tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200116722074797542024-03-13T07:02:54.873-05:00Ideas to Images...notes and images
about nature, art, creativity, and LIFEprairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-74161321628893880162012-03-08T13:00:00.002-06:002020-07-04T10:05:37.704-05:00Yellowstone: Winter Wonderland<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: x-small;"><i>Photos by Kay and Charlie</i></span> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I think I've just awakened from an incredible dream. I was in Yellowstone <a href="http://www.nps.gov/yell/planyourvisit/index.htm">http://www.nps.gov/yell/planyourvisit/index.htm</a><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span> and Grand Teton <a href="http://www.nps.gov/search/index.htm?query=Grand+Teton&x=0&y=0">http://www.nps.gov/search/index.htm?query=Grand+Teton&x=0&y=0</a> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">national parks, flying over a four-foot snowpack in a strange little buggy, seeing bison, elk, trumpeter swans, and other wildlife; on a sleigh ride through an elk sanctuary with 7,000 elk; and the highlight—my lifetime dream—wolves and grizzly bears up close. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Charlie and I have just returned from our first bus tour, departing from Wichita, KS on February 27 and returning late last night, March 5. In between we covered about 2,850 miles and experienced temperatures ranging from -19° to 70°. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Where to even begin?! First, sort through about 1,500 photos of everything from tiny frost formations on bubbling red mud pools to towering snow-covered peaks and bison right outside the coach window. Next, pick up our lab Sadie from the kennel; catch up on e-mail, empty the luggage, do laundry, and sleep; go to the post office to pick up snail mail, and get some groceries—all too mundane when you've been in a fairyland where vapors from hot springs freeze on trees and you've had snowdrifts out your third-floor lodge window! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">It's very hard to capture and summarize what all that entailed. I kept a travel journal along the way. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">In my automatic e-mail response while gone, I said "We haven't had winter here (in Kansas), so we're heading to Yellowstone." Never could I have imagined walking and riding over a 4- to 6-foot snowpack! Or being 20 feet from an alpha male wolf—with snow falling all around. Granted, it was in a sanctuary and I was in fenced off structure, but experiencing the magnificence of those creatures that close is beyond description. Despite my lifelong fascination with wolves and dream to see one in real life, I was still astounded by their beauty and impact. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center in West Yellowstone, MT <a href="http://www.grizzlydiscoveryctr.com/">http://www.grizzlydiscoveryctr.com/</a> has two packs of wild wolves, along with eight grizzly bears.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>One of the High Country Pack</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sQZZx-_QYDM/T1j7FN5HAWI/AAAAAAAAAL8/XQifGFEJLiE/s1600/*wDSC01074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sQZZx-_QYDM/T1j7FN5HAWI/AAAAAAAAAL8/XQifGFEJLiE/s400/*wDSC01074.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="background-color: white;">McKinley, alpha male of the High Country Wolf Pack, is the largest—120 pounds—at the center.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">These animals may not be able to roam the wild (they are either "rescued" creatures or have been born in captivity), but their habitat is huge and mimics the wild area from which they came. There is no human interaction—feeding is done by hiding their food so they can forage and hunt for it. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>This grizzly is one of two cubs brought to the center after their mother had to be put down. It has just been foraging for its food in the snow.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Both wolves above are members of the High Country Pack</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">While I have been to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons in warm weather, this was an entirely different experience. The only modes of transportation for visitors in winter are snowmobiles, snowcoaches <a href="http://yellowstoneguides.com/">http://yellowstoneguides.com/</a>, or—if one is especially fit and adventuresome, skis or snowshoes. The snowpack is so deep no ordinary vehicles are allowed. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Our snowcoach—not much bigger than a van—held eight riders plus the driver and had skis on the front, with rugged tracks like a tank on the rest. The technology for these vehicles was developed in 1939, but has been modernized. Our coach—the oldest in operation—was 1952 vintage, with a souped-up Chevy engine (I admit to not understanding the technical details). Our main guide was a 19-year veteran and previous owner, a walking encyclopedia about Yellowstone. It's obvious he and the other driver-guides thoroughly love their work. Our tour group filled six such coaches.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Yellowstone sits atop a smoldering volcano. Stops over the two-day excursion included magnificent scenery and natural phenomena: 14,000-foot peaks, frozen waterfalls, bubbling mud pools, rising vapors, and sulfur fumes from the geothermal features. We were told that acid so strong in some pools immediately ate the pants fabric of some naturalists kneeling on the ground nearby. How on earth can living creatures survive in such environment? Lifeforms such as algae turn the mud into rainbows of color, from red to turquoise. The freezing vapors crystalize on every surface, turning the surroundings into a fairyland. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Of course, for many Old Faithful is the draw. We experienced the geyser late at night in the crisp still air, under a star-lit sky. And again early the next morning (-17° by then)—we nearly missed the eruption because we had to board our bus. Walking away we heard it and decided it was worth hurrying back to see the plume of steam and water shoot up into the air. But there are many other geysers that are just as impressive; they just are not as predictable.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Outside Jackson, WY, is an elk refuge <a href="http://www.fws.gov/nationalelkrefuge/">http://www.fws.gov/nationalelkrefuge/</a> —25,000 acres—where 7,000 elk winter. One herd of about 2,000 did not consider us a threat because of our team of Belgian draft horses Duke and Daisy, we were told. The sleigh is a big wagon, with seats inside. We were tucked down inside, nearly hidden from view. Our driver eased up close to the "smaller" herd, about 20 feet away from the closest ones, where we were able to see the big bulls with their monstrous antlers and pregnant cows. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">How many layers of clothing can a person wear and still be able to move? We piled them on and—despite a very stiff wind, single-digit temperature and occasional snow showers, we did not get cold (though some folks without as much protection were uncomfortable). Blankets were also provided. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">As I said, this was our first bus tour. <a href="http://www.villagetours.net/">http://www.villagetours.net/</a> Part of the experience was traveling with a group of people we had never met—and coming home with some good friends. There were 47 guests. Somehow, eight of us gravitated towards each other during the first couple days. Charlie and I alternated eating, riding and visiting with those three other couples, sometimes all of us in a group together—like on the snowcoach and at dinner. We found we had common interests and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. We exchanged e-mail addresses and promises to keep in touch. I look forward to that. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">In the interest of getting this published, I will go ahead and post it with a few photos of the wolves and bears, and add to it as I am able to process our photos. Check back….</span></div>
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prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-9455132027869801222011-03-23T14:30:00.002-05:002011-03-23T14:32:11.022-05:00Color found<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">I posted the last week about craving color. A trip to Yoder, KS, provided that.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">To begin with, I saw YELLOW daffodils and YELLOW forsythia beginning to bloom.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">A friend and I went there for the Parade of Quilts, an annual event during which handiwork of local residents is displayed in several of the town's businesses. Now, <i>that</i> dished up <i>lots</i> of color!</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Debbie and granddaugher Zoie</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-a3VVuvRTPuU/TYpAPjjjpJI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/ttQbWT3R7T8/s1600/Zoie-and-Kay-Yoder.w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-a3VVuvRTPuU/TYpAPjjjpJI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/ttQbWT3R7T8/s400/Zoie-and-Kay-Yoder.w.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zoie and me</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My indulgence: blackberry cream pie</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It's always fun to visit this Amish community, though it being a weekday, we didn't see any horses and buggies. Usually I go on a Saturday, which is the day families go to town to shop. I've always been intrigued with the Amish way of life, its simplicity, devotion to family life, strong faith, hard work, superior craftsmanship, dedication to basics. I've written before about this fascination, and I always come away from there re-inspired. I'm ready to dig out old sewing projects and start new ones; to go through photo files and scrapbook memories. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I even want to spring-clean<span style="font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Helvetica;">—<i>shock</i>. </span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">In the past few days, spring has been popping out all around. Trees that were nothing but bare twigs last week are graced with delicate green fringe. Grass is greening—and growing (is that a mower being tuned up?). Charlie had the rototiller out in the garden this morning and has gone to the nursery for seeds and seed potatoes. </div><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Jjg0_EmATY8/TYpFsn0xAnI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/MxDjM4erTOk/s1600/Growth-compw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Jjg0_EmATY8/TYpFsn0xAnI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/MxDjM4erTOk/s400/Growth-compw.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green forcing its way up through the dead remains of last year's perennials</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The <i>piece de resistance</i> is this:</div><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-jbAYDR8-MEU/TYpGmQD7l8I/AAAAAAAAAKY/WmZMJZ4d5c0/s1600/DSC00229w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-jbAYDR8-MEU/TYpGmQD7l8I/AAAAAAAAAKY/WmZMJZ4d5c0/s400/DSC00229w.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barely above the ground, this tiny hyacinth sensed the urgency to bloom and provide a bit of color to its drab surroundings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-jDHQBom1TN0/TYpFyVUlCpI/AAAAAAAAAKU/Prky3P264Lg/s1600/DSC00230w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-jDHQBom1TN0/TYpFyVUlCpI/AAAAAAAAAKU/Prky3P264Lg/s400/DSC00230w.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">HAPPY SPRING!</span></b></span></td></tr>
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</div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-37555697171253827702011-03-19T20:37:00.000-05:002011-03-19T20:37:38.603-05:00Craving color<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It's raining, dark and chilly again today. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">As usual, I'm inspired by reading other blogs. Sometimes the author puts into perfect words exactly what I am thinking, but unable to articulate. This was the case when I read a post by Kelly Letky here:<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.theinspiration-studio.com/2011/03/in-like-lamb.html">http://www.theinspiration-studio.com/2011/03/in-like-lamb.html</a></span></span></i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Then there's <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1820478149">http://prairiegirlstudio.blogspot.com/</a></i><a href="http://prairiegirlstudio.blogspot.com/">,</a> where the photography is as beautiful as the prose.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It has been a long winter, with more snow that I can remember in years and years, especially since I've been in Kansas. An honest-to-goodness blizzard, followed one week later by record low of -17° and 17" more of snow. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">At least while there was snow, there was brightness. When the flakes stopped coming down, the sun lit up the sky, a brilliant cloudless blue.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">But something happened. The snow melted, the skies became endless varying shades of gray, the wind blew harder, and the landscape was nothing but drab gray and brown and beige. It rained, it sleeted, a little more snow fell and melted, and the mud deepened. I fell into such a funk.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-rrB_2hZDwdM/TYVWMObTClI/AAAAAAAAAJk/DvAU8pYa1rQ/s1600/DSC00030w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-rrB_2hZDwdM/TYVWMObTClI/AAAAAAAAAJk/DvAU8pYa1rQ/s320/DSC00030w.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shades of brown, beige and gray</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I got a new camera March 1 and began looking desperately for color. The only bright spots outside were the cardinals who frequented our feeders and an occasional bluebird. But they flitted away as quickly as I approached the window. Winter sunsets, however, provide a feast for the eye.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4kZ-m2Koo18/TYVP_dzfelI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/7lAaQdxkBb0/s1600/DSCN1746w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4kZ-m2Koo18/TYVP_dzfelI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/7lAaQdxkBb0/s320/DSCN1746w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January sunset<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></i></span></span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-1TJ_eMJhsSk/TYVTiw4YgAI/AAAAAAAAAJU/lPLZbpQEX08/s1600/Sunset+%25231w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-1TJ_eMJhsSk/TYVTiw4YgAI/AAAAAAAAAJU/lPLZbpQEX08/s320/Sunset+%25231w.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oLL8EIq36AI/TYVTmq57DDI/AAAAAAAAAJY/v4-X4A7ThNM/s1600/Sunset+%25232w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oLL8EIq36AI/TYVTmq57DDI/AAAAAAAAAJY/v4-X4A7ThNM/s320/Sunset+%25232w.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-4YUZ2gmjqTk/TYVTsKQXXwI/AAAAAAAAAJc/TkQnJu403VI/s1600/Sunset+%25233w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-4YUZ2gmjqTk/TYVTsKQXXwI/AAAAAAAAAJc/TkQnJu403VI/s320/Sunset+%25233w.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fVgtydJYvLk/TYVTwgeEl4I/AAAAAAAAAJg/3pw8sDO87Pg/s1600/Sunset+%25234w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fVgtydJYvLk/TYVTwgeEl4I/AAAAAAAAAJg/3pw8sDO87Pg/s320/Sunset+%25234w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Progression of a winter sunset</td></tr>
