their work, I also started an Instagram page (@tanyaswilderart) after working up the courage to post what I create. Knitting, handmade paper, drawing on my iPad, and my flowers define my creative time.</p><p>Bobbi has turned me on to heart meditations with the I Am Heart group, and as I grow in understanding and insight, I realize on an even deeper level that life is all about opening our hearts, loving, growing, and sharing our love on physical, as well as energetic levels. So, I close this first post with my wish for us all: may we all grow and prosper abundantly, following the path of love in our lives and in our hearts.</p><p>As the barn shares with us, peace and love, and don’t forget to laugh!</p><p>T.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZa6zu9Gb95m4FqqEXQA7Iq7b7eQqPWQyoVSfrVVuEZgm9wkOtiLTZRglMZbS5LLPvyeXxh8neEHuygcb9kozEGkxZA1-Wdut7-IYykgrSF_fvwIhE2brp-45NEdJeG0-ipeHnD5VuIxIqg1BwGO1PGRjuurGhXHjEHO8EbZsMLmeuX5BSQg=s2530" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="964" data-original-width="2530" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZa6zu9Gb95m4FqqEXQA7Iq7b7eQqPWQyoVSfrVVuEZgm9wkOtiLTZRglMZbS5LLPvyeXxh8neEHuygcb9kozEGkxZA1-Wdut7-IYykgrSF_fvwIhE2brp-45NEdJeG0-ipeHnD5VuIxIqg1BwGO1PGRjuurGhXHjEHO8EbZsMLmeuX5BSQg=w490-h187" width="490" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-74136430418236772542021-08-18T10:46:00.000-05:002021-08-18T10:46:17.621-05:00THE SEARCH HAS COME TO AN END (YUKI - PART III)<p><span>Yesterday’s email (8/17/2021) brought the message I anticipated. David Blythe of AFS International wrote me that his colleague in Japan had another conversation with Yuki’s ailing stepmother in response to a letter she/he sent to Yuki’s father. The colleague learned Yuki’s dad had passed away, and the stepmother reiterated she had had no contact with Yuki for 10 years. She knew nothing about where one could find Yuki.</span></p><p><span>When I responded with the possibility of one more contact with the stepmother requesting the whereabouts of Yuki’s sister, David graciously contacted the Japan office. Sadly, the person who has been so incredibly helpful in assisting in the search for Yuki felt it was not a good idea nor appropriate to make yet another phone call of inquiry. </span></p><p><span>So this morning after another futile internet search of mental health institutions in Japan, I have quite peacefully come to the conclusion I will not find her. Realistically, I held little or no hope from the beginning, so it’s no great let-down, just a little heartbreak. Our efforts don’t always yield the results we seek.</span></p><p><span>What I have felt, however, has been a tremendous dose of the goodness of humankind. David Blythe, Manager of Program Policy & Support at AFS International in New York, did not dismiss my desire to locate Yuki after all these years. He went above and beyond to explore every option available to assist in locating Yuki. He understood my concern, and from his office in the US did all he could to find out about Yuki. I am deeply grateful to him. He confirms for me that there are myriad people out there, most of whom I will never know, who house a kind and gentle soul, empathetic spirit, and understanding of connection.</span></p><p>Likewise, his colleague in Japan (whose name I don’t know) was able to connect with one of the two or three people in all the world who might have been able to provide information about Yuki. The person was under no obligation to help with my request. I can only say “thank you” to him/her via this platform; my gratitude for the kindness shown is huge.</p><p>Finally, from my family’s experience with our AFS student back in 1975-76 and my own tenure as AFS advisor at Marietta High School from 1982-1998, I recognize the value of this international exchange organization. Once one has been involved with AFS, one realizes the incredible and valuable treasure of knowing and living with people around the world brings. We are all connected in a spirit of peace and love through AFS!</p><p>So, here’s to Yuki Sento! Here’s to David Blythe and his colleague in Japan! Here’s to AFS and lifelong friendships with folks around the world!</p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-17901782460874854892021-07-26T13:40:00.003-05:002021-07-26T13:40:34.876-05:00A RAY FOR HOPE (PART II: IN SEARCH FOR YUKI)<p>In search of Yuki: Part 2</p><p>I have no idea why I didn’t think of this years ago. After I shared my initial post about Yuki, it dawned upon me that maybe the AFS office in New York might have some suggestions for me in my search for Yuki. </p><p>To make a long story short, I connected with David Blythe at AFS International, gave him the last address I had for Yuki in Japan and all the additional info I have from Yuki’s stay in Marietta: her AFS host mother’s name, etc. David spoke with a colleague in Japan, and that person was able to locate Yuki’s file from back in 1983 and called her house in Susaki City! The colleague spoke with Yuki’s stepmother (a woman who was never nice to Yuki), and as you read below, it was difficult to understand her; however, from the brief conversation, we now know Yuki’s father is still alive and David’s colleague in Japan will communicate with him and get back to David. </p><p>(David’s on vacation until mid-August, so I’ll wait for him to let me know IF Yuki’s dad can / will provide additional info about Yuki’s plight.)</p><p>I hold a little hope. (See below….)</p><p>—————————</p><p>Dear David,</p><p>Thank you so much for providing me with additional information so promptly.</p><p>Now that I know her name is Fuki Sento, I could find her name and phone number on GL.</p><p>I called her only to find that the phone number is no longer used.</p><p>Fuki did not register her address.</p><p>I have a very old roster for Japanese returnees up to 1998 at home.</p><p>As this roster had the address and phone number of her family when she participated in the AFS Program, I called her family.</p><p>An old lady who introduced as Fuki's step mother answered my phone.</p><p>The step mother told me that she has been out of contact with Fuki for more than a decade, so she does not know Fuki's contact address.</p><p>The step mother spoke a very strong dialect which I could not understand well.</p><p>What she told me seemed very complicated, so I need to check with someone else such as Fuki's father or siblings. </p><p>So I will try to call again some time later when Fuki's father is at home and get back to you by the time you will return to New York after your summer vacation.</p><p>I appreciate Ms. Tanya Wilder's patience.</p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-30324770342652124262021-07-20T11:28:00.000-05:002021-07-20T11:28:17.234-05:00IN SEARCH OF YUKI….<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8Xq7fnzAk0LM-A0eIMLnINSwMyr1G1bs2Km1M9wvWjaqTM10qpfnnXjsWyKDesWw78Ye6YcFPquqn0Y9x3iNr-TMHB0KqrDR-vq0QOJj_xMZ0VOxV2bGya0MVv5jNYDf_yib/s2048/E3F6A515-EDB7-402C-BAD8-0032548ED78D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8Xq7fnzAk0LM-A0eIMLnINSwMyr1G1bs2Km1M9wvWjaqTM10qpfnnXjsWyKDesWw78Ye6YcFPquqn0Y9x3iNr-TMHB0KqrDR-vq0QOJj_xMZ0VOxV2bGya0MVv5jNYDf_yib/s320/E3F6A515-EDB7-402C-BAD8-0032548ED78D.jpeg" /></a></div>During the 1983-84 school year, Marietta High Hosted an American Field Service student from Japan, Yuki Sento. Yuki’s real name was Fuki, but for obvious reasons, we knew her as Yuki. Yuki was exceptionally bright, graduating at the top of her class in 1984 (though she was not recognized since she had not completed a 4-yr. program at MHS). </div><p></p></blockquote><p><br /></p><p>Yuki came from a very humble and traditional Japanese family, and the year in the States was an opportunity of a lifetime for her. She sang in chorus, ran cross country, swam on the swim team, and learned as much as she could about life here. Knowing very little English and NO Spanish, Yuki excelled in my my Spanish class and completed three years of study in one year and came close to bi-lingual proficiency in that time. In 40+ years of teaching, I never had a more gifted language learner.</p><p><br /></p><p>Upon return to Japan, Yuki was selected to study in the elite Japanese Institute of Foreign Languages and finished with degrees in Spanish and English. She went on to teach, bring students to the US, and return to visit my family twice thereafter. My parents and children welcomed her into our family wholeheartedly. Over the years, we remained in close contact, and I looked forward to hearing about her latest translation efforts and news.</p><p><br /></p><p>Unfortunately, prior her AFS year here and after return to Japan, Yuki’s life was not easy. She never told me much about her family, except that her mother had died when Yuki was very young. Her grandmother lived with the family to care for Yuki and her sister, and both her father and grandfather faulted her for her mother’s death and subsequently, favored the older sister, leaving Yuki to do house and garden work. I sensed her father was brutal to Yuki, and I’m still not sure how it was that she came across AFS and was permitted to participate in a year abroad.</p><p><br /></p><p>As time passed, news from Yuki became really sad. She left one or two teaching positions and was at a loss as to what to do. She listened to English radio stations and did some translating on the side to keep her skills sharp. Her letters began to indicate that her mental health was in sharp decline, telling me she had fallen in love with her therapist and insisting they communicated telepathically. She said she had named her only possessions after people she remembered and loved. For example, she named her purse “Tanya” and spoke of it as if it were her child. </p><p><br /></p><p>Finally, about two years ago, I received my final letter from her. She said she was “going away”and I would never hear from her again. Wrapped very carefully in the letter, she included her tassel from her “84” MHS graduation and asked me to always remember her. </p><p><br /></p><p>I have no idea what happened to Yuki. I’ve asked myself over and over if she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital or even if she took her own life. The last picture she sent to me remains on my refrigerator alongside photos of Samuel and Eliza. Her tassel hangs on the lamp by the chair where I sit and knit. Frequently, I open a random book I pick up and am surprised to find a letter she wrote and that I used as a bookmark. </p><p><br /></p><p>What motivates me to write this lengthy post is Yuki’s presence in my dreams for the last two nights. I need not post the details of them, but I hear her voice calling. So, I’m once again inspired to see if I can find out anything about her - if she is, indeed, alive.</p><p><br /></p><p>I know I’m searching for a “needle in the haystack.” The most assistance I’ve been able to receive came from the Japanese consulate in Detroit, where a kind man listened to my story and has offered to send me the website and / or phone number of the police department in Susacki City, Yuki’s last place of residence (that I know of). </p><p><br /></p><p>Along with everyone else with whom I’ve shared this story, the gentleman in Detroit reminded me that the Japanese strictly adhere to privacy on all accounts, especially if the matters would include a transfer to a mental health facility or a suicide. He kindly cautioned me not to anticipate answers though he hoped I could learn something about Yuki.</p><p><br /></p><p>If anyone who reads this has advice or knows of an avenue I can pursue to learn more about what has happened to Yuki, please send me a message. I’ll keep trying, but so far, I hold little hope of finding Yuki. </p><p><br /></p><p>I just want to know what happened to this truly sweet, innocent, amazingly gifted woman, and I’m not one to give up until I exhaust all available measures. I fear I’m close to that point now, sadly.</p>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-52935827692518443332021-07-11T11:11:00.002-05:002021-07-12T08:50:50.254-05:00I KNOW WHAT I SAW, AND I SAW A…..<p>COUGAR!!</p><p>Yep…..a cougar in the back field. No, it wasn’t a bobcat. It wasn’t a gigantic feral kitty cat. The animal I saw was a cougar, regardless of naturalists’ consensus that cougars don’t inhabit Ohio (especially southeastern OH) anymore.</p><p>Here’s the lowdown:</p><p>On Wednesday, June 2, 2021, the corgis and I took a long afternoon walk around the back field to look at birds. As we entered the bottom side of the field, I could see a pair of red-tailed hawks perched in a tree across the fence in the neighbor’s field. I watched the regal pair as they surveyed their surroundings for an easy catch. I had my binoculars on them until we reached the turn in the back of the field that leads into the woods. Mac and MerryBelle were about 15 feet ahead of me, sniffing in her grass for scat piles to roll in and waiting for me to give them the OK to go back into the woods.