tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271664983304939322024-02-07T21:38:34.448-08:00On The RocksK. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-8379437867313855552023-12-14T15:59:00.000-08:002023-12-14T15:59:05.537-08:00<p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Magic of Christmas</p><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;">When I was three, and my sister six, we asked my father how the angel got way up to the top of the tree each Christmas.<br /> This was back in the days when my parents brought the tree home Christmas eve. The branches were bare when we went to bed, but when we woke Christmas morning it was a delight of decorations, lights, and presents.<br /> My father, always one for a bit of whimsy, told us she flew up to the top at the stroke of midnight. Even at that tender age, my sister and I were skeptical, but my father insisted. <br />“It’s the magic of Christmas!” he said. “Anything can happen.”<br /> That night, we hung up our stockings, put out the milk and cookies, and were tucked in our beds, where we quickly fell asleep.</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"> In my dreams I heard my father calling our names. I woke to find that it wasn’t a dream. My father was in our darkened bedroom calling us to get up quickly because it was almost midnight.<br /> He guided us to the kitchen door of our railroad apartment and pointed us towards the Livingroom.<br />“Watch” he whispered.<br /> We stood in the pitch dark in our pajamas and bare feet, straining our eyes, when all at once the Christmas tree lights came on in all their glory.<br /> And our beautiful angel flew through the air to the top of the tree!<br /> Pandemonium broke out as my father casually assured us that it happened that way every year.<br /> I don’t envy my parents trying to settle us back into bed that night. My sister and I were so caught up in the magic we witnessed, and were so full of questions, all of which my father answered patiently, that it was quite some time before calm was restored and we were settled back into bed.<br /> </div><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"> It wasn’t until years later that I truly appreciated the gift my father gave us that Christmas Eve.<br /> <br /> Even though he was exhausted from work, decorating the tree, and putting toys together, he took the time to rig up an elaborate pully system through the apartment to make our angel fly.<br />All for the simple reason of bringing joy to his two little girls.<br /> <br /> That angel has presided over every Christmas, either at my parent’s house or mine, for more than 60 years, and every time we set her in her place of honor, I am that little girl again, alive with the memory of that magical night, and love for a father who took the time to introduce his girls to the <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">real</em> magic of Christmas.<br />Thank you, Pop.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRom6zV4A2ZooGL9ZVPITckzuHB0hl_GfaM4tCuxshOT0HCkwG-tbMGQ7hqdXoW0pwP89mzD4241XIOqGtf3aXCt8oqhsWaBt03zTKeqpbtZVKAtYz6ijBarmvp_5UbkytsvDR7F8495m-5KKJ14EC1vHpECqVAA7Jw0h9y4H3ZeV5SqOXPPxxTL6_Q/s1440/angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRom6zV4A2ZooGL9ZVPITckzuHB0hl_GfaM4tCuxshOT0HCkwG-tbMGQ7hqdXoW0pwP89mzD4241XIOqGtf3aXCt8oqhsWaBt03zTKeqpbtZVKAtYz6ijBarmvp_5UbkytsvDR7F8495m-5KKJ14EC1vHpECqVAA7Jw0h9y4H3ZeV5SqOXPPxxTL6_Q/s320/angel.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p>K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-59903134446578064382021-04-13T11:26:00.004-07:002021-04-13T11:27:15.419-07:00Must Be Billy<p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It wasn’t long after we bought our house in upstate NY that we met our new neighbor. He came down the driveway in a beat-up truck, screaming something unintelligible at the top of his lungs. Lou and I didn’t know what the hell was going on, so we left off stacking firewood to go see who was being murdered.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The blue truck stopped at our barn, and the man inside flailed his arms and yelled at us as we approached. After taking a moment to get my bearings, I realized the man was simply saying hello and introducing himself. With no change in volume, even though we were only several feet apart, he told us, in a heavy accent, that he was know as The Greek, and he owned the place next door. He apologized for not coming over sooner, and by way of explanation, opened the truck door and waved his prosthetic leg at us. He’d been in the hospital getting his lower leg amputated due to diabetes and had just come back home recently. Although there was a bit of a language barrier, I tried my best to decipher and translate this to Lou, who was completely lost and did quite a bit of smiling and nodding; it’s hard to know what to do when a stranger is waving their prosthesis at you and yelling.