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I was, as Kelly so aptly put it, "craving color like chocolate." And more aptly, colorful flowers. I settled for the pots of geraniums in my bedroom window. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Z0PWv6h2cPo/TYU_Rk7ovqI/AAAAAAAAAJE/07lsZYCYfok/s1600/DSC00042w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Z0PWv6h2cPo/TYU_Rk7ovqI/AAAAAAAAAJE/07lsZYCYfok/s320/DSC00042w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geranium</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></i></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Then my bougainvillea<span style="font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Helvetica;">—</span>all winter a bare, thorny brown twig—began putting on blossoms. Fragile looking paper-like flowers with tiny white star-shaped centers. As the days lengthened, the clusters became more profuse. Still barely a green leaf! </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-91ijjTQ4jr0/TYVPzQAN7SI/AAAAAAAAAJM/zpxfPMtT7Sg/s1600/DSCN1905w2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-91ijjTQ4jr0/TYVPzQAN7SI/AAAAAAAAAJM/zpxfPMtT7Sg/s1600/DSCN1905w2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bougainvillea mid-February</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-81gf-uw5Xfs/TYVPmPzxVqI/AAAAAAAAAJI/Pu3Jg0MX4v8/s1600/DSC00005w2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-81gf-uw5Xfs/TYVPmPzxVqI/AAAAAAAAAJI/Pu3Jg0MX4v8/s320/DSC00005w2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bougainvillea in full bloom, a month later in Mid-March</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Then yesterday, while walking through the yard, I saw these tiny (1/8"—¼" blue flowers with white centers. Their official name is Speedwell or Veronica, but I've always called them Little Blue Eyes. Hurray! Color, outside. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RnxBfpof240/TYVWaR87ITI/AAAAAAAAAJo/62-N8lMv0qY/s1600/DSC00067w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RnxBfpof240/TYVWaR87ITI/AAAAAAAAAJo/62-N8lMv0qY/s1600/DSC00067w.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iFfZNNIqqGk/TYVWgI9J1uI/AAAAAAAAAJs/sGMYRNPrPEk/s1600/DSC00072we.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iFfZNNIqqGk/TYVWgI9J1uI/AAAAAAAAAJs/sGMYRNPrPEk/s320/DSC00072we.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speedwell/Veronica aka Little Blue Eyes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">And I noticed the frogs and robins singing and saw buzzards gliding overhead. I do believe it's finally happening! Spring is coming.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It's a bit late, but I'll close with this Irish blessing, taken from prairiegirl's blog:</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #999999; font: 12.0px Arial; line-height: 15.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;">may you have warm words on a cold evening,</div><div style="color: #999999; font: 12.0px Arial; line-height: 15.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;">a full moon on a dark night,</div><div style="color: #999999; font: 12.0px Arial; line-height: 15.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;">and a smooth road all the way to your door.</div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-50276263435268162162011-02-05T09:35:00.000-06:002011-02-05T09:35:30.002-06:00yo-yo<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Just a postscript to this week's post…</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The past two days were cold, but beautiful. None of our famous Kansas wind. Bright sunshine. I managed to get out for a walk both days and thoroughly enjoyed it. I stopped now and again, just to listen to the calm and an occasional bird. The sky was the bluest it could possibly be, without a cloud in it. I saw hundreds of little bird and rabbit tracks, deer prints, and what I imagine was coyote pawprint. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And yesterday morning, I looked out and saw bluebirds ringing our birdbath. What a joy! We hadn't had any around since last summer. Can spring be far behind?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, I'm afraid so because already the weather forecast is calling for another "snow event" with frigid temperatures. Guess which day? Next week, the day I rescheduled those appointments I cancelled this week! Maybe Tuesday is a bad day. I'll go for Wednesday next time! </span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-44546266090364142412011-02-04T08:44:00.000-06:002011-02-04T08:44:21.578-06:00blizzard-of-oz<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">7:15 a.m.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">February 3, 2011</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">-9° </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It's official: Kansas had a real, honest-to-goodness blizzard; Tuesday's evening weather report confirmed that all the criteria had been met.<br />
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</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrPSOqY3ZI/AAAAAAAAAIk/EFNpdOkt5MU/s1600/DSC02105w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrPSOqY3ZI/AAAAAAAAAIk/EFNpdOkt5MU/s320/DSC02105w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Mid-day Tuesday, from the kitchen window</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrPpicI-1I/AAAAAAAAAIo/OjKeM-j3ibw/s1600/DSC02109w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrPpicI-1I/AAAAAAAAAIo/OjKeM-j3ibw/s320/DSC02109w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Through the dining room window</span></span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Now, we're in an arctic deep-freeze, but it's very pretty outside. Finally, the wind is calm, the sun is bright, and I'm almost tempted to bundle up and go out—<i>almost</i>. In lieu of that, I did shoot pictures from inside through the windows and a barely open door. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the back deck</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrqAcYromI/AAAAAAAAAIw/ie6lFX5vtao/s1600/DSCN1770w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUrqAcYromI/AAAAAAAAAIw/ie6lFX5vtao/s320/DSCN1770w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the barely open front door</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Our wild birds have been in a frenzy. Charlie filled one of the feeders TWICE during the height of the storm, and it quickly emptied again. The ground beneath the feeders (we have 4 altogether) was writhing with little birds. I saw one yesterday I could not identify. And, they seemed grateful for the not-frozen water in the heated bird bath, lining the rim and dipping their tiny beaks. Cardinals, juncos, finches, flicker and downey woodpeckers, Harris sparrows, nuthatch, black-capped chickadees.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Our lab Sadie doesn't want to go outside unless Charlie goes with her or unless she's reached that point of Nature's urging that she has no choice. Yesterday Charlie spent several hours shoveling walks and driveway and making paths for her throughout the yard. Before that, with the wind howling around her and the ground covered with cold white stuff, she had a rough time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUsHab13_bI/AAAAAAAAAI4/SNA7qZaRr-A/s1600/DSCN1757w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUsHab13_bI/AAAAAAAAAI4/SNA7qZaRr-A/s320/DSCN1757w.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, that isn't a lampshade on her head. A week ago Sadie had 10 stitches in her thigh and has chewed out 9 of them. The cone is to keep her from reaching them. She's trudging through the snow as fast as her legs allow her.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I was quite worried about my son and his family, but breathed a sigh of relief early yesterday morning when I received an e-mail saying "we survived." Did I mention they live just south of Chicago? It was hard not to see at least a few film clips of the situation there. Lake Shore Drive was unbelievable. Glad I no longer live there!</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Todd and Kelly have an all-electric house, so my biggest worry was they'd lose power. And they're out in the country, so they have a well and a pump—dependent on electricity. Same with their heating. Todd bought a generator the other day, but they didn't have to use it. Kelly, who has a two-hour commute (each way) on a normal good day, left work at noon Tuesday. I was so glad. But my little granddaughter did go to school in the morning (half-day kindergarten), which really surprised me. She rides the bus.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUsITq2yk7I/AAAAAAAAAJA/YyHt09SnFig/s1600/TF2w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TUsITq2yk7I/AAAAAAAAAJA/YyHt09SnFig/s320/TF2w.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tabitha was having fun!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">As we exchanged emails throughout Tuesday and Wednesday, Todd reminded me of the lessons I had tried to instill, but often lapse from myself. Based on Wayne Dyer's philosophy of <span style="text-decoration: underline;">You'll See It When You Believe It</span>, Todd maintained a positive attitude as they watched the snow pile up and listened to the monster wind wreaking havoc outside. He chastised me for even worrying and putting out negative thoughts.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I rescheduled three appointments I really needed to keep, made a crockpot of chili and batch of peanut butter cookies. Those comforting smells and added heat kept the chill away, as did the drier when I did several loads of laundry. It also seemed a good time to do the computer and software upgrades I'd been putting off. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Someday we (and our grandchildren) will look back on this week as one of those history-making weather events. It's already been touted as Chicago's third worst winter storm, but only by one and two inches in those criteria; the worst in terms of the wind. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-26134422543564005232010-07-28T09:24:00.000-05:002010-07-28T09:24:25.349-05:00Return to PrairyErth<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><blockquote><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"The American disease—and I'm quoting someone I can't remember—is forgetfulness. A person or people who cannot recollect their past have little point beyond mere animal existence; it is memory that makes things matter."</span></span></i></blockquote></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><blockquote>—William Least-Heat Moon in <u>PrairyErth a deep map</u></blockquote></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=PrairyErth&x=0&y=0">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=PrairyErth&x=0&y=0 </a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFA0BlSInqI/AAAAAAAAAIE/U9T1aE311IE/s1600/DSCN0758w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFA0BlSInqI/AAAAAAAAAIE/U9T1aE311IE/s320/DSCN0758w.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Book published in 1991</span></i></span></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Saturday I attended an event in my county celebrating memory and "things that matter." Heat-Moon was here. And he was paying tribute to his memories of Chase County, Kansas, with the premier showing of a PBS documentary "Return to PrairyErth."</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Return-to-PrairyErth/118612793242#!/pages/Return-to-PrairyErth/118612793242?v=wall">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Return-to-PrairyErth/118612793242#!/pages/Return-to-PrairyErth/118612793242?v=wall </a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFAntTnfD2I/AAAAAAAAAHM/fJloVPPTngU/s1600/DSCN0699w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFAntTnfD2I/AAAAAAAAAHM/fJloVPPTngU/s320/DSCN0699w.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">William Least-Heat Moon signing </span></span></i><u><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">PrairyErth</span></span></i></u><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> for me</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">When <span style="text-decoration: underline;">PrairyErth</span> first hit the bookstands (it was a best-seller) in 1991, I was already a fan of the author, having read <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blue Highways</span>. I still lived in Illinois, and Kansas was not even on my radar. Little did I know that only a short while later circumstances would bring me to the very heart of the country featured. I began to read the book again, and in those very passages that had fascinated me upon my first reading, I recognized my now-neighbors, people and places I now knew and had come to love. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I had come home, somehow recognizing my own roots in the prairie put down by my ancestors who drove covered wagons across the country to settle on what was then named Prairie's Edge in Illinois. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Ironically, it was Heat-Moon's book with its chapter-opening grids of Chase County that guided me here in the first place, though. I was working in Topeka and was beginning to hear about the Flint Hills, a reportedly magical area. I didn't yet equate it with the portion of my occasional drive from Topeka to Wichita on the Kansas Turnpike that cast a spell over me, an area of open space and rolling green hills.