</p><p>As I lowered my binocs, I caught movement in the corner of my eye coming out of the overgrown brush along the fence line, and out jumped a big cat. It was obviously surprised to see me, and I was definitely surprised to see it. The moment was one in which time stood still: I remember telling myself to take close mental notes, for I was face to face with an animal I had never seen in the wild.</p><p>Now, I’ve seen bobcats in captivity and in the wild around the farm. This was not a bobcat - too big, no markings of a bobcat, not a bobcat facial structure. This cat was large, much larger than a bobcat. It had very, very faint spots on its face, as if it were a juvenile.</p><p>In a split second - maybe a total of 5 seconds- of a face-to-face encounter, the cat turned and jumped back into the brush. When it did, I was able to see the full side of its body - an elongated torso, some very, very dim spots - however, the telling feature that remains crystal clear in my mind was the long tail with a dark tip. </p><p>I couldn’t get to my phone in my pocket to get a photo….time moved too quickly. From many times in the woods with Zeb, I distinctly remember hearing his voice in my mind, telling me “to watch, watch carefully…tell yourself over what you saw…tell yourself over and over again while your memory’s fresh…”</p><p>Mac and MerryBelle had their backs to the cougar when it jumped from the brush. In retrospect, I can see that it could easily have thought Mac was tasty prey since he’s white from behind and stands close to the ground, similar at a distance to a rabbit. It pounced from the brush, stopping abruptly when it saw me. One more pounce, and Mac could have been fighting off one whopper of a cat. My only weapon would have been my binoculars! The corgis missed the encounter completely since they were searching for some stinky stuff to roll in.</p><p>This is the exact animal I saw….maybe just a tad smaller and likely, younger. (Internet image)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGifc9M6w_a8p-WKixXf_oeMiLDQBGjj9dS5ZWsYomwVmfYsnGwuya3jnpKi1MRslBZTvi6ctX2LbMRmql5okXoiwxnq9GcKy7nVX9KGG7PthdGz7yLv2hLmSJwSL0joRexnnf/s2048/0BF9F7B4-E837-4425-872D-2C970A51FAD4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGifc9M6w_a8p-WKixXf_oeMiLDQBGjj9dS5ZWsYomwVmfYsnGwuya3jnpKi1MRslBZTvi6ctX2LbMRmql5okXoiwxnq9GcKy7nVX9KGG7PthdGz7yLv2hLmSJwSL0joRexnnf/s320/0BF9F7B4-E837-4425-872D-2C970A51FAD4.jpeg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>But there’s more!<div><br /></div><div>Once I got my breath after the cat bolted back in the brush, the corgis and I turned the corner and started (rather expeditiously) up the fence line path home. We hadn’t gone 5 yards when I noticed a pile of fresh, steaming scat in the middle of the path. Whatever had left his couple of elongated turds had done its business recently, that was for sure. I photographed it and hightailed home, corgis panting behind me.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUghgyv-Zho8JCS4RxXiuJqIz9TQ5vUPT7qEhPGxfKhKFqYMpVLtUdJbERkI52XgxEDFs-cLR8S4UPmhQq9SpUBnqaSkffidvm-0yrLkk_kCuj4eLSDPivc11WnnYShHu0KS57/s2048/81E8EB3E-C41B-4B18-A863-29E9F3B0EDEE.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUghgyv-Zho8JCS4RxXiuJqIz9TQ5vUPT7qEhPGxfKhKFqYMpVLtUdJbERkI52XgxEDFs-cLR8S4UPmhQq9SpUBnqaSkffidvm-0yrLkk_kCuj4eLSDPivc11WnnYShHu0KS57/s320/81E8EB3E-C41B-4B18-A863-29E9F3B0EDEE.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div>Two people with great knowledge of the animal world have suggested these turds look like coyote scat. I’ve done a lot of reading about cougar scat, and the overriding consensus is that cougar poop greatly resembles coyote scat in many ways, but with a more definitive “pinched” beginning and/or end. I am inclined to think the cougar had taken a very recent dump, jumped back in the brush, realized something was approaching, crouched and pounced when it saw the dogs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fast forward to getting back to the house: I immediately messaged Julie Zickefoose and told her what had happened. She didn’t discount what I recounted, thank goodness. Her immediate response was to go “collect the shit!”</div><div><br /></div><div>With two gallon zip-loc bags and my trusty trowel, I took off to the back field again. As I was scooping the “prize” into my bag, I could hear a low, threatening growl from the brush at the entrance to the woods. I’ve heard that angry, warning of “GET AWAY” sort of growl many a time from the cats here at the farm…..definitely feline, definitely a “mind your own business,” “don’t cross the line” sort of sound. So, again, I skedaddled back up to house and stuck the double-bagged elongated turds in the freezer.</div><div><br /></div><div>(At the risk of turning off those reading,I will confess that many strange items have been stored in our freezer over the years- birds that have flown into the window, cats that have died in the middle of winter, a large coot that Molly, one of our first corgis, brought home, a large hawk I picked up on the roadside. My dad and Uncle Frank would have been proud that I took the time to observe and study. My mom would not have permitted such a sample in her freezer. )</div><div><br /></div><div>Julie contacted a friend of hers who is a scat specialist, I believe, to see if she would be interested in analyzing the scat. We’ve yet to hear from her. I also contacted Jim McCormac, a respected naturalist in. Columbus who concurred with others said about the unlikelihood of a cougar in the wild in my area. He suggested it was possibly an escapee from some “nutcase” (my description) who kept wild animals. Maybe he’s correct since there aren’t confirmed cases of cougar sightings in SE Ohio recorded.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don’t know exactly how to proceed, but it occurs to me that perhaps I could contact the naturalist at Grandfather Mountain back home in NC to see if he/she would examine the solidly frozen scat in my freezer to confirm (or not) that the turds are from a cougar. The conservancy there has introduced cougars back in to the wild there and keeps track of their movements. I would really, really like a confirmation, but if I never get it, it won’t matter because…..</div><div><br /></div><div>I know what I saw on that evening walk around the back field, and I saw a COUGAR !</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-75160725248970825452020-03-25T11:31:00.002-05:002020-03-25T11:31:29.564-05:00"TO KNOW HIM WAS TO LOVE HIM," SAID EVERYBODY WHO KNEW HIM
<br />
“…..You can take my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can
take my bones. You can take my blood, but not my soul….”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Rhiannon Giddons: “Birmingham Sunday,” <u>Freedom Highway<o:p></o:p></u><br />
<br />
William Henry Thompson III no longer walks the planet - no longer dons his
binoculars and heads to spot birds around his house or lead birders on
treks to exotic spots around the globe. He no longer sits with his guitar
on his leg, playing incredible riffs while his band and
friends sing his favorite songs, and he no longer graces the world with
his humor and love. It's been a tough one - a reality hard to fathom:
Bill Thompson, III, aka BT3, is gone, the victim of an unforgiving,
rapid-paced, nasty pancreatic cancer that ultimately consumed
his body and ended his life. As he always did, Bill lived his final
days largely and lovingly until he exhaled for the final time on Monday
evening, March 25, 2019, at 10:44 PM. I was fortunate to be with him earlier that day.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I am still stunned by this reality, and I vacillate between gratitude for
his life and intense sorrow at his death. I grapple with disbelief at his
absence, with celebration of a life fully-lived versus the heartbreaking, stark
reality that he’s gone, gone forever. It’s going to take a while longer – much
longer than the two months that have passed since those gathered shoveled
dislodged ground back into his grave - to not experience daily waves of
memories and grief unlike I’ve ever known, except with the passage of my
parents.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I met Bill in 1980 when he was a freshman in the West College at Miami
University. That year was my first year in the Marietta (OH) School System
where I taught Spanish at the Junior High School. Laura Thompson, Bill's
sister, was one of my students, and I suppose she mentioned me to Bill. I
really don't know what inspired Bill to come by school to meet me, but he did,
and from that initial conversation in my dilapidated room at MJHS, our
friendship began. I looked forward to Bill's regular visits, dancing with him
at parties, hearing about his next adventure and his passion for and love of
birds. Over time, Bill would play music at my house with members of his band,
setting up sessions down in the silo by the barn more than once. As his life
unfolded after college, we stayed in contact, and he kept me abreast of his
life - from time in London to work in New York, from meeting his future wife,
Julie Zickefoose, to his return to Marietta, from the birth of his children to
their high school years (during which Phoebe, his daughter, was my student),
from his travels across the globe to his newly defined relationship with
Wendy Clark, and ultimately from his diagnosis to his last day on Earth.
On his last birding trip in October, 2018, we were in close contact as he
traveled through Colombia because he was going to be in areas where I had been
a year earlier.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
After his diagnosis, I mailed a letter to Bill once a week. I knew many
folks were vying for visits with him, and I certainly didn’t want to intrude on
time he needed to process his situation, get his affairs in order, and rest. Once
he felt a bit better, he responded to my notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On February 11, 2018, he wrote the following:<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“Dear Tanya-<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I’ve finally gotten around to writing a few notes of thanks and the <u>very
first one</u> is to you. Your many card and notes have been so uplifting and
full of love – it makes me grateful to have you as my dear friend.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Not at all sure what’s ahead out there in the future, but then again, when
has that <u>ever </u>been true? But I’m feeling better each day and am hoping
for a good long run. There are so many friends to hug, songs to play, birds to
see….<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Love you, B.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
PS: Would love to see you if we can make that happen.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Later in February, Bill invited me out to have pizza with him and Wendy, but
I couldn’t make it. Mac, my corgi, was desperately ill with pancreatitis, and I
was afraid to leave him, so we planned for another time. Shortly thereafter,
Bill invited me out to the “Pink Palace” for his birthday celebration of
“making music with some of my far-flung pals. We’ll have good food, too.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
That day, March 3, 2019, is one I’ll never forget – watching Bill play
“Summertime” while Elsa sang; standing beside him as he played while Julie,
Wendy, and Mimi Hart sang, and holding his hand when he stretched out on the bed
and took a break. Most of all, I remember his face and smile when I walked in
the door and the hug he gave me at that moment. Very few people I’ve known could
share an embrace with a powerful zap of love like Bill Thompson. His hugs always reminded me of the warmth I once felt from my happy days with Sam, my children's dad.<br />
<br />
After the birthday event and knowing that Bill was slipping, we began
texting back and forth, especially during the last week of his illness. I
had gone to NC to celebrate a remembrance of my parents at Appalachian State
University, and on Sunday, March 24th, I got a final text from Bill asking me
to come to him. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“Tanya, you best hurry…I’m pretty bad today, and it’ll only get worse. I
don’t want to miss seeing you. Please come.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
My response:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On my way home from NC.