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Greek told us about the elderly couple who used to own our house and what a “son of a bitch” their son was. We’d been having some trouble with the son, so he wasn’t telling us anything we didn’t already know. We talked about the trouble and The Greek told us to give the son a message if we saw him: “Tell him if he comes here, that I, The Greek, have him in my scope.” With emotions ranging from gratitude to anxiety, we thanked him, and hoped we wouldn’t do or say anything to get ourselves in his scope.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We talked and smiled and nodded for another twenty minutes or so, and then The Greek rumbled back up the driveway still yelling and waving his arms. Lou and I looked at each other, not really sure what just happened, and then compared notes as to whether or not we thought The Greek approved of us.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It turns out that he did approve of us, and as intimidating as our conversations could be at times, we always stopped to talk, or wave, or help him out if we could. He was a wealth of knowledge about our new home, and we enjoyed the gossip about past neighbors. The Greek’s volume knob was stuck on 10, but we got used to it after awhile, although the first time he had company, we thought he was being attacked and rushed up there to make sure he was okay. Come to find out his brother’s volume knob is also stuck. It was from this encounter that we found out The Greek’s real name was Billy, but he always referred to himself as The Greek. He called the other people in the neighborhood “The Russian” and “The Polish”, so I guess that’s just his thing. We often laughed and wondered what nationality he called us by, as the last name Alexander is somewhat ambiguous.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Billy’s house has no electricity and is heated with wood. Lou and I would hear his generator fire up and wonder how he survived our freezing winters, especially with his diminished health. We mentioned the electricity once and were treated to a fifteen minute tirade about the electric company. We never mentioned it again.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Lou and I were told we were welcome to walk on his property and we could tell from our walks that The Greek had led a very active life; outbuildings, hunting blinds, vehicles of every description, many unfinished projects, and an old apple orchard are scattered over his 17 acres. The Greek went from a life of hunting on his property to a life of admiring the wildlife from his window. I remember the smile on his face as he described a mother fox and her kits who had taken up residency in his yard, and the wistful look as he told me how he just enjoys watching them now.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I received a phone call from Billy’s brother today letting me know The Greek has passed away. Billy had been in the hospital for the last year with health problems and we’ve been watching his place and collecting the mail for him. We knew the odds were against his coming home again do to the severity of his illnesses, but I thought if anyone could beat the odds, it would be The Greek.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I’ll miss our neighbor and his rumbling truck and flailing arms, and I know our lives will be less colorful for our loss.</p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And for the record, I wouldn’t mind being in The Greek’s scope now if it meant he’s looking down on us and nodding with approval. </p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p><figure class="wp-block-gallery aligncenter columns-1 is-cropped" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); clear: both; color: #36312d; flex-wrap: wrap; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; list-style-type: none; margin: 0px auto; padding: 0px;"><ul class="blocks-gallery-grid" data-carousel-extra="{"blog_id":52104219,"permalink":"https:\/\/kat2166.wordpress.com\/2021\/04\/13\/must-be-billy\/"}" style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><li class="blocks-gallery-item" style="align-self: inherit; border: 0px; display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; justify-content: center; margin: 0px 0px 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 558px;"><figure style="align-items: flex-end; display: flex; height: 268.638px; justify-content: center; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFdcJupOP6r7zrRjOaJqtL7AiOfG_Rd_UhbY_1MR_N_qE66cRswtM6A0Zn9Fp_ghqxUJ4YDBKtSIxvtz1JpQSPYa3NZVBX6jz6P-cAEC5RjaKqxuI0P7Tg91KmDB6WJktHYusg8mVCw/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="1024" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFdcJupOP6r7zrRjOaJqtL7AiOfG_Rd_UhbY_1MR_N_qE66cRswtM6A0Zn9Fp_ghqxUJ4YDBKtSIxvtz1JpQSPYa3NZVBX6jz6P-cAEC5RjaKqxuI0P7Tg91KmDB6WJktHYusg8mVCw/w400-h193/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first meeting, caught on the trail cam in our driveway</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></figure></li><li class="blocks-gallery-item" style="align-self: inherit; border: 0px; display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; justify-content: center; margin: 0px 0px 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 558px;"><figure style="align-items: flex-end; display: flex; height: 268.638px; justify-content: center; margin: 0px;"><br /></figure></li></ul></figure><figure class="wp-block-gallery aligncenter columns-1 is-cropped" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); clear: both; color: #36312d; flex-wrap: wrap; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 15px; list-style-type: none; margin: 0px auto; padding: 0px;"><ul class="blocks-gallery-grid" data-carousel-extra="{"blog_id":52104219,"permalink":"https:\/\/kat2166.wordpress.com\/2021\/04\/13\/must-be-billy\/"}" style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin: 0px 0px 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><li class="blocks-gallery-item" style="align-self: inherit; border: 0px; display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; justify-content: center; margin: 0px 0px 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 558px;"><figure style="align-items: flex-end; display: flex; height: 268.638px; justify-content: center; margin: 0px;"><br /><br /><br /></figure></li></ul></figure>K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-26070720470536428362017-03-27T20:12:00.001-07:002017-03-27T20:16:22.027-07:00Boil That Water Down<br />
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<img alt="P1080781" height="320" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080781.jpg?w=169&h=300" width="179" /></div>
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In a fit of delirium, after 12 hours in the sugaring shack, I wrote a poem set to music, or if you prefer the more popular term, a song.</div>
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The tune is borrowed from the old Bluegrass song “Boil That Cabbage Down”, but the lyrics are 100% about my family and me .<br />
The chords are G, D, C, G, D, A, C, G repeated through both chorus and verses, just in case you ever feel like immortalizing us in a poem set to music.</div>
<pre style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background: rgb(243, 246, 248); border: 0px; color: #2e4453; font-family: "Courier 10 Pitch", Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.6em; max-width: 100%; outline: 0px; overflow: auto; padding: 1.6em; vertical-align: baseline;">Chorus
G D
Boil that water down
C G
Cook it till it's brown
G D
The only song that I can sing
A C G
Is boil that water down
Louis was a city boy
Who longed for country life
Got himself a piece o' land
and brought along his wife
They worked sunup to sundown
To try to make it fine
With deer and Bear and Fox
And an occasional 'qupine
Chorus
Their boy was big and strappin'
And helped them all he could
By puttin' in new windows
And stackin' fire wood
The Chickadog was happy
But sometimes tried to dine
On the deer and bear and fox
And that occasional 'qupine
Chorus
One day they got an idea
To make 'em something sweet
They tapped themselves some maples
To make a tasty treat
They started in with four taps
But how the story goes
They tapped into six more trees
And watched the water flow
Chorus
They boiled it in the pole barn
They boiled it in the yard
Boilin' sap's a good ol' time
The work ain't very hard
Now syrup's on their pancakes
And everything they eat
They looked for miles and miles around
Their syrup can't be beat
Chorus
So if you get an inklin'
To do just what they done
Get yourself a piece o' land
And have yourself some fun!
Chorus
</pre>
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<img alt="P1080813" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080813.jpg?w=84&h=150" /> <img alt="P1080784" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080784.jpg?w=150&h=84" /> <img alt="IMG_2972" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/img_2972.jpg?w=150&h=100" /> <img alt="P1080739" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080739.jpg?w=84&h=150" /></div>
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<img alt="P1080830 - Copy" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080830-copy.jpg?w=145&h=150" /> <img alt="P1080794" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p1080794.jpg?w=150&h=84" /> <img alt="P1080834" src="https://kat2166.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/p10808341.jpg?w=150&h=84" /><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eu77tX7uDvc" target="_blank">Boil Them Cabbage Down - The Dillards</a></div>
K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-71795604793766949172017-03-19T16:53:00.000-07:002017-03-19T16:53:07.990-07:00SAP DAYS<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXAY9g4bF4dReH6m3EcWFCXflVEy3OLkqTAgEwftbGXB8JLeZ7fRQIGR4Vd15G4UXtA7lWDgBHLQ1xjmDaLijifdHAIHdixyjh1HhHhBthprbelX8H1nmQLTYDXMBzNvnbH1losRfNQ/s1600/P1080804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXAY9g4bF4dReH6m3EcWFCXflVEy3OLkqTAgEwftbGXB8JLeZ7fRQIGR4Vd15G4UXtA7lWDgBHLQ1xjmDaLijifdHAIHdixyjh1HhHhBthprbelX8H1nmQLTYDXMBzNvnbH1losRfNQ/s400/P1080804.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Break out the buckets</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Go find the taps</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Pull on your Wellies</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s time to tap sap!