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Chapter opening for Matfield Green</span></span></i></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I thought to myself, "I wish I knew someone who lived around here so I would have an excuse to exit the highway." I can remember the exact spot this thought occurred: the Bazaar cattle pens, about midway between the Emporia and Cassoday exits. It reminded me of a similar area I had driven through once in Wyoming. I got the same feeling of attraction, something drawing me there, a longing.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Those grass-covered rolling hills represent the largest expanse of what's left of the native tallgrass prairie. With only three percent of this endangered ecosystem left in the world, two percent is right here. Big bluestem, little bluestem, switch grass and Indian grass.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My drive to town</span></span></i></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The town name Matfield Green also kept cropping up, though I couldn't tell you how. I was intrigued. One day I attended a meeting about 100 miles southwest of Topeka and decided to try to find Matfield and Chase County. I did not want to follow the paved road. I did have my book along (I grabbed every opportunity of down-time in my then-busy work life to read). </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Chase County town names are written in rocks on the hill above. This view is from the old cattle loading stockyards on the railroad siding. These may have been the last in the state to survive, but have since been burned.</span></span></i></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I followed the map and grid in the chapter about Matfield Green and I found myself on a stretch of "open range," where cattle moseyed across the road. The hills were now tawny with fall's influence, the waving grass reminiscent of the sea which once covered the area. Meadowlarks sang, killdeer flitted about, trying to draw me away from their nests. The sky was endless October blue with only an occasional patch of fluffy white. I did not see another vehicle the whole time. Finally, I stopped on a rise of the hills that overlooked what appeared to be a tiny village and guessed it might be Matfield Green. It was. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The story gets complicated from there, but two weeks later I was back in Chase County, and after a long weekend, I knew I was "home." I had to return. No matter what. It was seven more months before I finally relocated on the ranch of Jane Koger, to whom Heat-Moon had devoted a chapter. A lifetime resident and ranch owner, Jane founded Prairie Women Adventures and Retreat. I was becoming a Prairie Woman and on my very own Adventure as I became director.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">"Return to PrairyErth" resonates for me on so many levels. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><blockquote><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"You must not be in the prairie; but the prairie must be in you. That alone will do as qualification for biographer of the prairie…He who tells the prairie mystery must wear the prairie in his heart."</span></span></i></blockquote></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><blockquote>—William A. Quayle, The Prairie and the Sea (1905)</blockquote></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFA1t3oahJI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Kl5kB9pDy4I/s1600/GrassSky2w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/TFA1t3oahJI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Kl5kB9pDy4I/s640/GrassSky2w.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It is a mystery, and I know I have the prairie in my heart. It has called me, soothed me, excited me, taught me. Yet, I can never really explain or describe it. I have taken thousands of photographs and written even more words about it. Its "mystery" and magic are elusive. I once wrote that it seeped into my soul. Upon much reflection, I believe that my soul was always here, the prairie was always within it. I just had to "return" to it. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Others have recognized this lure. One couple—from Chicago—also relocated here not long after I did. They are realizing their dream of establishing an education center on the site of a ranch and farm settled by one of Chase County's pioneers. The Rogler Ranch—now referred to as Pioneer Bluffs—is just north of Matfield Green. Pioneer Bluffs <a href="http://www.pioneerbluffs.org/">http://www.pioneerbluffs.org/</a> hosted Saturday's event. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
Wichita, KS <i>Eagle</i> coverage: <a href="http://www.kansas.com/2010/07/24/1417753/pioneer-bluffs-celebration-draws.html">http://www.kansas.com/2010/07/24/1417753/pioneer-bluffs-celebration-draws.html</a><br />
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">People often say that Heat-Moon "put Chase County on the map." If that was the case, then Bill and Julia McBride along with a host of others are doing their best to uncover and tell the <i>(hi)</i>story of the county, the land, the culture, its pioneers, and those who have lived here most or all of their lives. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">They pay tribute to them through a photographic exhibit in the restored Rogler Homestead. They farm a cooperative garden in much the same way it was done over a hundred years ago. School children are charmed by the log cabin, the barn, the animals. Pioneer Bluffs hosts monthly seminars and workshops about the land and community. Neighbors and even those who don't live close volunteer their time and hands to help tell the story. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Saturday was a big day, for Pioneer Bluffs, for William Least-Heat Moon, for Chase County, and for me. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #1032ee; font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div></span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-43975947439240716552010-04-24T09:22:00.003-05:002010-04-25T09:28:53.655-05:00Plain and Simple<blockquote><br />
</blockquote><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I've been rereading a book that years ago made such an impact: <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Plain and Simple: a woman's journey to the Amish</span> by Sue Bender <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sue+bender&x=0&y=0">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sue+bender&x=0&y=0</a>. <br />
<br />
Lately I've been drawn back to the Amish, as I have been various times through my life. Recent trips to Yoder, KS,<br />
<a href="http://www.yoderkansas.com/">http://www.yoderkansas.com/</a> an Amish community may have triggered it. Seeing their simple, basic life. The practical hardware store, horse and buggy transportation, a country store where I found fabric, canning lids and rings, where there is no television. And the Quilts on Parade….our main reason for visiting this little town on the prairie. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Was it a coincidence, then, that as I looked through my bookshelf for something to read when I finished my last book that my eyes fell upon <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Plain and Simple</span>? </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">A restlessness has seeped into my life lately, after months of mostly sedentary life. Content during that time to read, scrapbook, surf the 'net, I balked at physical activity. Then the days became warmer, and green sprigs poking through the ground in my herb and flowerbeds beckoned me. It was as if they cried, "Help! Clean away the leaves and debris so I can stretch and feel the sun."<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L6M6DstxI/AAAAAAAAAGk/0ifDzw7Xoys/s1600/iris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L6M6DstxI/AAAAAAAAAGk/0ifDzw7Xoys/s320/iris.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Spring is a piece of God's patchwork. Spring, summer, fall, winter. A definite pattern. And yet, within it, differences, tension and harmony: calm spring days when one feels at peace with the world. Turbulent spring storms that threaten to destroy everything with their wind, hail, pounding rain.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L5-DKh1ZI/AAAAAAAAAGc/gdx484hrCgs/s1600/redbuds.w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L5-DKh1ZI/AAAAAAAAAGc/gdx484hrCgs/s320/redbuds.w.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Awakening of life, growth, waning and dying. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Bender's description of the Amish quilts: </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><blockquote>"The relationship of the individual parts to the whole, the proportion, the way the inner and outer borders reacted with each other was a balancing act between tension and harmony."</blockquote><blockquote>"How could pared down and daring go together?…calm and intense at the same time?" </blockquote><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Nature's pallette: Brilliant indigo iris that looks like velvet, pale apricot tree blossoms; vivid red tulips, soft lavender phlox.</div><br />
<div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L5iJ0retI/AAAAAAAAAGU/MpmO9BPTgQ4/s1600/flowers+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L5iJ0retI/AAAAAAAAAGU/MpmO9BPTgQ4/s320/flowers+comp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
Balance. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Sometimes I think I am learning, as I grow older and (I hope!) wiser. But I used to relate all too well to Bender and her lifestyle, rushing toward goals, not stopping to smell these spring flowers, busy busy busy, trying to do it all.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><blockquote>Bender: "I wanted it all, a glutton for new experience…accumulating choices was a way of not having to make a choice…I pushed myself, trying to make each piece (of pottery) more original than the previous one." </blockquote><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Ah! So me. My cooking, my art, my life. The other night, as we were cleaning up after dinner, Charlie said to me, "You always make it so complicated." I told him I don't know how <i>not</i> to.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">When I discovered <i>Simple Scrapbooking</i> and <i>The Big Picture <br />
<a href="http://bigpicturescrapbooking.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">http://bigpicturescrapbooking.com/ </span></a></i>, a style taught by Stacy Julian and a few others, it was another <i>Aha!</i> I was drawn to the basic, uncluttered, simple approach to scrapbooking. <br />
<br />
When the magazine SS was discontinued a year ago, I mourned. Then I rediscovered Cathy Zielske <a href="http://www.cathyzielske.typepad.com/">http://www.cathyzielske.typepad.com/</a><br />
and, going back through my collection of the old SS books and magazines, rediscovered what had drawn me there in the first place. I had been lured away by the plethora of scrapbook products flooding the market: embellishments, bling, tools. Not to say these are bad, but read on….</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The cliche' "back to basics" (photo, paper, story) within a simple pattern speaks to me. I've always been attracted to the nine-patch quilt pattern more than any other. After reading <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Plain and Simple</span>, I understand. It is ordinary, common, providing a framework within which to be free. Sounds contradictory, but it is not. I've been doing some layouts based on Cathy Zielske's digital templates that are the framework for her page designs I like so much. They are so freeing.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Freedom to be creative within a framework, just as the Amish women use quilting stitches (feather, tulip, wreath, pineapple, star) in their seemingly austere, minimalistic quilts to exercise their creative selves. Often their flower gardens are reflections not of a rigid lifestyle, but of vibrant color and artistic expression. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I balked at first at using the scrapbooking templates. I didn't want cookie cutter, look-alike pages. But then I discovered they are like using a recipe to cook or a pattern to sew: again, they provide the basic framework, freeing me from that initial hard decision. I can vary the photos, the fonts, the colors, the text within to put my own stamp on a page.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">This thought process leads into more I want to say, but as always, I have more to say than space and time allow. So, I will continue this another day because it seems I am leaving this unfinished. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Meanwhile, Ali Edwards, a "life artist" and scrapbooker I find so inspiring along with Cathy Z, is exploring something that fits well here. She and Cathy are both doing "Week in the Life" projects this week. Read their blogs and tune in here later to see how it all fits together—part of the whole pattern of life and creativity, <i>The Big Picture</i>. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 16.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Now I'm going out to check the progress of the garden Charlie's been planting. From the window I can see the rows of green already making a pattern within the square of the whole.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L8e2sfPCI/AAAAAAAAAGs/DIKzj7wKwo0/s1600/garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S9L8e2sfPCI/AAAAAAAAAGs/DIKzj7wKwo0/s320/garden.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-83183965584745778832010-02-14T22:55:00.000-06:002010-02-14T22:55:02.263-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jMNHTNWdI/AAAAAAAAAF0/vtfCLChlVaQ/s1600-h/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jMNHTNWdI/AAAAAAAAAF0/vtfCLChlVaQ/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #660000;">Valentine Surprise</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I had a wonderful surprise this morning...this was in my chair when I got up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I said it was a surprise, not because Charlie's not the most thoughtful, romantic man a gal could want. It's just that sometimes, because we live so far out in the boonies and buying cards hasn't always been his priority, he forgets to get me a one. But this time? Not only a beautiful card with the most appropriate senti- ment, but also a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a little Valentine teddy bear. I ask you: what more could a girl ask for on Valentine's Day?!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I just finished taking the Red Velvet cake from the oven. That's just about his favorite. Cake decorating is not my forte'. But, my buttercream frosting is excellent.