Heading out now. Hang on if you can…and if not, take flight with my arms
wrapped around you, beloved Bill. You are with me every second now…you’ll be
with me every second for eternity…every time I see a bird…every time I hear
music, you’ll be there.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Bill: “Thanks love. Didn’t want to miss seeing you.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Me: “It’ll be late when I get home tonight, but I’ll be there tomorrow, I
promise.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Bill: “ Don’t rush love.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Headed home. We’ve got a date.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Bill: “Oh yay!”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And so, on Sunday afternoon (3/24/2019), I packed up and headed home
immediately, texted Wendy, and made plans to go out for a visit on the next
day, March 25<sup>th</sup>, in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Now, I need to back track just a bit. Two years earlier on that same
day (3/25/2016), my mom took flight. To say I miss her more and more as time
goes on is a bittersweet admission. I long to hear her voice; I still am
inclined to call her when I’m on the road; and I so wish she were here to enjoy
Samuel and Eliza as they begin to think about building the foundations of their
own families. And especially during Bill's illness, I sorely missed her
guidance and wisdom. I relied on what I "sensed" she was
sharing with me. After she passed, I asked her to come to me in my dreams, and
she did, in vivid, bizarre, unsettling ones that made me retract that request.
Seeing and hearing her in very awkward, surrealistic dream space then was way
too much for me, so I hadn’t asked her to come back until I was driving home
from North Carolina. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
My memories of that drive home from Boone through the WV mountains that
afternoon are vague. I know I talked to Bill at length in my thoughts, and I
talked to my mother, asking her to send me a dose of the strength and wisdom I
had so frequently observed in her as she went to be with friends in their final
moments. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall many of those who were
dying waited on her to be with them so they could take flight surrounded by her
peace and calming nature, and I know she considered those moments to be her
most special, cherished memories of her 70+ years as a nurse.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
When I arrived at the Pink Palace on Monday afternoon, Bill was outdoors
with Andy and Wendy, and I could see he was trying to walk back in the house without their assistance. Andy left when they
got him back in bed, and I moved over beside him to talk softly and hold his
hand. He drifted in and out of sleep / consciousness, for he was exhausted from
events of the morning and his “walk” outside. What was readily obvious was that
Bill was near death – cold feet, purple coloring underneath his toe and fingernails,
and a sporatic heartbeat -two short beats followed by a “thud” of a beat and
then several seconds until the next two short beats. I couldn’t find his pulse
in his wrist and was able to barely detect it in his neck. Wendy asked me if I
thought he was leaving us, and I told her I thought it was best to call Julie,
who came over immediately and was shocked at seeing his decline since the
morning when she was last with him.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The hospice nurse, Kim, also arrived and confirmed our feeling that Bill was
in his final hours. Her wisdom consoled and kept us in the moment; her
attentiveness to Bill’s comfort and her professional skill was of great
assistance.<br />
<br />
Kim left after a bit, and from then on, my recollections are vivid though
I’m not sure of the time element involved in the remainder of my stay. Wendy
called Bill’s family to tell them to come, and shortly thereafter Laura and
Bill Dauber arrived. Everyone who was there focused on Bill, for his breathing
became more sporadic with extended pauses between inhales.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
For me, the next few minutes were pretty much out of body. I held Bill’s
hand, and he grasped me firmly. (I can see his hand in mind as clearly as if I
had a photo of it.) Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared out beyond the bed
into the next room. (Julie was at the foot of the bed with her phone, Wendy was
in the kitchen, and Laura and Bill were on the sofa on the other side of the
bed from where I was seated.) Bill seemed a bit perplexed as he looked into the
other room, and he asked if Laura was there. And then he asked her, “Is that
Gigi?” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
When Bill questioned Laura about Gigi a second time, I turned and looked
past Julie. I damn near cried out loud, for what I saw was my mother standing
just inside the room beyond his bed – an “as-real-as-they –get” vision of my
mom – in her nurse’s uniform, white hose, clunky white shoes she always wore to
work, and with her cap on (which she never wore when she was in her office on
campus). As Bill was staring intently in her direction, she opened her arms and
motioned for him to come with her. And in that split second, I watched her
drift, maybe float, through the door to the porch and disappear. Mom was
healthy-looking, radiant in her uniform and surrounded by a pale shimmering,
peach-colored aura that highlighted her smile and open arms. As quickly as I
realized what I was seeing, she disappeared out the door. I couldn’t begin to
verbalize what I had just witnessed. I just remember feeling great joy at her presence;
I sensed a mili-second exhilaration similar to that which I remember when my
children left my body at birth….that’s the best I can describe what I saw and
felt.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Did Bill see Petie? Was he seeing her when he questioned if Gigi was there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll never know. For me, her apparition was
real. I just know what I “saw.” Mom had come and was there in spirit, light,
love –whatever or however one would describe such a seeing / vision. Instantly,
I knew it was time for me to take leave, that Bill was awaiting his family and
his leap into spirit before long. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I walked to the car, and wept – sweet tears of awe, of sadness, of
surrender, of gratitude, of every emotion I can begin to fathom, yet I was
comforted, for I had been in the presence of spirit unlike only one or two
other times in my life.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I don’t remember driving out the driveway or turning left onto Dalzell Road.
The next thing I do recall is turning left out a ways onto Stanleyville Road.
There was a squirrel in the middle of the turn, so I stopped and watched it
scurry away. Apparently I had inserted a CD at some point, and when I became
aware of the music, Rhiannon Giddons was singing – hauntingly, powerfully….<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“….you can take my body,
you can take my bones. You can take my blood, but not my soul…” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Cancer might have taken Bill’s body, but never his soul.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And so, I headed home, accompanied by Rhiannon’s music and my random
thoughts. At the bottom of the hill along Goss Fork, a great blue heron flew
from the creek on the right and continued directly in front of me to the
intersection below Sherm's and Caroline’s old house where I needed to turn right.
Surprisingly, it seemed to be guiding me, as I was very much in another world
myself. The bird didn’t ascend above the trees, but rather stayed about 15 feet
above my car all the way out to the turn in the road. It followed every curve
along the way and only ascended once I turned to go out State Route 26. ( I
have a special connection with herons, for when I found out I was unexpectedly
pregnant with Eliza, one came to me to let me know there was a little girl
waiting to come through my body. I had been distraught with the idea of a
pregnancy at 40 years old. The heron set me straight into acceptance and joy.)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Likewise, the following day, as I headed out the driveway, a red-tail hawk
lit <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from its perch on the lines out the
way and flew, just as the heron had, just above the car to the end of the
driveway. It was so close that I feared I would hit it if I didn’t slow down
even more.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I can’t help but think those two birds were sent by Bill of the Birds as a sign he was
there, guiding me along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since
that time, more than just once or twice, I’ve sensed him around the farm and in
North Carolina at my grandmother’s house. Like the butterfly that encircled Samuel, Eliza, Harrison, and me the afternoon of Mom's memorial service (in the middle of March), I know those birds were BT3's assurance to me that he was flying freely and guiding all of us along the way.<br />
<br />
I think of Bill daily, and I worry 80% less and try to love 80% more, as per his advice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-75245528424459979222020-01-07T08:29:00.001-05:002020-03-25T12:06:59.096-05:00March 25I'm sitting in my upstairs workroom, surrounded by the stacks of handmade paper that will eventually work their way into projects I house in my mind, books that I just can't part with, and treasures (maybe junk, really) that are of value only to me. A red-shouldered hawk just flew into the tree across the driveway. As I stare at it, it stares at Loonis the cat, who stares back at the hawk, and I can't help but wonder if those two are thinking each could be a hefty meal for the other if they were hungry enough to put up the fight. The hawk looks as if it would have the agility and speed of youth; Loonis definitely possesses the wisdom of years and experience. My view from inside's just fine for me.<br />
<br />
Today's an interesting day. I haven't been away from the farm other than to take my walks out the ridge for going on ten days now. Covid-19 has the world on lockdown. Life right now is a reality we've only experienced through sci-fi novels and films based in contagion and apocalypse. Each day evolves into a crazy dance whose steps weave in and out of the need to know and the desire NOT to know, whose rhythm can become more erratic and out of control unless we decide to waltz to the song of the birds. Isolated here at the farm, however, I feel just fine - safe with the corgis, connected with friends via technology modalities, and embraced by the spring flowers that wave to me in the breeze. This moment in time will be one we all remember, hopefully with greater understanding of ourselves, the world, and the precious connections that nurture our souls in moments of confusion and perhaps, fear.<br />
<br />
March 25 will be a day of reflection for me as long as I live. Three years ago today, my mom - our beloved Petie - leapt into the world of spirit in the way she perfectly designed. Words cannot begin to describe the depth of my love for her, the good fortune I feel for having her as my mom, and yes, the longing I feel to hear her voice on the end of the phone or listen to her high-pitched laughter. I still hear her in my mind, especially during these crazy days, and I seek her wisdom many times daily as we navigate this consuming pandemic. She never fails me, and the nostalgia I feel for her today is greatly overshadowed by gratitude as large as the Universe for the love she shared with Daddy, Myra, Samuel, Eliza, Laury, and me, as well as so many, many others.<br />
<br />
From my blog, shortly after Petie left the planet:<br />
<a href="http://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2017/05/petie.html">http://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2017/05/petie.html</a>)<br />
<br />
And a year ago, one the second celebration of Petie's passage, another beloved friend joined her in the spirit world. Bill Thompson, III, left his body to greater freedom in light. I think of Bill every day, and I am inspired by the life he led in his too-short 56 years. A creative soul whose light shines in song, in every bird I see or hear, in the echoes of the silo down by the barn, and in his legacy at <u>Bird Watchers Digest</u>, BT3 will be with us forever. Most obviously, however, he lives with loving vibrance in his beautiful, intelligent, creative kids, Phoebe and Liam.<br />
<br />
From my blog, shortly after Bill's passage. Until today, I've only shared it with Julie and a couple of others. <br />
<a href="https://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2020/03/to-know-him-was-to-love-him-said.html">https://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2020/03/to-know-him-was-to-love-him-said.html</a><br />
<br />
I'm now watching a somewhat cocky male cardinal singing at top volume to his lady who just flew to the feeder. While he channels Pavorotti from the tree, I think I'll go pick up my binoculars and head outside to get a closer listen....<br />
<br />
March 25, 2020.......Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-37487356629054167752020-01-06T13:17:00.001-05:002020-01-20T16:33:18.081-05:00IT'S BEEN A WHILE..........in fact, it's been over a year since I paid attention to my blog. Pitiful. No excuses. I just haven't sat down to write. I plan to pay more attention to writing, simply because I enjoy having a chronicle of life here at Farmlandia.<br />
<br />
We'll see how I stick to my intention.No judgment and no expectations.<br />
<br />
2019 sped by like a streak of lightning.....passages and births, beauty and wrath in nature, friendships - new and old, those renewed and others eternally sustained, winter chill and summer heat, a family engagement to celebrate, trips and discoveries, great joy and doses of grief...... 2019, 365 days of deeper gratitude for life, regardless of joy or sorrow.<br />