</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Freezing at night-time</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And warm in the day</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Drill a hole in the tree</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And you’re well on your way</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">To water that’s flowing</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Though snow’s in the air</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Soon in the shack</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You’ll be boiling with care</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You’ll sit in the shanty</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">While big kettles roil</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">With family and friends</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">So it wont feel like toil</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You’ll laugh and tell jokes</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And play some guitar</span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And talk of the sweetness </span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You’ll put in a jar</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVr3KlK6Y3ZxVhQ1_9fD8cWkYKG8boDf3wpLqvpJeDc_qwXFUJ-b4r6a3RdCNXNJsyR1nYBK_BW7Z6AZ_6S4pNyh9MzJ53UuV7068Cu5NfPT4PY_h3-8cxD9EqimgNWVP2cJ5-b4SzQ/s1600/P1080746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVr3KlK6Y3ZxVhQ1_9fD8cWkYKG8boDf3wpLqvpJeDc_qwXFUJ-b4r6a3RdCNXNJsyR1nYBK_BW7Z6AZ_6S4pNyh9MzJ53UuV7068Cu5NfPT4PY_h3-8cxD9EqimgNWVP2cJ5-b4SzQ/s320/P1080746.JPG" width="179" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMt0yzdLcG7A0MRisYVX11ab3dJdf7UT4He2dW9B8pfZ0xE2cmhW6ZAQ16K_lU8ySVZ4SrYlTZDERvgNbpXGPyAPd0F5PU_A28HgmKzXKJu_ToUv816UoJAjVwFTHqqe049D4beoLS8g/s1600/P1080939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMt0yzdLcG7A0MRisYVX11ab3dJdf7UT4He2dW9B8pfZ0xE2cmhW6ZAQ16K_lU8ySVZ4SrYlTZDERvgNbpXGPyAPd0F5PU_A28HgmKzXKJu_ToUv816UoJAjVwFTHqqe049D4beoLS8g/s320/P1080939.JPG" width="179" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewgZQgaFfDhJdZQvTHJm_GHxq1b22PI_rmzmsoFGB30T273R079g2g6wxw86DzQSvd0ZPTxuXJE0g5nG-X4Jh9zDTu9hn-C9vgKp6F08hqTbz-91KvB4L2s2jK60YYNH7TQTAwg3Sow/s1600/P1080834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewgZQgaFfDhJdZQvTHJm_GHxq1b22PI_rmzmsoFGB30T273R079g2g6wxw86DzQSvd0ZPTxuXJE0g5nG-X4Jh9zDTu9hn-C9vgKp6F08hqTbz-91KvB4L2s2jK60YYNH7TQTAwg3Sow/s320/P1080834.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.952941); border: 0px; color: #36312d; font-family: Enriqueta, georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; color: #993300; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #36312d; text-align: left;"> I would consider our foray into the world of sugaring at our new house on Three Bear’s Ridge to be a rousing success. We jarred about 4 gallons of delicious syrup, and had a great time doing it. If the weather holds, we may even be able to get a few more days in the shanty.</span></span></div>
K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-52795448539017707492016-05-12T18:14:00.000-07:002016-05-12T18:14:13.407-07:00Dog Day Afternoon<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Silent, 'cept for the birds</span></div>
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Quiet, though the wind's in the trees</div>
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Hushed, yet the frogs croak their songs</div>
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The buzz in the air, are the bees</div>
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The ringing, I see but don't hear</div>
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As the fish break the surface to feed</div>
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A day by the lake in Springtime</div>
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Is all the peace I need</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQb96D0qcofUaHsiyURa762T4BTSStKwtrQdoyIqKTlm-mwIyt_ZERIqAtC_MlDXbTrsdW5ZjkqZ3MLe2uhGequMa5QVvV_M76O3jo-XVMu884TG8CT5FLFWJQQq-8x3jEm4jGlbEjQ/s1600/SAM_0922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQb96D0qcofUaHsiyURa762T4BTSStKwtrQdoyIqKTlm-mwIyt_ZERIqAtC_MlDXbTrsdW5ZjkqZ3MLe2uhGequMa5QVvV_M76O3jo-XVMu884TG8CT5FLFWJQQq-8x3jEm4jGlbEjQ/s400/SAM_0922.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-68324170471535813462015-07-01T06:32:00.001-07:002015-07-02T14:37:17.576-07:00Retreat to Move Forward<div style="text-align: center;">
The Hilltop at Night</div>
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I walk through clover up the gentle slope amid twinkling, earthbound stars</div>
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The Summer breeze lifts the musky aroma of a well-watered Spring from beneath my feet as I walk</div>
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Courting crickets innumerable call to one another above the whispered secrets of the tall, bending grass</div>
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Silent explosions of clashing heat and cold silhouette distant treetops, mimicking the lesser flashes of light and life below</div>