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jNUcZTcZI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ke5cGJJdjew/s1600-h/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jNUcZTcZI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ke5cGJJdjew/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #660000;">Red Velvet cake</i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's here! And it's a good thing I haven't had anything pressing to do this past week because it might not have been done. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My new Macbook Pro (laptop computer to you non-Apple readers) arrived Tuesday morning. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jOJ5C9KdI/AAAAAAAAAGE/DLxcxxYHxiw/s1600-h/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jOJ5C9KdI/AAAAAAAAAGE/DLxcxxYHxiw/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I did a lot of online research. After agonizing over whether to buy a PC because of the price, deciding I couldn't make the sacrifice, then wondering if I could settle for a smaller screen and finally deciding that because of my worsening eyesight I could not….with shaking finger, I took another deep breath and hit the "confirm purchase" button. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And I don't regret my decision for one second! I could not be more ecstatic. This Macbook <a href="http://www.apple.com/macbookpro/features.html">http://www.apple.com/macbookpro/features.html</a> has everything I have grown to love about a Mac and even more. The basic wonderful and intuitive interface; intelligent file organization; an incredible backlit, sharp screen; and some new-fangled technology like "cover flow" and a touchpad that is something out of CSI. I always thought rotating a photo with one's fingers was fiction! (I know, time to crawl out of my cave.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jOxf7pUuI/AAAAAAAAAGM/J8B8lMqAzv8/s1600-h/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YQgKLt4I9l8/S3jOxf7pUuI/AAAAAAAAAGM/J8B8lMqAzv8/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So now I've spent untold hours (and have the bleary eyes and sore neck and shoulders to show for it) migrating my files from my older Mac Mini; setting up new internet browser and e-mail programs; and…yes, I admit it…setting up a Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/">http://www.facebook.com/</a> account. I had previously tried multiple times to navigate Facebook. Not sure if it was our satellite connection (often like molasses), my pretty good but slightly older computer, or Facebook's site itself. I finally decided it was a little of each, along with impatience on my part. At any rate, I always gave up in frustration when I tried to access a friend's photo albums—which was my reason for logging on in the first place.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But I have been able to login, navigate, chat, and set up my own account. Woo Hoo! It was fun chatting with my husband, sitting four feet away from me, last night!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now I have to get back to </span><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">real life…</i></div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-89382435313106866962010-02-03T15:08:00.002-06:002010-02-03T16:07:54.840-06:00Saying Good-bye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/4326653972_c47251d80c_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/4326653972_c47251d80c_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="color: purple;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Quest: January 2, 1996—January 21, 2010</i></div><br />
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm still not sure I can do this...Each time I think I'll post, I start and get a few words written and get stuck. I finally began gathering photos of Quest from our 14 years together to assemble a scrapbook. My scrapbooking activities have helped me deal with loss in the past. </span></div><div style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ironically, last fall I was working on another album ("ME: The Abridged Version" from Cathy Zielski's <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.cathyzielske.typepad.com/">http://www.cathyzielske.typepad.com/</a></span> class at Big Picture Scrapbooking <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.bigpicturescrapbooking.com/">http://www.bigpicturescrapbooking.com/</a></span>) and one entry I wrote was about my faithful friend Quest.</span></div><div style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have decided just to use that tribute to him now, rather than reinventing the wheel. Little did I know then how short his time would be. </span></div><br />
<div style="color: #741b47; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A tiny black lab was given to me when I made my home at the Homestead Ranch near Matfield Green, KS. Quest was the runt of a litter of 11, son of Traveler. I named him “Traveler’s Prairie Quest” because he represented to me my own quest. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After his mom, he became a guest favorite at the ranch. The smartest (and most intuitive), best behaved dog one could ever imagine. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Obsessed with balls, sticks and rocks, he could sniff out a tennis ball from any hiding place—guest luggage, dresser drawers, a high shelf. He amused himself—and us—by rolling onto his back, getting a ball between his paws, tossing it into the air, and yes, catching it in his mouth! He’d also push a rock (and it had to be big) around on the ground with his nose, flipping it so he could chase it and catch it. He really loved pushing one off the bank of the creek and jumping in after it. He’d root around under water until he found that exact rock. All that play with rocks has, unfortunately, ground his teeth down to nubbins. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Quest grew from “tiny” to very big—75-85 pounds big. He dwarfed seven-pound Heidi, my cat and at first a natural enemy and later a best friend. Me and my dog, going for walks and rides in my pick-up through the hills. Always so obedient and loyal, wanting nothing but to please and to have my affection.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4006/4326649834_5cd6fe5cb4_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4006/4326649834_5cd6fe5cb4_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He became a teacher to our new lab Sadie, who learned to sit for her food and treats as he did without any prompting from us. They roamed the prairie together, patrolled our land every time they went out, and “protected” us from deer, raccoons and other critters. They played tug-of-war with toys and sticks; napped in the sun; and got into trouble together—digging up moles, eating garden produce right off the plants, and digging holes in the mud. Sadie taught Quest grubs were great little treats while he taught her how to shimmy beneath the barbed wire fences.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2792/4326650980_ce44e6d817_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2792/4326650980_ce44e6d817_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4326652100_f6b749354b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/4326652100_f6b749354b_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Christmas 2009</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i> </i> </span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now, he’s old and decrepit, like a very old person. Deaf as a post, with arthritis and nerve/muscle problems, it’s painful to watch him get up and down. His mind is often fuzzy and he gets confused. And yet, he still has so much heart. He wants so badly to play, to retrieve that toy so he can bring it back to me to toss again. Not long ago I watched Heidi deteriorate and eventually die, and now I watch Quest with such sadness, and guilt, because I have not given him the attention and affection he so desperately wanted from me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The world’s most special black lab. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fast forward to two weeks ago yesterday (a Tuesday). Quest and Sadie had had their morning trips outside as usual and settled down inside for naps. About noon Charlie took Sadie to the veterinarian to have staples removed from some earlier surgery. After a while, Quest decided he'd had enough napping and attempted to get up and come to join me. He had had trouble hoisting his arthritic body up for quite a while, but always managed by pushing up with his front legs. This time one of those legs didn't seem to work. At first I thought he'd injured himself, as he occasionally did. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By the time Charlie and Sadie returned, it was apparent Quest was in pretty bad shape, so Charlie hoisted him up and helped him outside for his constitutional. He barely made it back inside, where he collapsed.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'll spare my readers details of the next two agonizing days. We knew the "time" had come and talked to Tom Jernigan, our vet, making the arrangements for early Thursday morning, not believing Quest would even make it through the night. But that ever-present spirit was still there, despite his inability to move himself except for head and tail—the tail still wagged each time he'd see me or I'd stoop to rub his ears. That made it even harder. Never one to moan or cry, Quest was whimpering and making strange pained sounds the last 24 hours. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Tom told us he thought Quest had had an embolism that traveled into his lungs. His heart had been weak, and more lately, his breathing labored. He was old. We simply never envisioned anything so drastic, though. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, we buried that big old lovable friend a few feet from his companion of many years, Heidi, on that bitterly cold, gray, windy morning, along with the Kong toy he loved so much.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Life just isn't the same now. Both Charlie and I miss those soulful brown eyes, the tilt of his head, and that "Please, oh please, pet me, play with me" look. And, that wagging tail. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/4326652816_b29ddb8f92_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/4326652816_b29ddb8f92_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"> Good-bye old friend</span><br />
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<div style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">*Thanks to Katie Pertiet at Designer Digitals <a href="http://www.designerdigitals.com/">http://www.designerdigitals.com/</a> for her <i>Book of Memories</i> scrapbooking template and <i>Messy Stamped Alphabet</i> letters </div></div></div></div>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-45376930632698586572009-03-21T21:08:00.023-05:002009-03-26T12:37:16.473-05:00Spring-spiration<font style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" size="2"><font face="verdana">I'm back. Spring seems to inspire me to get off the stick and really do things. Actually, I've written several blog entries, but never got around to posting. I am, however, going to add (at the bottom of this) something that I wrote New Year's Day, just because it had a message I want to make note of, for myself anyway.</font><br /><blockquote><font face="verdana">Excitement.</font> <font face="verdana"><br />Findings.</font><br /><font face="verdana">Treasures.</font> <font face="verdana"><br />Inspiration.</font><br /><font face="verdana">Bargains.</font> <font face="verdana"><br />New growth.</font><br /><font face="verdana">Spring.</font> </blockquote><font face="verdana">Yesterday I had a creativity escape afternoon. I headed to the nursery, armed with coupons for half off on some plants and more on others. Succulents and African daisies topped the list. Since it's a bit of a drive there, I spent part of the time dreaming about my back flower garden, which is being revamped this year.<br /></font><font face="verdana"><br />To start with, Charlie's helping me dig out some pesky plants to replant on the hillsides of the ditches. Old fashioned Bouncing Bett and Tiger Lilies spread and overpower everything else and I fight them all year. So, they're getting new homes to make way for new plants. </font><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3385576742/" title="flower garden before by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3471/3385576742_3411ff64d1_o.jpg" alt="flower garden before" height="356" width="475"></a><br /><font face="verdana"><font style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" face="times new roman">Still a mess<br /><br /></font></font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" size="2"><font face="verdana">The daisies are light purple and deep purple. The succulents will go in one corner with my existing hen-and-chicks. The dill and cilantro will join the other herbs.<br /><br /></font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" size="2"><font face="verdana">The gardens are off-limits to our two real black labs, but my new lab puppy sculpture will be look cute sitting guard someplace. </font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" size="2"><font face="verdana">We also bought a fountain the other day, which Charlie just set up last night.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3385576752/" title="garden art by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3547/3385576752_28d7eef19e_o.jpg" alt="garden art" height="311" width="475"></a></font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" size="2"><font face="verdana"><br /><br />My dreaming included plans to paint a couple of my trashy treasures cobalt blue—like the tiny child's or doll's chair and a pot or two. </font> <font face="verdana"><br /><br />Ater the nursery I went to my favorite used book store, The Book Grinder. My most exciting find is a beautiful 8 1/2 x 11-inch book entitled <font style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);" face="times new roman" size="3"><font size="3">Alphabets and Ornaments—Artwork for Scrapbooks and Fabric Transfe</font>r</font>.<br /><a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Alphabets+%26+Ornaments&x=0&y=0">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Alphabets+%26+Ornaments&x=0&y=0</a><br /><br />All beautiful colored vintage images: floral, birds, postcards, music sheets, posters, frames, ledger pages, verse. These can be cut out and used as is—or I can print and size to my heart's content from the bonus CD included. The book appears to be brand-spanking new, never used. In fact, the CD is still sealed in the back.