<br />
On the joyful side of the coin (and in no certain order):<br />
~Samuel's engagement to Caitlin Axland, a wonderful woman whom he met by virtue of a book both were reading on the subway. We couldn't be happier for the two of them. Wedding plans are setfor September 26, 2020 in Chicago - a non-traditional ceremony witnessed by their two best friends, followed by a celebration and fiesta later in the day.<br />
~A trip to Washington, DC, to hear Dr. Jane Goodall speak. I'm not a bucket list sort of person, but if I were, being in her presence would be toward the top of the list. My heroine. I wish my life were defined by the good work for the planet like she has accomplished. I remember wanting a chimpanzee, a REAL chimpanzee, as a child. I got a stuffed animal one instead, but Dr. Goodall got to work with real chimpanzees, and I've always been (positively) envious.<br />
~A trip to New Mexico and visit with Caroline Koons and Joseph Henderson. I've always wanted to live in New Mexico, and visiting there after 15+ years of absence reminded me of why I love the people and land there as much as the mountains and folks of the North Carolina mountains. If there's fact to the notion of past lives, I know I was born and lived to a ripe old age in the Southwest.<br />
~A visit in North Carolina with Peg Martin, a friend from birth. Our adventures over the years are well-known in the annals of our families' histories, and it was wonderful to retrace the footsteps of our youth, this time, without having to call someone to bail us out, however.<br />
~Several weeks in the summer in Boone, defined by doing a little work on my parents' house, as well as attending concerts and presentations of the Appalachian Summer program with Terri Langdon: Ben Folds with the Winston-Salem symphony, The Punch Brothers, Lily Tomlin, the TESLA string quartet, and more. The arts vibrate in Boone! I'm proud of that.<br />
~Another visit in Boone by Miriam and Jr. Murrell which included hiking in and around Blowing Rock, Linville Falls, and Pigeon Roost. <br />
~An Easter trip to Cincinnati to visit Eliza, Alex (her partner), and Dominic (Alex's son). Eliza and Alex had recently moved into a new house, and I got to help Eliza get some plants started. Her tomatoes produced much more successfully than my own, so I'm convinced a part of her mom's earthy personality has had a bit of influence on her Scorpio daughter. And as an aside, Alex is an easy fit in the Shook-Wilder clan. Both Eliza and Alex work at KAO in Cincinnati. <br />
~Daily time spent with my sister, Myra, on the phone. She calls at the same time she and Mom used to talk in the evenings. Even if the conversation is little more than a run-down of the day's events, I look forward to hearing her voice every day. <br />
~Bobbi's visit to the farm in July. Oh my, what a gift!. The two of us had extended time together for the first time in years, and laughter reached a 10+ on the Richter Scale. Since her visit, the Marco Polo (app) connection keeps us in touch daily. Bobbi's the first farm child....we've been connected for almost 40 years now.<br />
~The blessing of friends, near and far.....Diane Bosley and Norm Sartorius, Terri Greene Langdon, Richard Randall, Pam Plaskett, my mah jong buddies, my garden club friends, and all those whose lives enrich mine. Friendship's nothing to be overlooked in terms of one's overall well-being, and the love of many sustain me from every direction. I'm grateful for my friends.<br />
~The two beings with which I spend every day - my beloved Mac and MerryBelle. Though I'm not too happy with Mac's smell today (he rolled in fresh deer poop), I have no idea what I'd do without their presence in my life. With unconditional love and understanding beyond what I can fathom, far-surpassing what many humans understand. their corgi smiles frequently brighten my day more than anything else.<br />
~Farm kids: Bobbi, LoriBeth Huck Auldridge and family, Brett Potash and family, Dana Kinzy and family, Meera Chary and family, Tom Jackson and Chintu Bastian, Harrison Fahrer, Renato Jaramillo, Yuki Sento, Bob Ritchie, and all those who've spent time here as a part of the farm family bring me joy every day.<br />
<br />
And on the flip side of the coin, 2019 landed some poignant doses of sorrow:<br />
~Lera Britt Randall's passage - My second mother, my mentor, my mother in my own mother's absence, my friend, left the planet this year. For all but about 5 years of my life, Aunt Lera was always just a call across the driveway or a phone call from wherever away. After my own mother's passage, Aunt Lera's leap into spirit leaves a huge void for Samuel, Eliza, and me.<br />
~Bill Thompson, III, - a friend I've known since I moved to Marietta, brother to one of my first students here, friend since his college days, editor of Bird Watcher's Digest, and over all great musician - succumbed to pancreatic cancer on the anniversary of my Mom's death. Two years to the day after Mom died. I'm still stunned when I see photos of a healthy Bill, finding it hard to believe he's left this earthly plane. I'll write more about Bill later. Even on this beautiful sunny winter day 10 months after his departure, I remain in disbelief at his death.<br />
~The dire situation of the Earth brings me great concern. Climate change, destruction of habitat, the huge decline in the number of birds on the planet, the extinction of species, etc. can stop me in my tracks. Here at the farm, I notice a decline in the number and species of birds from one year to the next. BUT, I believe there's hope for a reversal in what seems an overwhelming task. I refuse to give in to the pessimists. Ignorance and complacency on this issue will not prevail!!<br />
~The current situation of the United States under the leadership of an authoritarian / dictatorial / ignorant narcissist. I'm not going there in this post, but it's no surprise that I hope the current leadership in DC is not longer in place after November, 2020.<br />
<br />
OK.....that's it for now. I'm sure there'll be revisions in this post over time, but I want to get something posted to mark another item off my "I"m going to do this" list.<br />
<br />
Happy 2020 to all from Farmlandia!<br />
<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-92048582985160292902018-11-29T14:26:00.001-05:002018-11-29T14:26:16.517-05:00ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMASBoy, I am a slacker blogger; my last post was in February, 2018. I like to write; I just don't get around to taking the time to do so. I get consumed by things that occupy my time and mind. Fortunately, I'm rarely bored, and that's a good thing.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I've been thinking about the holidays and my excitement to see my kids and sister, my family, and friends in both NC and OH. In the process, I've also been compiling a list of what I want for Christmas. <br />
<br />
So, cue the music:<br />
<br />
All I want for Christmas is to be with these folks around the Christmas tree, the fireplace, and the dining room table in my parents' house in North Carolina.....<br />
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So many of those with whom we used to share those spaces are no longer with us, and we miss Mom and Daddy, Uncle Frank, Aunt Lib and Uncle Robert, as well as the Randall-Schadel family who will be in OH this Christmas. Regardless, we continue the extended family tradition: we eat well, laugh a lot, share stories, and revel in the love we've shared for over 60 years now.</div>
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And I want to spend time with these two - the loves of my life. If I've accomplished anything of note in my days upon the planet, it would have to be concretizing the unwavering bond between Samuel and Eliza. They honor and respect each other and always have each other's back. My greatest accomplishments, my greatest gifts.</div>
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And I'll be awfully happy to be with my sister during the holidays. </div>
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We are greatly different in many ways, but our bond parallels that of my children's, and I dont' know what I'd do without her.</div>
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Otherwise, I'd like some slippers since my 30-year old ones now have a hole I can stick my entire foot through, and I'd like a head flashlight - one of those things I can strap on my head when I need both hands and a flashlight at the same time. For me, that's about it.</div>
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Hopefully, Santa's helpers are within earshot.</div>
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Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-9315337956272614162018-02-25T13:15:00.001-05:002018-02-25T13:26:50.299-05:00THE WEEK IN REVIEW: 2/18 - 2-24 / 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I sat at the table this morning with a cup of coffee in hand, I found myself drifting back to a question a friend who was over for dinner last night asked me: quite simply, she inquired as to how my week had been. <br />
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I'm a lucky woman, for I realize the third week of February, 2018, provided me with loads of joy and sweet memories. <br />
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-Last Sunday, I spent the afternoon with Miriam and Jr. Murrell at their house outside of Malta, OH. Miriam cooked a wonderful meal, accompanied by Jr.'s famous biscottis for dessert, and we sat around and talked about everything from life in our mid-sixties to political matters. Three aging yet still very active "back-to-the-earthers"chewing the fat, planning gardens, playing with cats, and sharing a meal. Doesn't get much better.<br />
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-No one likes dental work, and I dreaded Wednesday something awful. At 7:45 AM, I arrived in Parkersburg on a visit to the endodontist that would be a lengthy stay, as I had not just one, but TWO root canals done over a period of five hours. Thankfully, Dr. Scott Seago and his assistant at Parkersburg Endodonics succeeded in putting me at ease. That's quite a feat, and I enjoyed their humming along to the Pandora station over the unnerving sound of the drills. Not a bad experience at all, especially for one with a low level of dentalphobia.<br />
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-On Thursday, I got to spend the afternoon with Sophie Veladota Justice, an amazing high school freshman who's as wise as any young woman I know at that age. We made a failed attempt at dying my hair purple. Alas, I understand platinum hair like mine can be difficult when it comes to taking color, but I do have a couple of nice lightly colored purple streaks in it to show for our efforts. And, I'm not beyond thinking that I might just try again. It was FUN to do some girly play despite the fact I'm not looking like a punk-esque grandmother at this point. Later that evening, Sophie's mom, Christy, and I had time together at dinner (while Sophie endured an ACT workshop in math and science) to catch up. Christy and Sophie, farm family from way back, know the workings of TSW and the farm and fit right in.<br />
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-All week I have felt very connected to the movement begun by the students of Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School following the horrific event they experienced at their school. Every school shooting leaves me stunned, breathless, greatly (!) saddened. These incidents hit very close to home with me since I've been in the classroom for close to 40 years of my life. I identify with teachers who feel helpless, who, along with their students, are little more than sitting ducks when someone succumbs to insanity and annihilation. I identify with students, who should not EVER have to endure such slaughter, and I identify with parents, whose children leave for school every day with no thought that their life might be ended or their world shattered by a school shooting. Those who read my Facebook page know that I can't sit quiet on this any more. HOWEVER, the movement sparked by the wise and fearless students who have mobilized our nation energizes me to act, to disseminate information, and to stand with teachers and students unlike ever before. I have always said young people have it together MUCH MORE than given credit ; adults are quick to assume and criticize without really knowing young adults and what matters to them. I stand with students, and I stand with teachers who are calling out the ignorance of the public on matters that make it impossible for them to live a life that meets the quality of education and time they invest in students. Teachers need to get paid for the work they do; they need support from state and local school systems; they need to be recognized for heroic efforts in terms of shielding students and giving their lives for student protection. More on all this later......it's highly emotional for me.<br />
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-A special wedding took place in Vietnam on Wednesday that I have celebrated all week. My former student Michael Sieberg married Tran Xuan Thao Nyugen (aka Nyugen) in Hue, Vietnam. Their happiness reached around the world, that's for sure, and as I participated from a distance via photos on Facebook, I could hardly contain my happiness. (I married them in Marietta just before Christmas for the official American license.) In their honor, I have had flowers all over the house, pulled out all my Buddhas, and toasted to them via photos. My heart pumped champagne bubbles of joy for them all week.<br />
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-And under another definition of celebration, I have ventured back to Boone, NC, in my heart, along with many of my classmates and friends as we have said goodbye to our high school principal, Dr. N. A. Miller. When all the high schools in our county consolidated into Watauga County High School, Dr. Miller became our first principal. My class, the Class of 1970, was the second class to complete all four years in the school. Dr. Miller, a soft-spoken, caring, kind man earned the respect of a student body who knew him to be fair, receptive, and invested in both students and teachers. Under his guidance, the school immediately grew in reputation as one of the model high schools in the state with a deserved reputation for both academics and career education. He set the bar very high for both his staff and their students. When I first entered the teaching profession, I was under the impression that all administrators would be like Dr. Miller, a false expectation across the board. In 40 years in the classroom, not one administrator, with the exception of Neena Davis, a dean at the local community college for a very brief tenure, reached the level of admiration and respect all of us held for Dr. Miller. He was also my friend Susann's father, so my friends and I knew him as a dad, a swim teacher, and a friend. Rest in power, Dr. Miller - a great inspiration to many, many people. Your legacy lives on in your students and in the students of your students.<br />
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Here's to life. Here's to celebration. Here's to love. Here's to taking a stand. Here's to hair that resisted. All a great part of this past week.<br />
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<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-54892815366706391862018-01-21T12:00:00.001-05:002018-01-21T12:44:17.044-05:00MOVING FORWARD - ON THE MARCH AGAIN - THIS TIME IN COLUMBUS, OHSomething tells me that every year when the anniversary of the first Women's March in Washington comes around, I'm going to be taking to the streets. Yesterday across the United States and in cities abroad, there were 650+ marches - from major gatherings in large cities to smaller ones in towns like Athens (OH) and Newark (OH). Two of my marching buddies from our trip to DC, Miriam Murrell and Jacky Miner, and I hit the road and headed to Columbus to participate with others from around the state in the 2018 march.<br />
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Since our trip to DC last year, we've been in close contact and have organized a small group in Marietta we call MOVing Forward. We assisted Appalachian Ohio Indivisible with the Connectivity Summit held in Marietta in July, and we've represented our group at a meeting with Representative Bill Johnson's aide at Johnson's office in Marietta, as well as participated in a rally outside his office earlier in the year. Some members represented our group at the Athens March yesterday, and though we are small, we are united in spirit. I believe all of us would concur that our involvement in the marches and MOVing Forward has created an unbreakable bond of friendship and respect, as well as moments of unadulterated fun. And, I do believe that we are a part of a powerful movement that will make its presence greatly felt in the upcoming mid-term elections.<br />
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We picked up Miriam at her house outside of Malta, OH, and from there, she navigated us along the back roads toward Columbus. What a spectacular day for a drive on many roads that were new to me! The beauty of the virgin snow on pasture after pasture was breathtaking. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(photo credit to Jacky Miner who was riding shotgun)</span></div>
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Much, much smaller than other marches across the country, the Columbus rally was nonetheless powerful and impressive. All of us remarked at how glad we were to see young women taking a lead in voter registration and redistricting campaigns, as well as campaigning for progressive candidates. Families, single moms, senior citizens, people of all ethnicities and orientations gathered to state their concerns and hopes for our country in a very civil, respectful march and rally. <br />
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I remember my mom's support for the DC March last year, and this year, she continued to support our family marchers from the world of spirit: I proudly wore her Avon owl necklace from the 70"s under the many layers of clothes I had on. Eliza went to the march in Cincinnati, Samuel watched in Chicago, and Myra and friends participated in Richmond. Colleagues and former students marched in places around the country, and others will be marching today. <br />
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I want to make one point clear: It's undeniable that people in our country are angry with the myriad comments and events that have streamed out of Washington this year. That's a fact. HOWEVER, the greater truth is that those who march LOVE our country and are genuinely and deeply concerned / worried over the trajectory in which we find ourselves plummeting. Attempts to denigrate or label those who march reflect a disrespect and misunderstanding of sincere conviction. <br />
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It's a fact: THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE.Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-15646193535179827192017-05-31T11:33:00.000-05:002017-05-31T11:33:14.198-05:00THOUGHTS AFTER A LOT OF RECENT PASSAGESAs one who is hard-headed, spirited when it comes to tackling obstacles, and willing to grapple until there's no more grappling to be done, I've learned a lot about surrender and acceptance when faced with the loss of a family member, friend, pet, and even a favorite plant or tree. There's no use to do do less than accept and continue, as death is a non-negotiable circumstance. Surrender is freeing; acceptance soothes the sorrowful heart.<br />
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The last six months have been punctuated with many passages - 16 mothers of friends have transitioned into the world of spirit, as well as my own mother. I am caught breathless at times when the enormity of these losses consumes my soul, and I am still trying to come to grips with the new reality of seeing my and hearing my mother only in my dreams. Thankfully, she's appeared a couple of times - beautiful and happy though the dreams themselves have been rather bizarre - one rather humorous and the other filled with inverted images throughout; for example, a dresser that was suspended upside down from the ceiling in my grandmother's house<br />
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I've learned a lot about the acceptance of death from life here on the farm. The cycling of the seasons serves as a constant reminder of life->death->rebirth. There's great joy in watching my flowers emerge after a cold, hard winter. Somehow they muster the strength to return year after year and retain full beauty despite the unpredictability of the weather. When they have withered after producing glorious blooms, I hate to see them leave; I miss them and eagerly anticipate their return the next growing season. <br />
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Likewise, in the nearly 40 years I've lived here, I've buried many a pet....Tornado, Gunner, Annie, Molly, dozens of cats, chickens and ducks, guinea pigs, hamsters, lizards, and several fish. Some of my most vivid memories involve listening to Samuel and Eliza say a sweet, tender good-bye to their beloved animals after we had gone through the ritual of digging their graves together. Just as watching Mama Cat give birth was a monumental occasion for us all, so was the burial of each furry friend. I would agree with psychologists that having children celebrate the beginning through the end with their pets offers an invaluable experience and explanation about the life cycle which assists their understanding when the loss inevitably involves a person they love.<br />
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Another thing I've noticed during this incredible time of transition centers around the way one grieves. The only constant I observe is that each individual defines his/her own grieving process, and that process is different with each passage involved. When my father died, I was greatly consoled by having pictures of him all around me. I felt close to him that way; I could see him in a healthy body and remember him as agile rather than fragile, as active rather than ravaged by Parkinson's Disease. I can still see him in photos and sense his sweet presence.<br />
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With Mom's passage, I anticipated photos of her all throughout the house would equally console me; however, that has not been the case. I long for her sorely when I see the photos. I can't get a grasp of the reality of her being gone. I want to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I'm still very raw. I miss her so! Therefore, I have had to put most photos of her in storage for now. I have the last one taken of her and me on my desk, but other than that one, I'll wait a while before I put out more. <br />
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As much as I don't like the catchphrase "the new normal," I do realize I am attempting to find a way to define my mom's presence in a new way in my life. I hear her voice; I talk to her in my mind; I tell myself what I know she would tell me; and I beseech her to come to me in my dreams. <br />
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Norm Sartorius read the following poem at Diane's mother's funeral, and the words and simple thoughts have brought me great consolation. I hear Petie's voice as I read the lines, and they help me along the way each day.<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Death is Nothing at All<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">by Henry Scott Holland<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Death is nothing at all…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have only slipped away in the next room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am I, and you are you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever we were to each other that we are still.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Call me by my old familiar name,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speak to me in the easy way you always used.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Put no difference into your tone<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Laugh as we always laughed<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At all the little jokes we enjoyed together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Play, Smile, think of me, pray for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let it be spoken without effort,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without the ghost of a shadow on it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life means all that it ever was;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is absolutely unbroken<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>continuity….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why should I be out of your mind because I am out of sight?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am waiting for you for an interval,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somewhere very near, just around the corner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All is well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-91849904167532466062017-05-07T10:43:00.001-05:002017-05-07T10:43:59.154-05:00PETIE<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Shortly before 3:30 AM on the morning of March 25th, I heard my cell phone ring in a room on the other side of the house. I didn't make it to answer, but the immediate ringing on the house phone brought the realization that I was about to get news. The minute I heard my sister's voice on the other end, my intuitions were confirmed: "Mom just passed away" are the only words I remember from our tearful conversation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">In retrospect, I can now see the signs that pointed to Mom's decline - shortness of breath on occasion, minor but obvious memory issues, the lack of desire to do things that she enjoyed, a diminished appetite, lack of stamina, sadness that she could no longer do for others, her talk of dreams about her father and deceased siblings, her nostalgia and longing for my father (especially as the anniversary of his death & their wedding anniversary - on the same day, March 16th-approached), her insistence for Myra and me to go with her to see a lawyer with her about her will and estate matters, and her inability to deal with anything that interrupted an easy day / her normal schedule. Yet still, for a 98-year old woman, she seemed to be faring OK.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Back in late February, Mom had told me a couple times on the phone that she just didn't feel quite right. Then, one night, I got a call from my cousin Bill, who was responding to an EMT call from Mom's Lifeline. She had fallen getting out of bed, actually slipped off the side of the bed as she was trying to get her slippers on to go to the bathroom. Bill reassured me Mom was OK, but he felt something wasn't quite right about her. He stayed with her for two nights until I could get home. The next day, I headed to Boone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">When I arrived, Mom insisted that she was "just fine," but I could tell she looked a little weak and puny. So, I moved into the same mode she would have done with others: I fixed her three healthy meals a day, insisted she drink an abundance of water (which she swore she did, but I never saw her), massaged her, assisted with her bath, walked up and down the hall with her for exercise, and got her outside in the spring air - which was abnormally warm for Boone at the time. Over the course of a few days, I began to see change for the better, and the following week, I brought her to OH to spend time with me while Myra and I made arrangements for her care once she returned. (She stayed with for almost three weeks, insisting at the end of week 2 that she was ready to go home. "I've had a good time here, Tanya, but there's no place like home.")