<br /><br /></font><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3385576746/" title="Alphabet &amp; Ornaments by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3626/3385576746_10a97a9516_o.jpg" alt="Alphabet &amp; Ornaments" height="321" width="475"></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3385576734/" title="Alphabet &amp; Ornaments by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3588/3385576734_1d129fa717_o.jpg" alt="Alphabet &amp; Ornaments" height="185" width="475"></a><br /><br /><font face="verdana"><br />My mind is racing, and when I awoke at 4:45 this morning, I couldn't go back to sleep.<br /></font> <font face="verdana"><br />Continuing with gardening thoughts, yesterday Charlie planted four kinds of potatoes, spinach, Swiss chard, onions, lettuce and radishes. Fresh veggies on their way.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3379159131/" title="Charlie preparing potatoes by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3434/3379159131_ffbbb44a22_o.jpg" alt="Charlie preparing potatoes" height="375" width="500"></a><br /><br /></font> <font face="verdana"><br />I have to mention one more VERY important thing: I am a grandmother again. Katy Jo Benn Gregory, little sister to Tabitha, was born December 13, 2008. I spent several days with her the end of January—first of February. Needless to say, she's another joy!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3380036860/" title="Grandma &amp; Katy by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3627/3380036860_4e5898fa7e_o.jpg" alt="Grandma &amp; Katy" height="288" width="384"></a><br /><font style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" face="times new roman">Grandma and Katy Jo</font><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/3380036864/" title="Katy &amp; Tabitha by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3556/3380036864_85d1dcb76a_o.jpg" alt="Katy &amp; Tabitha" height="288" width="384"></a><br /><font style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" face="times new roman">Big Sister Tabitha with Katy Jo</font><br /><br />I'll try not to let a year pass again beore continuing this saga. Maybe I can even get some follow-up photos posted.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Edited March 26:</span> Just finished reading one of the books bought last week, <font size="4"><font style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);" face="times new roman">After the Rain</font></font> by Thomas Christopher Greene. I just discovered through his website <a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.thomaschristophergreene.com/interior.php/sid/1">http://www.thomaschristophergreene.com/interior.php/sid/1</a><br />and a subsequent e-mail from the author, that this title was published first in the UK and later in the US under the name </font></font><font style="" face="times new roman" size="4"><font style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);">I'll Never Be Long Gone</font></font>. <font size="2"><font face="verdana">I am so anxious now to read his other books, which are available through Amazon, by the way. </font></font>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-43704339636210266332009-03-21T20:19:00.009-05:002009-03-23T14:56:43.539-05:00Serenity<span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >January 1, 2009</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"> </span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Happy New Year!</span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);"> </span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">This seems an appropriate time to post an entry to my blog, which has been neglected for months. I've written several entries, but never followed through with posting them.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >I've just been reading Ali Edwards' <a href="http://aliedwards.typepad.com/_a_/2009/01/page/3/">http://aliedwards.typepad.com/_a_/2009/01/page/3/</a> blog. She is always so inspirational and today is especially so. She has, for some time, been encouraging her readers to focus on a word for a year that embodies a goal, a wish, a dream, a place one might want to be. Do you know how hard that can be? To stay focused for that long? Or, for much time at all. To be honest, I tried it last year and right now, I can't even remember "my word."</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >So, I'll try again. Contemplating my stage of life, there are two words, actually, that came to me: GRACE and SERENITY.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >In much of my reading over the past couple years I've seen references to the 60s as "old age." Well, I do not intend to think of myself as "old"! However, I'm definitely past the diapers and hectic mornings and rushing off to a job filled with deadlines and meetings and busyness. Thankfully. I have finally reached the place in my life when I have more control over my own schedule and actions.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />But, even though it doesn't happen as often, I still find myself reacting with the old knee-jerk flight-or-fight syndrome. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />(An aside: one doctor has recognized this as one cause of fibromyalgia: a chronic flight-or-fight reaction that has become a never-ending pain syndrome. Since I was diagnosed years ago with FMS, this is the first make-sense thing I've read.)</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />I still tend to stress over things that—even though I've sometimes chosen them</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >—</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >begin to overwhelm me. Things that aren't according to my liking, my beliefs, my way of wanting something done. Maybe they are moving too fast, even, and I begin to be uptight, feeling out of control. This goes all the way from personal stuff up through</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >—</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >and particularly</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >—</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >politics and national and international happenings.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />I've always admired people who are able to accept life with grace, to be serene in the face of adversity or chaos. There's a lot that goes along with this: tolerance, acceptance, nonjudgmental, positivity, joy.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />I suppose I could select any one of those words, too. But I want to be more encompassing. I want to be able to stay calm in a potentially explosive or disturbing situation. I want to not have my blood pressure rise, my muscles tense, my corrosive thoughts take over.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />Despite what I said earlier about my stage of life in which I have more control over my circumstances, there is much I still cannot control. I often turn to St. Francis' "Prayer of Serenity":</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span> </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />I could go into the biblical and spiritual ideas about "grace," but for now, let's keep it simple: I want to live with grace, which I think is to <span style="font-style: italic;">live </span>St. Francis' prayer, to be accepting, to have courage, and to have wisdom.</span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-59713967609769998472008-04-18T20:56:00.017-05:002008-04-20T16:35:25.088-05:00March for Babies<span style="font-family:verdana;">On Saturday, April 27, my 3 1/2-year-old granddaughter and her parents will join others in one of many worldwide events in the March of Dimes <span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-style: italic;">March for Babies</span>.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2424504396/" title="every step by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2136/2424504396_b8d4c36e5f_o.jpg" alt="every step" height="152" width="300" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Tabitha is our little miracle, and I'd like other families to be able to experience the joy we have. She was a mere one pound, 13 ounces at birth and spent her first weeks in the NICU.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2424504392/" title="Tabitha's birth by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2247/2424504392_8d8630c598_o.jpg" alt="Tabitha's birth" height="318" width="500" /></a><br /><br />Thanks to the M of D, incredible strides have and are being made in "preventing birth defects, premature birth, and infant mortality...through research, community services, education and advocacy to save babies' lives."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2429366356/" title="Tabitha at 6 months by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3012/2429366356_5df49b165b_o.jpg" alt="Tabitha at 6 months" height="225" width="300" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);">Tabitha at 6 months.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2429366370/" title="Princess, at 2 1/2 years by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3281/2429366370_89d9f15907_o.jpg" alt="Princess, at 2 1/2 years" height="302" width="300" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:times new roman;" >Our little princess at 2 1/2 years</span><br /></span><br />Please visit Tabitha's website: <a href="http://www.marchforbabies.org/tabithagregory">http://www.marchforbabies.org/tabithagregory</a><br /><br />Here are some other worthwhile March of Dimes links:<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQ1CsZbjY0g">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQ1CsZbjY0g</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/MarchofDimes">http://www.youtube.com/user/MarchofDimes</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.marchofdimesbaby.org/">http://www.marchofdimesbaby.org/</a><br /><br /><br /></span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-52330572379457860442008-04-09T10:22:00.016-05:002008-04-20T16:03:39.514-05:00Fire and Ice<span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">or</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" ><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Springtime in the Flint Hills</span></span><br /><br />The week's only half over and already it's been one to remember. <span style="font-family:verdana;">Before I moved to the Flint Hills, I was driving the turnpike from Topeka to Wichita one evening, and I saw huge amounts of rolling smoke and some flames. I had never, at that time, heard of prairie fires or burning the prairie. Now it has become a spring ritual to which I look forward each year.<br /><br />Yes, I even enjoy smelling the burning grass and I know that sometimes the smoke-filled atmosphere creates the most incredible sunsets. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">The burning is another signal that soon these blackened hills will be covered with lush green grass and bright wildflowers.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">In past years, I'd often jump into my car and drive and drive and drive if I smelled the hint of smoke or saw it or the flames in the distance. Many nights I spent chasing the almost elusive fires because they always seemed just over the hill. In reality, they usually were <span style="font-style: italic;">many</span> miles and <span style="font-style: italic;">many</span> hills away.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Monday night, we had a wonderful fire "just over the creek and the next ridge" (in reality it was a little further!) The coyotes and turkeys were raising quite a ruckus. By the time I got my cameras and a jacket, the north wind was so brisk I couldn't hold the cameras steady and the rain began pelting me. But I did manage to snap a couple shots before it came down so hard it doused the fire. None of the shots is <span style="font-style: italic;">good</span>, but you get the picture (<span style="font-style: italic;">pun intended!</span>).</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2400796933/" title="Prairie fire 08-2 by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3189/2400796933_e8b0e07ab0_o.jpg" alt="Prairie fire 08-2" height="204" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2400796935/" title="Prairie fire 08-3 by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3238/2400796935_5cab2435fc_o.jpg" alt="Prairie fire 08-3" height="300" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><br />Then, I was awakened at 1 a.m. to a terrible crashing sound on the skylights and roof. I soon discovered it was hailing. Although not the largest (only pea to marble size), it was certainly some of the most and the hardest I've experienced. Covered the ground with about an inch of ice. And, the wind was horrific.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2400796941/" title="DSCN4096w by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2058/2400796941_2141dd0689_o.jpg" alt="DSCN4096w" height="533" width="400" /></a><br /><br />By morning, despite it being 45 degrees, the ice was still piled against the house and we could barely open the back door onto the deck. Piles of it still covered the lawn.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2400796943/" title="DSCN4097w by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2170/2400796943_4acec4d94b_o.jpg" alt="DSCN4097w" height="300" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">We were lucky, though. The wind blew over a cast-iron hand pump in back and it rained in around the skylight in the guest bath. An internet report from the National Weather Service and Butler County Law Enforcement indicated the brunt of the storm hit not far from us, maybe 10 to 12 miles to the southwest, with wind speeds exceeding 80 mph:</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">VERY LARGE HIGH VOLTAGE POWER LINES DOWN ABOUT 4 MILES</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> SOUTHEAST OF BURNS.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />SEVERAL HOMES WERE REPORTED DAMAGED BETWEEN THE TOWNS OF</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> EL DORADO AND BURNS. EXTENT OF THE DAMAGE IS UNKNOWN.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> SEVERAL SEMIS WERE REPORTED OVERTURNED IN NORTHERN BUTLER</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> COUNTY ON THE KANSAS TURNPIKE NORTH OF EL DORADO.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yesterday as we drove to Wichita we saw lots of damage between Burns and El Dorado. Power poles and trees just snapped off and some roofs missing. We saw one of the semis mentioned still sitting at the entrance to the turnpike; it was part of a UPS truck. Utility crews were everywhere replacing poles and restringing wire, and we saw a greenhouse that had been destroyed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This morning Charlie braved the fog and below-freezing temperature to hunt one of those noisy gobblers we've been watching and hearing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-family:verdana;" >Just another week in the Flint Hills.