</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">That care, an initial thought that she would enter Brian Estates in Boone, was NOT to her liking. Though she had insisted all her life that when the time came, she would fully cooperate with whatever needed to be done for her care, she grew sad, very sad, and depressed about the thought of "breaking up her home, " as she described the impending move. To make a long story short, Myra and I reworked the plans away from Brian Estates to include in-home care via Hospice in NC so Mom wouldn't have to leave 145 Russell Drive. That possibility resonated a bit better with her, but she was not entirely content with it either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">While in OH, Mom seemed pretty good though I noticed confusion on occasion and a greater indication of short-term memory issues. Still, we drove around in the country, went out to eat with folks she knew here, sat on the back porch, and took a day to go to Amish country. She was fascinated with the Amish way of life and asked me all sorts of questions as we watched men at the stock auction in Kittering, toured Lehmann's Hardware, and passed women and men in their rickety black buggies. That day, Mom seemed as young as a 70-year old: we laughed, stopped to watch men working oxen in the fields, and talked all the way there and back home. It's a day I'll never forget - ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Two days later, I took her back to NC and stayed another week in Boone with her until Myra could get home for a week prior to taking Mom to Richmond for a visit there. One day while we were both there, Mom wanted to help with clean up from lunch. She started to put up dishes from the dishwasher but had to cut it short because "I just don't have the energy to do it, Tanya." Her breath was short, she was experiencing waves of nausea, and she mentioned being a bit dizzy. My concern increased as I knew her heart was weakening.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I returned home the Sunday after Myra arrived with the thought that I might not see Mom again. As much as I tried to dismiss the thought from my mind, it lingered and surfaced as I drove home to the point where I almost turned around and went back home. During their week in Boone, Myra and Mom had several appointments, one of which was to see Mom's primary care physician. Dr. Smith checked Mom thoroughly and found her to be in good health - a good blood pressure reading, strong heart beat, etc. Mom was vibrant when I spoke with her that evening telling me, "I got a very good report from the doctor today." At that point, she seemed reassured, for I know now that she was very aware of what was happening in her body. Still, Myra confirmed she also noticed changes in Mom's endurance and breathing, and in particular, Mom's appetite was significantly diminished with tummy upset becoming more and more of a factor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">On the following Saturday, Myra and Mom prepared to take off to Richmond, but Myra called to tell me they might delay a day or so because Mom was just "out of kilter." But, they went out to lunch, got Mom's meds, had a visit with a friend from Mom's church, and talked to Samuel, Eliza, and me on the phone. Bentley, Myra's dog, hung close to Mom all day, and she let him lick the crumbs off her shirt after dinner - something she really enjoyed watching him do. (Mom loved our dogs and Richard's dog, Baxter, is the only animal I've ever known to lick Mom's face.) She sent Myra out to get Japanese food for dinner, but when Myra returned Mom declined to eat it; her tummy wasn't feeling good. However, she stayed up to watch TV until Myra insisted on going to bed, and when Myra left her in her room, Mom was reading her daily devotional and Bible. That was about 11:15 PM or so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">According to Myra, Mom called her in to her room about 2:30 and said she couldn't breathe. Myra knew she was in distress and pushed the Lifeline alert. The EMTs were on the way in no time flat. Mom remained alert until the emergency squad arrived, but shortly thereafter, she lost consciousness and drifted away, peacefully and painlessly, with Myra holding her and sweet Bentley curled up at her head. Myra said it was as if the nurse in Mom knew what was happening and she held on until Myra wasn't alone. Once the squad arrived, the woman of deep faith surrendered to the process and took flight. All of us - Samuel, Eliza, Myra, and I - are incredibly grateful for Mom's peaceful passage. It is as if she wrote the script and followed it gracefully into the realm of light.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">At this point, I can't write about much more than the events, other than to say that I've made progress in processing my grief. I'll return to my blog before long when I'm ready to put the emotion in words, if I can. Most of all, I feel like the luckiest person in the world to have had the parents I had, to have had such special time all my life with my mom, to have watched her with Samuel and Eliza, and to have spent 5 of her last 6 weeks with her. That gratitude sustains me as waves of the most powerful grief overwhelms me still.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRzJ_WjJPM071D7uiGJiyCZPRdXUFU2CRk94944PcJ7TipLWgXcfFK8cpjeGs9-ca3iA32ohPuSxdr4xSr3d2zNkirOh7DF71Jos9XlL7Ho-yc1IMYhXk6-wL-DgjqU4A-WDu/s1600/Mom+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRzJ_WjJPM071D7uiGJiyCZPRdXUFU2CRk94944PcJ7TipLWgXcfFK8cpjeGs9-ca3iA32ohPuSxdr4xSr3d2zNkirOh7DF71Jos9XlL7Ho-yc1IMYhXk6-wL-DgjqU4A-WDu/s320/Mom+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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(taken the first week Mom was with me in March)</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span>Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-58264274366342593322017-01-17T16:23:00.001-05:002017-01-18T09:30:56.883-05:00#WHYIMARCH - FARM MOM GOES TO WASHINGTONAs the Women's March approaches this weekend in Washington, DC, I find myself at the helm of a group of 55 women and men from Marietta and the surrounding area who will join hundreds of thousands of people in solidarity on behalf of rights - women's rights, human rights, everyone's rights. It just so happens that the Women's March was purposely planned by a group of young women to follow the day after the president-elect's inauguration. The president-elect, in his actions, words, and in intended appointees and policies, embodies the reasons we march: to make a bold, clear statement that inclusion of all people in our country and equal rights are issues that must be acknowledged and protected. I think most folks would agree that moving forward, we cannot be assured of support, understanding, or advocacy for those causes from those who move into leadership positions on Friday, January 20th.<br />
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I don't take the reasons for going lightly, and I'm certainly not excited about being in a crowd which, by all estimates, will surpass the number of people in Washington, DC, for the inauguration ceremonies. Yet, I haven't been so moved to be a part of a movement since the late 60"s. At that time, the Women's Rights movement was emerging from the social birth canal of our country, citizens still fought for basic civil rights, and the US was involved in a horrendous war in Viet Nam. Good people were fighting and dying (on both sides), and the country's leadership disavowed responsibility. Furthermore, the president broke the law, resulting in the Watergate scandal. <br />
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Perhaps the sting of those events and times has diminished over the decades, but the memory of the then and the current state of our country remain to worry me. Very, very sadly, the future of the very issues we stood for and worked for back in the day are under attack yet again, and our soon-to-be administration scares the living daylights out of me, offends me on so, so many levels, and forces me to "walk my talk." As a human rights activist, as a woman and mother, as one who believes in equality and non-discrimination, I would be a model of hypocrisy if I didn't do my part as an agent of opposition and change. And, I understand that I, Tanya Shook Wilder, can do very little personally to make a difference; however, the combined voices of many singular choir members can, indeed, produce a powerful song with a far-reaching refrain and call to justice.<br />
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So, I join hundreds of thousands across our country on January 21, 2017, who are genuinely committed to lifting our voices in a chorus that cannot be un-heard by those who take over the government on the previous day.<br />
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People on my bus range in age from teenagers to women in their 70's. We have lawyers, teachers, artists, massage therapists, mothers with their daughters, a minister, and others who represent a diverse cross-section of our country. We go prepared for a long, grueling day of standing on our feet for 10 hours, of being in a huge crowd, of being limited in terms of food and water, of infinite weather possibilities. Yet we go, and we carry the message of many people who cannot attend. We'll wear messages from the folks back home as we rely on them for prayers of protection and peace. <br />
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I march with the blessing of my 98-year old mother, who would be there herself if age and frailty didn't work against her. She encourages my sister and me to go and include her voice in ours. With her blessing and encouragement, I march for my children. I march for men and women who feel marginalized because of their heritage, their beliefs, and cultures. I march for men and women who need access to health care and reproductive options. I march for my friends and colleagues in the LBGTQ community. I march on behalf of the Earth, on behalf of everyone's right to clean air, water, and land. I march on behalf of immigrants who are forced to abandon their homeland. I march on behalf of those who cannot care for themselves - children, elderly people, those who are chronically ill- and those who walk grace our world in the animal and plant kingdoms. I march on behalf of those who lost their lives as a result of violence. I march on behalf of the rights stated within the Constitution of the United States and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. <br />
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I march because at this juncture in our history and in my life, complacency is NOT an option. Too many human rights and principles are at stake. I march with sincere conviction and love for all people and for my country. I do not take what I march for lightly, under any circumstances.<br />
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I hope that in differences of thought and belief people can find common ground. I hope leaders and representatives across our country will stop and reflect. <br />
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I hope even those who are not in agreement with what I offer here can at least respect my thoughts and conviction.<br />
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Peace and love....to all.<br />
Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-41958174959192968392017-01-08T12:34:00.002-05:002017-01-08T12:59:30.274-05:00IT'S A NEW YEARMac, Merrybelle, and I rolled back into the farm after a 2 1/2 week visit in Boone over the holidays. Samuel, Eliza, Mom, Myra and I had over a week to enjoy together, and the greatest gift of the season was to have family time with them. After Myra left to return home, the kids and I took a couple of days to ourselves - the longest stretch we've had together in a while - to enjoy a lunch at Black Cat, coffee at Expresso News, and meals around the table with Mom. On the classic scale of 1-10, those moments soared way past 10+++!! The absolute very, very best in every way.<br />
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I'm forever grateful my kids love each other like they do. Samuel and Eliza have each other's back-- no squabbling or sibling rivalry between those two. I'm proud of that bond. They've gone through a lot together, and I think the difficult moments they endured over the years as a result of their parents' divorce have ultimately cemented their love and admiration for each other in indestructible ways. Now, as adults and professionals in their respective fields, they grow deeper in respect and pride of each other's achievements, relationships, and paths. What more could a mom ask for?!<br />
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For 98 years old, Mom's holding her own quite well. She's not going to run a mile in record time, and moments of spaciness result in a bit of confusion for her from time to time. Nevertheless, her sharp wit and sense of humor remain intact. Her house served as command central for folks who came to visit and spend time with her. Aunt Lera and Richard joined us for Christmas dinner, a tradition (with the exception of maybe 3 or 4 years) that has been in place for close to 60 years. <br />
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Aunt Lera remarked after dinner that she really enjoyed the fact that three generations of people, ranging from 25 - 98 years old, shared interesting and engaging conversation around the table until shortly after 10:00 PM. Aunt Lera has been Mom's best friend and sister spirit for decades, each serving as a second mother for Richard and me (and Betsy, too). Samuel and Eliza have never known life without the Randall connection; I'll never forget how Eliza immediately rejected the idea that we really weren't related to the Randalls by blood. Didn't matter to her. Aunt Lera and Uncle Frank were indisputably her aunt and uncle, just like Richard was my brother by another mother, which still made him her Uncle Richard. (Apologies to Richard for his absence in the photo. He was the photographer.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8Qt83NHJ_Yg1aNR4KxduusYkswsxWcJ6dcXNOTLbVgaCROjwKXBHEKTxEdrfSau_JSM_SlxjDSZPkPh7Wm0HUec_0ezUaCMtJsb_rVAXz7mvJIl1tOQmQmF40qnF-xMW5Dpj/s1600/xmas+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8Qt83NHJ_Yg1aNR4KxduusYkswsxWcJ6dcXNOTLbVgaCROjwKXBHEKTxEdrfSau_JSM_SlxjDSZPkPh7Wm0HUec_0ezUaCMtJsb_rVAXz7mvJIl1tOQmQmF40qnF-xMW5Dpj/s320/xmas+4.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6lRmkjbkaIUHgmor4JXG6NnJxfazNYdwvAgI-KddUIyaxMY0KS08jg3iI5Qj0OHLJ_gcWD3ziuCxAPUTo90QSKxGXU83TH71a19PYUb_yXiOjnDmHxIIlTN5OQv7nALhYVus5/s1600/xmas+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6lRmkjbkaIUHgmor4JXG6NnJxfazNYdwvAgI-KddUIyaxMY0KS08jg3iI5Qj0OHLJ_gcWD3ziuCxAPUTo90QSKxGXU83TH71a19PYUb_yXiOjnDmHxIIlTN5OQv7nALhYVus5/s320/xmas+3.JPG" width="320" /></a>There were other connections in Boone with family members and friends. Zeb's family is still represented strongly in the mountains. My uncles, aunts, and cousins fill the void of missing my dad and grandparents. A ride over to Pigeon Roost and back through the mountains soothed my longing to be a child again at Grandma's table on Christmas Day, and a wonderful afternoon with my cousin Bill and friends Terri and Debbie, as well as a visit in Boone by my friend Pam, put the icing of wonderful memories with special friends and family on the holiday cake. <br />
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Return to the farm has provided the pups and me a chance to get outside (despite very cold temps) and move our bodies. I'm in search of a leak in my water line, so I've walked the distance from the house to the end of the driveway several times in unsuccessful attempts to find a "wet spot." It looks like there'll be a new water line coming down the lane before long, damn it. The high thought, however, is the knowledge that I won't be dealing with water leaks again. I've had three leaks since I took over the farm 16 years ago. The upcoming damage to the bank account, however, makes me think that part-time work is in my not-too-distant future.<br />
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Some may recall the unfortunate ending two Novembers ago to a huge stag who had protected my land for many years. I had watched this majestic animal grow from a young buck into the alpha male on my land over the course of time since the kids and I redefined our lives here. I had met him and locked eyes with him on more than just a few occasions back in the woods. We knew each other well, and we understood the magic of the land upon which we dwelled harmoniously together.<br />
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A neighbor, upon whom I would not piss on if he were on fire, allowed one of his hunting-buddy houseguests to take the buck out, and I found the neighbor and his friend crossing my field to carry the animal away. The buck jumped the fence in his last moments to come to the farm to take flight (We won't dwell here on that; however, it was more than just "luck" that I came across him and held him as he died.)<br />
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Shortly thereafter, I met another young buck back in the woods and have watched him now for two years as he has taken heir to the farm as "chief stag." This is the first time I have mentioned him or written about him, except to communicate about him to a friend who would understand my connection to this animal. <br />
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I arrived home Friday afternoon, and yesterday morning, when I opened the blinds to check out the snow, there he stood across the driveway as if to welcome me home and let me know he had kept close watch on our land in my absence. Interestingly enough, the dogs didn't pick up his presence, so in the silence we exchanged our unspoken understanding that all was well, a new year was upon us, and we would each remain in touch to ensure the farm's protection and care. <br />
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With all that's happened / happening on the political scene in our country and across the world, I've found myself either enraged, stunned, grief-stricken, ill, or depressed since early November. However, the encounter with his buck has stilled my heart of worry and concern, comforted me, and left me invigorated and energized as I begin my 37th year here as Farm Mom. And with that ease of heart, I begin 2017 with great gratitude and humility for the many blessings that flow my way.<br />
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Love, love to all......infinitely!<br />
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<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-8271336157068591262016-12-13T15:26:00.000-05:002016-12-14T09:34:45.426-05:00HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM FARMLANDIA - 2016From the looks of things, it appears I've tied last year's lame record for a sum total of fewer than a dozen posts in twelve months, a miserable effort upon which I hope to improve come 2017. Since I'm retired, I have no excuse not to sit down and write occasionally; however, as I move deeper into the space of not working, I find I am not one to stick to a schedule of any sort. Hence, good intentions often fall along the wayside. So it is here at Farmlandia.<br />
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2016....What a year it's been! Wonderful in many, many ways. Filled with beautiful flowers, trips to Chicago, Florida, Vermont, Montreal, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and other neat places with family and good friends. It's been a year of good health and blessings for the core farm family (despite moments of reality checks and losses) , and there have been many a good visit and lots of laughter here. Everyone's thriving, including my mom, who just recently turned 98 years old!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDB6AhOy4wmK7rLDp5CBaBLlQfZsDbRZ56guvtM_35RzJovUdC98vMK9q1r5-g5hjs9LqoWoPmlhdFgxLlx6jDQNYtroFDNVZRKiUJgjjYi66hHjtRhMK-RGOewa7oDi0foW6v/s1600/s7e.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/AVvXsEiDB6AhOy4wmK7rLDp5CBaBLlQfZsDbRZ56guvtM_35RzJovUdC98vMK9q1r5-g5hjs9LqoWoPmlhdFgxLlx6jDQNYtroFDNVZRKiUJgjjYi66hHjtRhMK-RGOewa7oDi0foW6v/s200/s7e.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
We were all here for 24 hours (short time together, but I'll take it) on the evening of July 4th. Here's this year's photo of the kids. I'll have more once we all converge on Boone in a week or so.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mrKNdqwgFbmMbQcegqneHqMeUkc1C5nvZPgTDg7CAGzQ1kd_NCz5ddnU5rxe6jwZByEWScAz9rbqDrIleSyDYQipi_3dSaulSaYHDH0gyLkEmeD4p9UfwzSzJZ5oj7tgD0jH/s1600/cait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mrKNdqwgFbmMbQcegqneHqMeUkc1C5nvZPgTDg7CAGzQ1kd_NCz5ddnU5rxe6jwZByEWScAz9rbqDrIleSyDYQipi_3dSaulSaYHDH0gyLkEmeD4p9UfwzSzJZ5oj7tgD0jH/s200/cait.jpg" width="193" /></a><br />
Samuel was in from Chicago with his special girl, Caitlin, for an overnight in July. Cait's a sweetheart, and likely one who'll join our family ranks in time if I'm reading the crystal ball / tea leaves correctly. Samuel's an associate editor at the Journal of the American Medical Association in Chicago; Cait works for DRW Trading as the company's event planner. Their happiness as a duo is contagious, and we all celebrate that. (Photo credit of those two goes to Harrison Fahrer.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv57Dny_WVYe3yoK7vmSFZ3hJfOkW8-cqvcBodCyR1O4IZAx7mqzGBHLAnnYBye4dKL3Of5nIKMwarNDoxZNEmHozNI8xtlZ50tQV4I7bKZO-hHF18f4BJvc0ixCwmZk8ZpmyH/s1600/Eliza.PNG" 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/AVvXsEjv57Dny_WVYe3yoK7vmSFZ3hJfOkW8-cqvcBodCyR1O4IZAx7mqzGBHLAnnYBye4dKL3Of5nIKMwarNDoxZNEmHozNI8xtlZ50tQV4I7bKZO-hHF18f4BJvc0ixCwmZk8ZpmyH/s200/Eliza.PNG" width="112" /></a>Likewise, Eliza's thriving with her fellow, Broderick (aka Beef). She moved to Burlington, VT, after finishing her MA degree at U-Cincinnati in August to begin her career as a cosmetic chemist (or formulation specialist, as her business card states.) with Twincraft Skincare, Inc. Beef's still in Cincinnati for the time being. They manage to maintain a very functional and loving long-distance relationship between Ohio and Vermont. I believe they're both wise souls who defy any notion of co-dependency. <br />
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As their mom, I am delighted with Samuel and Eliza's choices of significant others. I truly love Caitlin and Beef.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92PQ7UCNnNBVtNCs9FsSRGL3mcLt5v8iztJAbQq1rJIEtuXKiajPBTX5IjTjyXnY1q8Ko_hc5r2IGDqgmlYjujrWrmkPHKGpznDPXTk3BmCopkJWk5L7ff5fi9JMa8-RB6wpe/s1600/mb+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92PQ7UCNnNBVtNCs9FsSRGL3mcLt5v8iztJAbQq1rJIEtuXKiajPBTX5IjTjyXnY1q8Ko_hc5r2IGDqgmlYjujrWrmkPHKGpznDPXTk3BmCopkJWk5L7ff5fi9JMa8-RB6wpe/s200/mb+%25281%2529.JPG" width="200" /></a>I'm into my second year of retirement and loving every minute of each day. The freedom to visit Mom once a month for a week or so and reconnect with friends in Boone, the ability to define my own schedule, and the joy of not having to work within a system that dictates one's life thrill me to no end. I do stay busy tending the flowers and critters at the farm, walking long distances several times a week, and putzing around the back acres. I laugh a lot and give huge thanks for all the blessings that flow my way from all directions. I play mah jong with an interesting group of women once a week, volunteer with the programming committee for the recently opened Peoples Bank Theatre, and chair the Esbenshade Series (an arts and humanities series) for Marietta College. I keep the knitting needles clicking, the paper vat sloshing with pulp (two shows for my work this year), and my camera poised for a perfect shot at any moment. One frequently finds me and the corgis out in the woods with my trusty binoculars, looking for whatever bird that's calling from a distant tree. I realize I spend more time with dogs than humans, so if I bark the next time I see you, don't be surprised. Mac, MerryBelle, and I are a tight pack.<br />
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Since I have been defriended and berated on Facebook by a small handful of the president-elect's supporters, I'll leave politics out of this post. Those who know me well will understand my very sincere concern about the current situation in our country, as well as my mantra that these days "complacency is NOT an option." <br />
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But most importantly, for all the friends and family who mean so much to me, I am extremely grateful. I have no complaint about my life, and I hope I can share my delight in each day with all whom I so dearly love.<br />
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Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Properous New Year! <br />
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May you thrive in joy and laughter!<br />
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Infinite love.....T.<br />
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<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-72103888932571242312016-05-18T10:04:00.002-05:002016-05-18T10:04:53.253-05:00CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUEI have a lot of talented friends from all directions in my life. One of the many is a high school friend - Debbie Autrey Warren. We hung out for four years on the girls' basketball team, and as I recall, we had one winning season. What I remember vividly about Debbie is that she was fast; she had a very accurate overhead shot; and, she had a quick wit and sharp sense of humor. Still does.<br />
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Anyways, Debbie's the person who made the sign LIFE'S BETTER ON THE FARM that I'm using for my new blog look. It hangs in my house, and now introduces my musings and ramblings on my blog. <br />
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We reconnected last year as several of us from the Watauga High School Class of 1970 planned our 45th class reunion. And what a joy it's been to have her back in my life. Along with fellow classmates, Terri Greene Langdon and Bill Rominger, we've formed a bond that's solid and hilarious. <br />
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Yep, life's better on the farm, and Debbie's a huge part of the joy and fun!Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-76342332810618703442016-05-18T08:53:00.000-05:002016-05-18T08:53:00.734-05:00SPRING 2016 - FARM IRISES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Life is better on the farm when the irises bloom. It's been a rainy, rainy May. Despite the deluges, farm irises have opened and greatly lessened the heaviness of gray skies and chilly temps with their beauty and subtle essence. </div>
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Some people I know don't tolerate irises because they're almost impossible to keep weeds from co-habiting their bed and because they require almost yearly thinning and replanting. Their beauty trumps both annoyances for me: I think they're spectacular.</div>
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This little, bright yellow iris is one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring, and this year, it opened in March. It came from the home of an older friend who passed away close to 20 years ago and has multiplied to the point where I have to dig and divide them every year.</div>
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Although this beauty has a pale blue cast, it's officially listed as a white species. </div>
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Subtle yellow - one of my favorite colors</div>