</span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-2962035366299909492008-04-05T19:58:00.005-05:002008-04-05T20:41:38.525-05:00Party Time!<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >Spring is Nature's way of saying "Let's have a party."</span> </span> <div style="text-align: left;"> </div> <div style="text-align: center;"> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:times new roman;" >—Robin Williams<br /><br /></span></span></div> </div> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2391333066/" title="Spring flowers comp by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3243/2391333066_b2b7129aa4_o.jpg" alt="Spring flowers comp" height="147" width="397" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >Blue Eyes, Veronica or Speedwell (left); daffodil</span></span><br /></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />We're about to have a party here in Kansas. Seems like it's been a long time coming, but spring is creeping in on little frog song and robin wings.<br /><br />Bright spots of tiny Blue eyes (veronica or speedwell) dot the prairie and magenta henbit carpets the fields.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Buzzards, phoebes and red-winged blackbirds.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Forsythia and daffodils bursting forth like sunshine.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Smoke hangs in the air from prairie fires; some hills are blackened, and some already are covered with a green haze of new grass.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Fragrance of freshly tilled earth in the garden.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Blue herons rising majestically from the pond.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Flocks of turkeys gathering. Deer grazing tender new grass in our yard. Gentle rain and soft breezes.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">These are the soft signs of spring, sighs as Earth is awakening.<br /><br />Sometimes, though, it is more like a sleeping giant awakening from hibernation: stretching and clearing its lungs with great gusts of wind, blowing limbs off trees and threatening to turn everything inside out. Lashing lightening and booming thunder. Filling the creeks with rushing water.<br /><br />These storms—or showers—will bring more flowers.</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" ><br /><br />Yes, one way or another, it's <span style="font-weight: bold;">Party Time</span>.</span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-13300308588008491772008-03-15T21:35:00.016-05:002008-03-18T18:07:54.357-05:00More Pets and Prairie<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Friday</span><br />Right now I am so tired I can barely move my fingers. But it's a very good exhaustion, for a change. It's been a stressful week, and I needed a long walk on the prairie to cleanse my mind and drain the tension from my body.<br /><br />It was a good time to do this. When I started out, there was barely a breeze, the sun had just gone behind the mounting clouds, the sky was gray and the hills beige. Not much for distraction. No birds even singing. No cows in sight or hearing. Grass not stirring. The only sound in existence seemed to be the quiet crunch of rocks beneath my boots. In fact, each time I stopped, just to listen, I heard nothing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">A blank canvas. One on which to ponder. Or not. Sometimes it's good just to BE. That's enough.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">By the time I had walked to the second high pole gate, the farthest I've made it since last summer, and was halfway back, I was beginning to be more aware of my surroundings. The little bluestem grass tufts had become russet in color against the backdrop of charcoal blue sky. A bird flew above me. I saw big paw prints in the mud along the side of the road: a coyote, maybe? I noticed how black the briared stems of the wild blackberry and plum thickets were. Flint rocks, crushed by the road grader two days ago, showed their blue centers against the gray outer shell. Speaking of shells, some broken pearly clamshells were scattered in the ditch near the creek.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The wind picked up to the point that to hear the silence, I had to stop and shield my ears from the rush. </span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >The week</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now, a bit about why my week has been so stressful....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sadie has written a letter to her little friend Benny, so I'll let her tell it:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" ><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right; color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Dear Benny...This has been the worst week of my life. It started out pretty boring because Quest hurt himself and couldn't go outside with me. He wouldn't get up off the floor, even, and growled at me once when I got in his face. Sometimes I try to get him to play by biting his ear. Then our humans kept telling me to leave him alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >They took him to the doctor Tuesday and I heard them say he had a sore shoulder (wonder if he caught that from our master. He had to have his operated on last month.) Then they said he had a torn tendon or ligaments. Mom and Dad yelled at me louder each time I tried to play.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >So on Wednesday I was outside again by myself. Once, I wanted to chase the mail carrier's truck, but Mom wouldn't let me. So after she went back inside, I was looking for something to do when one of those monsters—humans call them trucks and cars—came down the road. I ran as fast as I could out to the road. I thought I'd run along the side or behind it, but it must have been going slower than they usually do, and I went underneath it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >I'll spare you the grisly details, Benny. Let's just say, rocks are very sharp and tires hard and heavy. I found out my skin is pretty thin, too. I could only walk on three legs, barely. I think I scared my humans pretty bad because they scooped me up in a sheet (I was bleeding a lot) and rushed me to the vet clinic, a long, long drive. I thought we'd never get there. They did not talk much during the ride except to say I was "one lucky puppy" and I was being very brave.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Things got scary again after they put me on that shiny, cold table. A woman doctor came in and after feeling me and looking at me, she tried to assure Mom and Dad nothing was broken and it didn't look like "permanent damage," whatever that meant. She poked me with a big needle. I didn't like that, so I made it fall off the table. But she got another one and stuck it in a different leg. Then she got still <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> one and stuck me with <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >I couldn't believe Mom and Dad both held me down so I couldn't move while that doctor kept punching some metal things they called staples into my whole leg and thigh. I thought it was bullets. The doctor said I was very good and even gave me TWO treats.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Back home, I just wanted to curl up in my bed, but I couldn't bend my leg or lie on it. I was hurting really bad. So I started licking my hurt places. I'd heard the doctor say I shouldn't do that, but it made it feel better. After trying to stop me lots of times, Dad went outside a while and came back in with a plastic flowerpot and some duct tape. He actually put that thing around my neck after he cut open the side of the pot! But I fooled him—I could still lick my leg. So, he stayed up all night to keep me from doing it.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > </span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2344301378/" title="Sadie comp 1 by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2211/2344301378_525560b898_o.jpg" alt="Sadie comp 1" height="306" width="500" /></a><br /></div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Sadie with her makeshift cone, left, and with the real "lampshade," right</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">The next day, Mom really added insult to injury. She left home for a few hours, and when she came back, she said to dad, "Sadie's really going to love this." I thought I was going to get another treat. They played with this plastic thing, calling it a puzzle. Then they called me over and they put a lampshade over my head!! They fastened it on with my collar. Then they stood there looking at me and trying not to laugh. Dad said, "If I put a light bulb in your mouth, will it light up?" VERY funny.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Mostly Mom and Dad have been really good to me, though, giving me extra treats and telling me I'm a "good girl." Mom even brought me a new toy, a squeaky snake.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2338893273/" title="Sadie and Squeaky Snake by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3216/2338893273_9967604a16.jpg" alt="Sadie and Squeaky Snake" height="184" width="250" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I really wish I could get this thing off my head so I can play with my toys again. All I can do is hold them in my mouth now. I can't throw them around or run around with them. And Quest gets mad when I run into him with the edge of this thing—but I can't see around it. Once I just fell right over the top of him! </span></span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Tuesday</span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Well, Sadie got her wish today: the "lampshade" has been removed and she's dancing, literally.<br /><br />Things are looking up, I think, after a tense weekend. Sunday morning Charlie's back went out (better now); Sadie's wounds seemed worse, so she got to visit the vet today (healing nicely now, he said); it has sleeted, snowed and rained. The creeks are close to overflowing.<br /><br />Robins, buzzards, red-winged blackbirds, and meadowlarks have returned. Frogs are croaking; ranchers have begun to burn the prairie, calves are appearing everywhere, and daffodils are blooming in town. Can spring be far away now?<br /><br />On the way home from the vet this afternoon we saw four—that's FOUR—bald eagles sitting in a pasture. They took flight as we drove near and we watched them circle and soar. And, the sun peeked out a little bit.<br /><br />Yes, things are looking up. Now, if I can just get this *&)^@^% photo and text spacing figured out so I can place my pictures where I want them, I'll be soaring with the eagles!</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-37587882251242223882008-03-04T13:52:00.008-06:002008-03-05T15:51:51.835-06:00InspirationLife artist <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.aliedwards.typepad.com/">Ali Edwards</a> issued a challenge last year to think of a word and concentrate on it for a year: meditate, take photos or draw pictures representing its meaning, and post the word in a prominent place. I couldn't get focused enough to do this, but I thought about it occasionally.<br /><br />January 2008 came and I decided My Word should be FOCUS. Get that—"should be." I have a <a href="http://www.tallgrassretreats.com/">friend</a> who says, "Don't <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> on yourself."<br /><br />But, two months have gone by and I haven't really done anything, again, but <span style="font-style: italic;">think</span> about "focus."<br /><br />A couple mornings ago the light bulb came on: My Word is not "focus" right now, but <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">INSPIRATION</span>. Even though I now knew this to be right for me, at this time, while listening to <a href="http://www.drwaynedyer.com/">Dr. Wayne Dyer</a> on <a href="http://www.pbs.org/">PBS</a> the light bulb began pulsing and I realized the truth when he said, "there are no coincidences." When you are in harmony with Spirit and on your own right path, you begin paying attention and become aware that a message is being delivered. (apologies to Dr. Dyer; he's more eloquent.)<br /><br />How many times in a day lately have I read about "inspiration"? How many times have I been asked to think about what inspires me? How many times have I thought to myself, "This book-quote-story-picture really has inspired me"?<br /><br />Okay, so Spirit-God has my attention. Dr. Dyer also said that as we develop this awareness, we also must be open, ready and willing because the next step involves <span style="font-style: italic;">doing</span>. Our purpose in life is to serve and give back.<br /><br />Now I am asking myself:<br /><br />How? What am I supposed to do? How can I help? Serve? Give back? Am I—perhaps—doing a little bit already?<br /><br />When I first became serious about photography and was preparing for an exhibit, I was asked to write a statement about myself and photography, something about why I do it and what inspires me. It came to me (another light bulb) I had basically two reasons:<br /><ol> <li>I needed some way to preserve, to document, to hold onto a specific: a moment in time, a piece of Nature, a child's expression. These are fleeting happenings, never to be exactly duplicated or repeated. Gifts from God to me.</li> <li>No. 2, I was also struck with the thought that while these were gifts to me, they were not necessarily just for me. I needed to share them because maybe—just maybe—I was the only one who could share this particular thing in a particular way. This seemed to be God's message to me: preserve this memory and share it.</li> </ol> Before I started seriously photographing, I was a reporter and a graphic designer. While I never had such a clear revelation, the theme was there: tell the story.<br /><br />I found when I was surrounded by Nature, living on the prairie as I was, away from the distractions of city life, traffic, manmade noise, daily reminders of violence and negativity, God's voice was clear and pure, no longer muffled.<br /><br />I began at first taking pictures of sunsets and fall leaves floating in the creek, for me, because I was starved for this beauty. I picked the wildflowers in the spring and dried grass and seedpods in the fall to bring inside, to save and to savor them.<br /><br />After a while I no longer had to pick them. I had my photos, and I had begun to recognize the rhythm of Nature, the ebb and flow of the seasons. New versions of the same plant life, different colors in a sunset, patterns of the clouds before a storm. All out my front door.