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Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-25192235393901865622016-05-17T12:42:00.001-05:002016-05-17T12:42:24.178-05:00LIFE'S BETTER ON THE FARM WHEN WE REMEMBER THE WISDOM OF OUR GREAT TEACHERS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJq06e6wA4JsEsYvIxEXFrClRWL6yn7efdZe8TkqameTysemf9zjhjZUzGZlJgaw0lb3y8zmPqG-o5e1VNr_pAJ6kWiX18fnrjbHDkyOGTrwgmAXe_ylUq1Uxue1VWTG25ybW/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJq06e6wA4JsEsYvIxEXFrClRWL6yn7efdZe8TkqameTysemf9zjhjZUzGZlJgaw0lb3y8zmPqG-o5e1VNr_pAJ6kWiX18fnrjbHDkyOGTrwgmAXe_ylUq1Uxue1VWTG25ybW/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Peaceful Kwan Yin reminds all of us at the farm to stay mellow.</div>
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Happy Dude reminds all of us at the farm to laugh and enjoy life, even if elements take their toll.</div>
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MerryBelle reminds all of us at the farm to keep an eye on the cows from a distance rather than risk stepping in soupy patties.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5Z5TKApHecVXl21XvCp6tOWwzTc-KbdGsPJBvhAevc17-GiwXDqlqL5lZT3EEbvZL2FgAEdAlI8mSjhnowUZ7ilAtpo1dQoLcKo8Aea8SAQfrmkHR_RXM8McCcz9jllIdsjs/s1600/IMG_1983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5Z5TKApHecVXl21XvCp6tOWwzTc-KbdGsPJBvhAevc17-GiwXDqlqL5lZT3EEbvZL2FgAEdAlI8mSjhnowUZ7ilAtpo1dQoLcKo8Aea8SAQfrmkHR_RXM8McCcz9jllIdsjs/s320/IMG_1983.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And Mac reminds all of us at the farm to hide our bones when no one's looking.</div>
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Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-26376465779392366942016-05-17T12:32:00.002-05:002016-05-18T08:35:24.931-05:00LIFE'S BETTER ON THE FARM WHEN TANYA MAKES PAPER <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am deeply grateful to the Riverside Artists Gallery in Marietta for asking me to be the featured exhibitor in the May exhibit, "Zen Garden," alongside gallery members Cathy Norosky (carved and painted gourds) and Betsy Cook (metal work). For one thing, I had to get off my duff and make some paper this spring so I'd have something to work with as I thought about what I wanted to present. The papermaking process itself felt very natural, but putting pieces together sorta filled me with a creatively void feeling in that it's been so long since I actually did something to be viewed by more than just the corgis and me. Second, my eye has been shifting toward assemblage work, especially with natural and primitive elements. I have a wealth of material that could be accurately described with both of those qualifiers in the old barn that sits right outside my porch. It was in the barn that I began to see things with which I could create assemblages to match with the paper. I began to play with the images in my mind. And third, in the spirit of "zen," the materials I chose to use were both impermanent in their natural setting and places of lasting wisdom in their own right.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw0V4EB4KrRWFdBKDwEMmmmqomriTyiE3_YsgG5MntzpoJSsdBO25bO9jYKimGZ5-HV9qMBPlLCwvCz29yhQaUj-EzZJ3l4jhhVxUs1KQ5M1jiZJixPKqpUmePjTG9_eJt6Vq/s1600/Felicity+paper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRw0V4EB4KrRWFdBKDwEMmmmqomriTyiE3_YsgG5MntzpoJSsdBO25bO9jYKimGZ5-HV9qMBPlLCwvCz29yhQaUj-EzZJ3l4jhhVxUs1KQ5M1jiZJixPKqpUmePjTG9_eJt6Vq/s400/Felicity+paper.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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This piece entitled "Final word: Felicity" is .dedicated to my dear friend and mentor, Brian Dendle. Dendle passed to the spirit world almost two years ago, and one of the last things someone found in the last book he was readingwas the word "felicity" written in his hand. My thousands of memories of Brian are tied in the flat scroll that's wrapped with a dictionary entry of the word's definition placed on top of the memory scroll. I chose to mount it on an a piece of barn wood that fell off the barn about the time Dendle died. The hinge clung to the wood. The entire piece is mounted on paper made from burdock and mullein. I needed some practice in hammering, so I added some nails from the barn, and in doing so, I solidified specific memories of Dendle in the wood. I miss his gruffy ways and off-the-wall, irreverent humor so much.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7u19-MlfUUsrWwRn9PQofsOSxllTMf50Q55iFtpVzjntSd-Dnh3it0v1DvJxsBV6aVJ51X5n_g9pHRg6IVoZwD6Ui6eGXB94jiNrKgfzrgljr_31X0DIY7FuzqqWGRkztrwp/s1600/Journal+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7u19-MlfUUsrWwRn9PQofsOSxllTMf50Q55iFtpVzjntSd-Dnh3it0v1DvJxsBV6aVJ51X5n_g9pHRg6IVoZwD6Ui6eGXB94jiNrKgfzrgljr_31X0DIY7FuzqqWGRkztrwp/s400/Journal+2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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This journal is headed to a friend of a friend in California. I painted the onion skin-dyed paper while it was still wet and had everything from recycled handmade paper to onion paper in the vat. The internal pages are done in rather plain sheets of abaca fiber so that the recipient can write on it without feeling intimidated by marking on the handmade paper. (Some folks just can't bring themselves around to using the paper to carry messages of the heart.) The purple fiber adornment on the front is made of dyed fibers of possum hair.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjnRbYMOcmKhLuA9G4B5tkfn-e3K-Y8QigJ19geJvMgLJ5HMfCDKKv6V_1UX-OpJbHxlkbKErLXzT2zEGbD_F7gUgRshyHYQmaHFamoS3s2reIXrLnWjylpkcZIluEbKTU0mQ/s1600/Journal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjnRbYMOcmKhLuA9G4B5tkfn-e3K-Y8QigJ19geJvMgLJ5HMfCDKKv6V_1UX-OpJbHxlkbKErLXzT2zEGbD_F7gUgRshyHYQmaHFamoS3s2reIXrLnWjylpkcZIluEbKTU0mQ/s400/Journal.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Journal #2 is rather plain upon first sight, but as one flips through the pages, he/she can see a fairly extensive combination of handmade paper pages that add personality and pastel surfaces for chronicling whatever the owner cares to share on its pages. The exterior is colored with walnut hull dye, and the interior sheets are ones of mullein, tea, coffee, onion skin, and burdock with a little cotton thrown in for intrest. </div>
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This piece, "Rain from the North Shield," came together one afternoon when I sat upstairs and watched the rain pour in from the north, a rare occurrence here on the farm. It's mounted on barn wood, and consists of layers of handmade paper - walnut dyed, onion skin dyed, mullein dyed and cotton that was stained with rusty barbed wire. The rain sticks above the center are a seed pod and rusty nail, as is the earthy element below. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Xyu7cqxUrLlH2HpFIQdnpkt89nprAN6fYkmEOisxBt1HACJfoFJxYi8BIRD6Ssx-8eJgAlM4xEi8xZaNVvzswEjwaESLIWvNPpfkKrL2S-ELosfdEUCxo3E3ADkvwG2uKxzi/s1600/Tin+%2526+paper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Xyu7cqxUrLlH2HpFIQdnpkt89nprAN6fYkmEOisxBt1HACJfoFJxYi8BIRD6Ssx-8eJgAlM4xEi8xZaNVvzswEjwaESLIWvNPpfkKrL2S-ELosfdEUCxo3E3ADkvwG2uKxzi/s400/Tin+%2526+paper.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The final piece I share here is another homage to the barn - scrolls and nails mounted on barn wood on paper on tin roofing from the barn. Actually from a distance, the tin could look like paper itself. The middle scroll piece has a beautiful piece of snakeskin that also came from the barn - another treasure from the old structure. I'm going to add two elements to the side of the wooden block once it comes back home - two nails that I found after I had the piece installed. </div>
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Scrolls keep popping up in most everything I make. I like the idea of some sort of message captured within the rolled sheets of paper. Most of the time, I write a little snippet inside the ones I roll up - a thought, a quotation, a definition, etc. - so that the piece carries that along to its next residence. This is an early photo of this scroll. It has evolved a bit with other adornments and a change of paper, in part. And I have to say, I like it on my wall. It might have to stay with me.</div>
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I would imagine these pieces have many people shaking their heads in terms of wondering what the hell I was thinking as I put them together, but as a result of this first step, I have ideas running around in my head unlike ever before. I'm excited to keep at this process, not for public scrutiny or artistic recognition on any level. I'm just happy to have my hands in the paper vat and subsequently, have the paper in my hands.</div>
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Indeed, life's better on the farm when I make paper: my heart's full and my soul's dancing when I slop in the messy pulp and smelly inclusions that produce a rather unique beauty.</div>
Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20636945.post-91781978144461910942016-01-24T12:55:00.000-05:002016-01-25T13:26:06.701-05:00WINTER STORM JONAS - NO CABIN FEVER HERE<br />
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A good winter storm always takes me back to the mountains of North Carolina when every winter brought a least a couple, if not more, storms similar to this weekend's Winter Storm Jonas.(When did snowstorms take on names??) Those of you who were students at Appalachian Elementary will recall we didn't go to school for over a month during the winter of 1960.<br />
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Memories of snow cream (not tainted from air pollution), waxing the rudders of my sled for greater speed, Mom's hot chocolate made from scratch, and cold, burning fingers and toes from staying out way too long. Richard Randall and I played at his house on snow days; like siblings, we'd get on each others' nerves, and I'd break one of his crayons, only to be sent across the driveway by Aunt Lera to get my crayon of the same color as a replacement (which I would break in half and claim mine was broken, too.) But mostly, we played and tunneled in the snow and played some more.<br />
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I don't get bored or lonely when I'm snowed in. As a career teacher, I can vouch for the fact that teachers always have their fingers crossed for a snow day at the sighting of the first flake.<br />
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Here are a few ways I keep myself busy when snowed in. (Notice that cleaning / organizing did not make the list.)<br />
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I've knit. This weekend I worked on teaching myself a couple new stitches I'd like to use in some upcoming projects. The hat below matches my new neck warmer, and the dishcloth served as my project to learn the berry stitch - quite simple, really. Recent research, verified by several article on Facebook, tell of the stress relief my favorite hobby brings, so on snowy days, I pull out the needles and keep them clicking.<br />
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I channel Miss Jane Hathaway (of The Beverly Hillbillies for you young'uns) and bird watch. I've observed pine siskins, mourning doves, blue jays, goldfinches, titmice, nuthatches, cardinals, red-bellied woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, towhees, juncos, house finches, and others devour the oil seed I pushed through the knee-high snow to get to the feeders. Pepín, the partially leucistic house finch who was here last winter has returned, much to my delight. <br />
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I watch TV - a couple of movies & documentaries, some basketball, ice skating, etc. 'Nuf said. PBS Series recommended. Most other TV, not worth the watch.<br />
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I listen to a lot of music and search for new artists who pique my listening ear. And, I tune in to a lot of NPR radio to fill in the gaps. I am aghast by the numbers of folks who take Donald Trump seriously. Likewise, Ted Cruz nauseates me, as does Sarah Palin. (My cousin recently reprimanded me for posting too much #feelthebern into on FB, but I'm "feeling the bern," so I don't care!)<br />
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My makeshift indoor greenhouse in my bathroom holds my orchids, and I piddle around with it, cleaning and rearranging the plants housed therein. All my orchids are thriving - a contrast to the winters they've endured without sufficient protection from the too direct light and inconsistent temps. Since I can never remember the proper names for the orchids, I call this one the Dancing Russians Orchid - in glorious bloom and happy as a lark.<br />
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I'm also happy with the coleus I rooted from last summer's stock. Nice colors on dreary days.<br />
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I hang out with two corgis and attempt to keep the house as free of their year-round shed as possible. They're not big fans of heavy snow falls since they get lost in the drifts. Mac tends to enjoy plowing through the snow with his nose; MerryBelle would just as soon stay inside.<br />
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Cleaning up the clutter and going through papers has yet to make the list. My entire house looks like my office used to look. There's a chaotic organization to my clutter, however, and I can live with that, especially when snow's on the ground and I can do all sorts of other things.<br />
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Finally, I layer up in a mountain of clothes and go out to play. Looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I waddle through the snow, make a couple of snow angels, check out the barn, and do laps out the lane. <br />
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That's where I'm headed now.<br />
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<br />Tanyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11684000500462531367noreply@blogger.com0