<br /><br />As I wrote last month, I began writing my <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">IDEAS TO IMAGES</span> blog and have become more involved with scrapbooking for the same reasons: to preserve and to share.<br /><br />Back to My Word. Dr. Dyer's latest book—are you ready?—is "Inspiration." I don't have it yet, but over the past month I've come across several references (coincidences?) and have checked it out on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1401907229/ref=wl_itt_dp?ie=UTF8&coliid=I33JFW3MUDV84D&colid=2G6COTZ4OCCA9">Amazon.com.</a> I'm ready to order it.<br /><br /><img src="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=1020011672207479754&postID=3758788225124222388" style="margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;" /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2311456358/" title="Dr. Dyer books by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3241/2311456358_ae346df05b.jpg" alt="Dr. Dyer books" height="375" width="500" /></a><br /><br />I've read about 10 of his books and have some tape sets. I looked back in my journal a couple years ago to a a list of people I found "most inspirational" (not "influential") in my life. Dr. Dyer is high on that list.<br /><br />I opened "<a href="http://www.simpleabundance.com/">Simple Abundance</a>" for my daily reading today and what did I find? Ms Van Breathnach says her personal ritual in preparation for work is "priming the pump for inspiration....to access your inner reservoir—that place deep within you inhabited by imagination."<br /><br />I particularly love one phrase she uses as she describes the setting which includes a "pile of dog-eared books....my <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">circle of saints</span>." The author is referring to people, specifically a group of women writers.<br /><br />Even though I've read references to "spirit guides" and other descriptions of the muse, this is one to which I'll cling.<br /><br />I'd include in my "circle" some special <span style="font-style: italic;">people</span>: authors (I've listed some already), artists (Klee, CD Muckowsky, Ali Edwards, Stacy Edwards) relatives (an aunt, my mom, grand-daughter Tabitha), friends; <span style="font-style: italic;">things</span>: a cardinal, my grand-daughter's sweet face, puppies and kittens, a sunset; and <span style="font-style: italic;">music</span>: Tchaikovsky's "Piano Concerto No. 1" and Celtic ballads. There's much more, but you get the picture.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ideastoimages/2311456374/" title="Faces by prairyk, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2206/2311456374_4108b8f44f.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="Faces" /></a><br /><br /><br />What constitutes <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> circle of saints? Give it some thought. Write me.prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-90481669928120038912008-02-24T20:19:00.002-06:002008-02-24T20:29:37.383-06:00Clarifications<span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">Two things have come to my attention tonight that bear clearing up:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">1. The filmy portions of Charlie's sunrise photo are not jet trails, but cloud formations.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">2. I did not REALLY "nearly die when I was 16" from an illness or accident; but the effect was traumatic when I discovered my brother had broken into my diary and read it. At age 16, that is akin to "dying." Especially when he threatened to reveal the contents (some </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">fantasy</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">) to our parents and his friends.</span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-42924583219552751092008-02-24T14:43:00.011-06:002008-02-24T20:34:36.988-06:00<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-style: italic;">Everyday Grateful</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">written February 20, 2008</span><br /><br />The north wind is bitter and another winter storm is expected. All I can do is look out the window, hoping for a glimpse of deer in the alfalfa field and dream of spring and watch the dogs teasing each other with their toys.<br /><br />Since I can't go outside and dig in the earth, I dig into other media: books, the internet, my mind. Lately I've participated in an online Reading Group. (<a href="http://bigpicturescrapbooking.com/">http://bigpicturescrapbooking.com/</a>) The January selection was <span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw/102-4504539-7459313?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=A+Thousand+Splendid+Suns&x=0&y=0">A Thousand Splendid Suns</a>,</span> a thought provoking and disturbing study of women in Afghanistan. This month, it is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_b/103-3528900-4360613?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Journal+Revolution&x=0&y=0"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Journal Revolution</span></a> by Linda Woods and Karen Dinino.<br /><br />I've journaled since the days I wrote my secrets and dreams in a teenage diary. I nearly died when I was 16 and my little brother picked the lock and read it. Over the years I've accumulated and destroyed many trees' worth of pages, I'm sure.<br /><br />I've found inspiration in some wonderful books: <a href="http://www.artistswayatwork.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Artist's Way</span></a> by Julia Cameron, <a href="http://www.simpleabundance.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">A Daybook of Simple Abundance</span></a> by Sarah Ban Breathnach, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Plain and Simple</span> by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyday-Sacred-Womans-Journey-Home/dp/0062512900">Sue Bender</a>, followed by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Plain and Simple Journal</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Everyday Sacred</span>. I've used everything from yellow legal pads to pretty and artsy journal books to "marbletop" composition books. (The latter have probably been my favorites, by the way.)<br /><br />Sometimes I'm directed to document the simple, everyday happenings of my life. Other times, encouraged to dig into my memories, often a painful task. Sarah Ban Breathnach likens this to a safari—Swahili for journey, to leave the comfort and safety of civilization to venture into the wilderness, which, she says, "brings with it the struggle to survive and a heightened awareness of how wonderful it is just to see the sun set and rise again in the morning. Each day on a safari is lived to the fullest because it is all that is guaranteed."<br /><br />Is this why I love the prairie so much? Sunset and sunrise here are spectacular. Once a city dweller said to me, "You've seen one sunset, you've seen them all." Oh, how wrong he was! Each is a new creation. And, within the span of only a few minutes, the canvas can change drastically. One November evening I watched as the sky turned golden, and with each passing second the color deepened into fire-orange into coral into deep magenta into majestic purple, and in its final stage before the light was gone, an inky dark blue.<br /><br />One morning Charlie recorded a rainbow sunrise—colors bouncing off the jet trails and clouds reflected all of God's glorious palette.<br /><br />Back to Sarah's prompting to live each day to the fullest....I've noticed a trend amongst scrapbookers (or, as <a href="http://www.aliedwards.typepad.com/">Ali Edwards</a> calls us, "life artists") to savor each day, each moment. Yes, it is important and fun to record those milestone occasions (birthday, holidays) and special achievements (graduation, retirement), but isn't it also interesting to look into the everyday happenings of a person's life, to see some of the details and activities that made up a "day in the life of...."?<br /><br />Many cultures make no distinctions between work and play, religion and day-to-day life. (But this is fodder for an entirely different post; more on this theme another time.)<br /><br />There is a contentment and satisfaction that comes with sitting back at the end of a day with my gratitude journal (or my mind) and looking over that day—if I've been mindful and observant and not taken it for granted. Did I take some time to look out the window? Did I pull my hands out of the dishwater when Charlie called me to "come and see" something—a tiny skink, a new leaf or bud on a struggling plant, a huge squash blossom, a rising harvest moon, a whole parade of turkeys strutting their way right through our yard.<br /><br />Maybe what seems mundane to us now will be interesting to our grandchildren or future generations. I was thrilled to discover a ledger my grandpa kept with notations of expenditures for grain and taxes, and a similar account kept by my great-grandmother in the mid-1800s—purchases made for calico, string, medicinal powders and tinctures long forgotten, for "reciepts" for toothpowder and other home remedies. I treasure the few stories recorded by my grandparents, memories that would be forgotten if not preserved.<br /><br />Will my great-granddaughter care that I ate Post's Great Grains cereal for breakfast or spent the evening struggling while pulling a needle through my quilt until a friend recommended a small square of rubber cut from an old latex glove?<br /><br />A friend this week admonished me to write shorter posts for my blog. I had every intention of doing so this time, but as I told him, I have trouble being short-winded. One thought leads to another to another....<br /><br />What little thing are you grateful for, or do you really appreciate today? Did you "save" it some way—journal, photo, scrapbook, e-mail, letter? Did you at least give thanks for it?<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyday-Sacred-Womans-Journey-Home/dp/0062512900"></a>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-76804261939486012402008-02-18T14:55:00.016-06:002008-02-18T17:04:39.692-06:00Pets and Prairie<span style="font-style: italic;">Ten days ago I made yet another attempt to post and was interrupted. Even though this isn't quite fresh, I'm posting it anyway. I have a friend who always tells me, "Kay, just DO it!" So, I'm giving up my nap this afternoon, and if I get as far as putting it out there, maybe I will have broken the block.<br /><br />I also know WHY I don't get my entries posted. Along with other matters (attempts to make it perfect, for example), when I do finally attempt to publish, I run into a major problem with it. I've now been trying for a few hours and it will be something of a cyber miracle if what I intend to put out there actually makes it.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">It's been such a long time, since my previous post, I don't want to try to play catch-up. But a couple big changes have occurred that need noting: my companion of nearly 20 years, Heidi cat, went on to the Big Cat Heaven last summer. And at the end of the summer, we welcomed a new pet: Sadie, a black pointer labrador retriever, hoping our old lab Quest would take the new one under his wing (or leg, as the case warranted). He has been a godsend, I might add, but he's also learned a few things (who says old dogs can't learn new tricks?!) from the little one. </span><br />-----------------<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">February 8, 2008</span><br />I've written so many entries to the blog lately, all in my mind. Usually it's as I'm driving or riding and, by the time I get home, out of my winter coat and boots, put away groceries, go through the mail, all those pressing matters, I am out of the mood. Or the inspiration is gone.<br /><br />The same thing has happened tonight, but I'm going to try to entice my muse back. I'm closing my eyes (luckily I learned touch typing and can get this down without looking at the keyboard) and remember what struck me so deeply two hours ago.<br /><br />Charlie and I had just spent the most enjoyable afternoon visiting some old friends. Actually, what prompted the visit was a play date arranged for our dogs! I cannot believe I am even saying that. We have a seven-month-old puppy, a black lab named Sadie. Mason and Betty lost their little Nipper, a Jack Russell, a few months ago and recently acquired Benny, a feisty, untrained, handsome rat terrier. He has more energy than the two of them combined, they being in their 80s.<br /><br />Betty recently started "Benny's Blog" and had been asking us to bring Sadie over to play with him. We finally got around to it. After the initial barking, sniffing and sizing up, they really got into playing. They chased full-speed through the house, in and out the dog door, around in the snow, under the bed and tables, and teased each other with the toys.<br /><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Hi friends. This is your favorite rat terrier here. Wow! What an afternoon. Shortly after the boss's nap, some of his and the wife's friends drove in and when they got out of their pickup, I nearly fell down. They had a beautiful black lab with them, who looked about my age. Of course, being a lab, she was twice as big. At first we were very formal, wearing our leashes for the first 15 minutes. Once the people were persuaded that we weren't going to fight, they took our leashes off and then the fun started!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Sadie, did I say she's a girl? and I ran around wrestling and grabbing noses and smelling tails. Then we had some real fun. We played keep away with some of my toys. Sadie carried a squeaker in her mouth, daring me to take it. Then, she'd chase me. The funny part was when I ran under a low table and she couldn't get under it. (I learned that from when the cat runs from me.) Then we took a play rope and grabbed it out of each other's mouth. Finally I ran out the dog door and Sadie had to work really hard to get through it. We played in the snow for a while, then I went inside to get warm.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">The woman visitor kept taking our pictures and saying how beautiful I am. Mr.K (the cat) was up on the counter by his food bowl, and he kept making insulting remarks that the people couldn't hear. I'll get him for it later.When the visitors had to leave, they put Sadie's leash on again and walked to their pickup. The boss put my leash on me, but I bit it in two, then he held my collar while we watched them drive away. I heard the lady invite us to come to their house so we dogs could have another play day. Not right away, but in a couple of weeks after Sadie recovers from some female surgery she's having next week. 'Bye for now.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">—Benny</span><br /></div><br />Betty and I always enjoy discussing art and language and books and have Show-and-Tell. I hadn't taken anything today, but she shared with me several items. We mourned the demise of the English language, she loaned me a novel and book of puzzles, we took lots of photos of the dogs, and talked about flowers.<br /><br />Charlie and I thought we'd better head home. The sun was setting over the snow-covered prairie, with the frosted cedar trees in the distance along the creek. First we saw one deer, then a couple more, and this continued all the way home. The clouds spread the golden orange glow of the sun across the horizon, and we watched three deer bound over several fences. I thought to myself, "Watching deer float so gracefully like that is one of my greatest joys!" I said to Charlie:<br /><br />"I still have to pinch myself sometimes to realize I actually live here, in this beautiful country." (Flint Hills of Kansas <a href="http://skyways.lib.ks.us/counties/CS/">http://skyways.lib.ks.us/counties/CS/</a>) I used to drive the turnpike from Topeka to Wichita and wished I knew someone who lived here just so I could get off the highway and drive around the area.<br /><br />Then one day I did just that, even though I did not know anyone here. Two weeks later I was actually doing a retreat on a ranch, and after that experience I knew I had to get back here on a regular basis—but could not imagine it happening. Lo and behold, less than six months afterward I was offered an opportunity I could not pass up, even though it meant leaving a fairly secure, well-paying job that I didn't particularly like any more. The rest, as they say, is history. I really felt I had come "home" when I drove into that ranch driveway, surrounded by the russet waves of tall grass. FYI, there is almost no native tallgrass prairie left in the world, and most of it is right here, surrounding me.<a href="http://www.protecttheflinthills.org/">http://www.protecttheflinthills.org/</a><br /><br />Well, that's it for now. I have lots to talk about, but it will have to wait until next time....and I definitely want to comment on that novel Betty loaned me because it's now added to my "all-time favorite reads." Until then....prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-29354717332726898012007-06-12T15:39:00.000-05:002007-06-12T16:43:01.812-05:00Nature never fails to inspire me.<span style="font-family:verdana;">And June has to be the best time of the year on the prairie as it bursts into color. Sometimes it's so brilliant it's startling, like the almost fluorescent orange of butterfly milkweed. Other times it is soft and subtle, like the pink of wild prairie rose or evening primrose. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />My walks are always exciting because I discover that, literally overnight, another wildflower has been added to the palette. I did start listing them for this post, but the list became endless.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Over the past week I've been tucking my camera (<a href="http://www.nikonusa.com/">Nikon Coolpix L2</a>) into a pocket, but it doesn't stay there long. Just when I think I've taken enough photos, I see another flower I have to shoot. I'm loading the pictures from my camera into iPhoto as I write this, but it's going to be so hard to select just a few to post here!</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />I am not an early morning riser and have always envied those who are by nature. Lately the birds have been waking me with their song, beginning their day and calling to me to start mine. I'm able to beat the heat of the day this way.<br /><br />A few days ago, having finished reading a very interesting book (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_/002-7248294-8275236?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=deepak+chopra%3A+lords+of+light&amp;amp;amp;Go.x=0&Go.y=0&Go=Go"><span style="font-style: italic;">Deepak Chopra's Lords of Light</span></a>) with my first mug of coffee, I decided I would go to the garden to pick lettuce while it was cool. Did that, marveling at the abundance. Checked the other plants in the garden, pulled a few weeds and some radishes. Listened to the frogs croaking in the lagoon.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />As I started inside with my bounty, I decided it was just too nice a morning to waste in the house. So I put the vegetables into a big bowl of cold water, grabbed my denim hat, and called Quest, my black lab, to join me.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />The sun overhead was quite warm, promising a hot day, but the breeze was still cool. It did bring the odor of a skunk's apparent overnight foray along the creek, though, as we crossed over the water. We continued down the road (really, "up," as there's a long, slight hill at this point), and I began seeing the native prairie wildflowers I so love.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Suddenly Quest—off in the grass—sounded a warning bark. I looked over to see the four jakes (young male turkeys) we have been seeing around here for several months. The Four Muskateers. It's been fun at times to see them strutting their stuff for a few disinterested hens! Off the jakes ran toward the creek. Now the hens are staying close to their nests, so the jakes are left to find their own fun.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />On the way back I noticed Quest was not with me and thought he'd probably taken off after the turkeys. I whistled, and suddenly about 10 feet from me, just across the ditch, two deer jumped up and took off. I'm not sure who was more startled, me or them. One ran across the road just behind me and the other started to follow, but in mid-road, turned and ran in the opposite direction. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />My whistle must also have set off the gobblers, by now down along the creek, and they set up a gobbling frenzy.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">Evening light</span><br />My favorite time still is early evening, just before sunset. The light then is what I've heard called "the Jesus Light" by some photographers.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">If it's reasonably cool and the breeze is light (Kansas is a very windy place usually), it can seem as if all is perfect in the universe. Sometimes when I reach that little hill, I look out over the prairie, seeing only nature and sometimes a few cattle, feel the breeze on my face, and breathe in the sweet fragrance of the milkweed. A coyote might call off in the distance. All cares of the day just disappear and I sense a kind of freedom and lightness and well-being that no drug can equal. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">All's right in my world</span>. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Over the weekend a friend, Jeff Hansen (<a href="http://www.kansasnativeplants.com/index.html">check out his website her</a><a href="http://www.kansasnativeplants.com/index.html">e</a>), came for a visit. He's president of the <a href="http://www.kansasnativeplantsociety.org/">Kansas Native Plant Society</a> and was at the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/tapr/">Tallgrass National Prairie Preserve</a> to conduct a class in making paper from native plants. You can't imagine how neat the papers are—maybe I'll get something done with the samples he left with me and post some pictures.<br /><br />He gets unimaginable colors from the varieties: dogbane hemp, cattails, milkweed (several kinds), sage—this list goes on and on. Depending on the time of harvest (and stage of development) of the plant, the same fibers can produce different looking paper. Some is very coarse, with lots of texture from the seeds and stem parts; some is smooth; some is quite wrinkled. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />We took a long drive down little traveled roads (in some cases, it's a stretch to call them "roads"). You can see things driving 10 mph that escape you going at more normal speeds. Not quite as good as walking, but it was very hot and muggy when we started, and we wanted to cover more ground than possible on foot. Charlie, my husband, knows these roads so well and we explored some areas I had not seen. As the drive progressed, the clouds dissipated, along with the humidity, and it became one of those days Kansas can be famous for: blue sky with wispy clouds as a backdrop to the lush green grasses, accentuated with colorful wildflowers.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">Despite my almost daily walks, I still saw some flowers for the first time this year. You'd think I'd tire of them or lose my excitement, but each time I see a catclaw sensitive brier or prairie coneflower for the first time that year, I'm thrilled all over. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />The butterflies were thick, especially the monarchs which are deep orange right now, many having just "hatched." Lots of swallowtails and many I do not know their names. They especially love the intoxicating common milkweed. Butterfly milkweed is just opening this now, and its blossoms will be covered with wings this week.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">All around us was birdsong. Jeff can identify most by their calls, so it was fun learning about the "dickcissle."<br /><br />Saw lots of scissortail flycatchers, one of my favorites, and nighthawks. Meadowlarks, cardinals, thrashers—again, a long list.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Have a great week and go out and <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">smell the flowers!</span></span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1020011672207479754.post-15173607119132281822007-06-04T20:58:00.000-05:002007-06-04T22:14:07.785-05:00Why blog?<span style="font-family:verdana;">I have been struggling with this question.<br /><br />I've journaled my entire life, one way or another, but that has been for my eyes alone, my personal feelings, thoughts, emotions.<br /><br />Some times I've felt an urge to document something, to preserve it—be it a tiny flower, a sunset, words of my sweet granddaughter Tabitha, an experience. Some times it's not enough to silently tuck these away, though, and I've had the desire to share these moments in time through my writing, photographs or mere conversation.<br /><br />I've amassed a huge collection of quotations, of books and articles by others, adding to my personal collection of observations and reflections.<br /><br />This is all part of my journey through life, as trite as it sounds, of finding the truths....and, ultimately, sharing these truths.<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"We begin and end in authenticity, and in between, our task is to find ways to make that authenticity relevant to the world," according to <span style="font-style: italic;">Dawna Markova</span> in <span style="font-style: italic;">I will not die an unlived life</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Will-Not-Die-Unlived-Life/dp/1573241016/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/002-1408975-1203265?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1181011219&sr=8-1">.</a></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <div style="text-align: right;"> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"I am pulled between the force of my appreciation and the hopeless inadequacy of ever truly expressing it," she says.</span><br /></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />I often feel this way, too. That's why I keep trying.<br /><br />I always think of my life—and how it is joined with others—as a patchwork quilt or a weaving. The internet, the World Wide Web, is a perfect example. Sometimes it's a "crazy quilt," with its multitude of diverse pieces and threads, seeming not to have any pattern.<br /><br />But look more carefully: the commonalities, the threads, how they do come together, if not in an apparent pattern, then simply by touching and allowing the reader to move away with a newer interpretation or insight.<br /><br />Lately, I've found myself influenced and inspired by several blogs on the internet, our newest means of communication. What an overwhelming amount of creativity lurks in cyberspace!<br /><br />What makes one delve deeper and deeper into the web, pushing that next arrow or link? We are all searching, seeking, with a deep need to know (though sometimes it's mere curiosity). Why do people visit museums, art and history? Why do they frequent the library? Why do they listen to ancient chants and modern jazz or hip-hop?<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Understanding and wisdom are largely forgotten as we struggle under an avalanche of data and information," said <span style="font-style: italic;">Dee Hock</span> in <span style="font-style: italic;">Birth of the Chaordic Age</span> (quoted by <span style="font-style: italic;">Markova </span>).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />That's what often happens as we lose track of time following those links, downloading and printing pages and pages.<br /><br />I'm reminded of another quote:<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right;"> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Creativity is not the finding of a thing, but the making of something out of it after it's found." (<span style="font-style: italic;">James Russell Lowell</span>) </span><br /></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />And from that other famous artist, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pablo Picasso</span>:<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web."</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />This is why I love scrapbooking so much. <a href="http://www.aliedwards.typepad.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ali Edwards</span></a> calls us scrappers "Life Artists." We document life, we preserve memories, but with a creative hand. Often we use our photos, writing, drawing, painting and other artistic media.<br /><br /><a href="http://cdmuckosky.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">C.D. Muckosky</span></a>, who has especially inspired me lately, says:<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Scrapbooking is my own creative playground."</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The final push to create this blog came Sunday morning while I was walking, totally immersed in Nature and a beautiful morning. More about that next time....<br /><br />And, lest you think I am not original, don't have a thought of my own, let me leave you with this one that popped into my head one morning:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Creativity:</span> the soul reflected.</span></span>prairykhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11176575528499103664noreply@blogger.com1