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I reach the summit and turn to look back on my ascent<br />
My contented soul overflows, spilling down my cheeks to mingle with the tender drops of fresh rain.</div>
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I penned this while spending five work and play filled days on the inspirational grounds of the Helderberg Writer's Retreat in Voorheesville, NY.<br />
I was very excited and more than a little nervous when Nanette Blake of <a href="http://www.vagabondagepress.com/" style="background-color: white; color: blue; cursor: pointer; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" target="_blank">Vagabondage Press</a> first invited me to attend the annual event. Although I've always loved to write, I've only just recently begun to share my work and am still quite sensitive about it. The thought of a group of writers analyzing my writing was intimidating, to say the least.<br />
I swallowed my self-doubts and began to prepare for my new adventure.<br />
Upon arrival , I found my excitement was merited, my nerves were not. I couldn't have asked for a more supportive, fun-loving group of women to indoctrinate me.<br />
We started the extended weekend with cocktails, laughter and lobsters; A sure-fire way to start any undertaking right. The following days were filled with: writing critiques, "book reports", writing games, walks in the woods, drinks under the stars, and some much appreciated solitary work time.<br />
Sitting alone on the edge of the woods in my little chair with my dog curled up under my feet and my pen scratching away in my old notebook was one of the most personal, inspirational times I've ever experienced.<br />
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The work time was peaceful and fulfilling and the playtime was bawdy and laughter filled, but of all the work and fun, the thing which struck me the most was how nice it was to have my brain all to myself.<br />
Those moments are rare in all our lives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5By_eVhLf612SZmF0bDUIceY98inStM5bsherKsIJJAhEc2qo_KZsbJ4MGd1S-QRbpxN1mpS8QGbO-PGD9C6iKncAX2zTD2tm_VkhReNusS98xo-vMpA_bCGLr1R20ewot1BIV1wACg/s1600/971680_10201685493643666_197195910_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5By_eVhLf612SZmF0bDUIceY98inStM5bsherKsIJJAhEc2qo_KZsbJ4MGd1S-QRbpxN1mpS8QGbO-PGD9C6iKncAX2zTD2tm_VkhReNusS98xo-vMpA_bCGLr1R20ewot1BIV1wACg/s400/971680_10201685493643666_197195910_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-63604967514094132872015-02-26T17:38:00.000-08:002015-02-26T18:11:41.180-08:00Harmony While preparing for a show, I always escape to the woods near my house with my trusty recorder and headphones and walk along the lake reciting lines and/or laboring over lyrics and harmony to a song.<br />
Today's walk so beautifully paired my work with my surroundings I felt a need to capture and share it.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wobaecAU04&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">"We're All Here" (piano track) - From the play "The Events" - Composer:John Brown</a></div>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-64671611819632495822015-02-10T17:05:00.001-08:002015-02-10T17:06:05.713-08:00The Lamb in Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Winter's cold touches not my heart</div>
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When, ahead of their time, the little lambs start</div>
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Tottering on legs, quite unstable</div>
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As each hour passes, becoming more able</div>
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Standing with boots in two foot of snow</div>
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I chuckle and coo at the small lives below</div>
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I wish I could stand all day and stare</div>
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At the humbling antics of the little lambs there</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwYnA8TUnB8XsSRK101ZMY0hPzV2nqS8D38wsPAOXeBbVJKPc_ObPLmx1Q6h1N2RjagOpI5nIdLY__xLkGb' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Catch a firefly while you may</div>
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For the light diminishes every day</div>
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Jump in the water with a laugh or a cheer</div>
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Or float along quietly with someone who's dear</div>
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Count every star in the bright, moonlit sky</div>
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While listening to crickets trill their quaint lullaby</div>
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Kick off your shoes and walk on the beach</div>
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The castle you build will be well within reach</div>
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Bask in the glory and warmth of the sun</div>
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Or dance in the rain, just for the fun</div>
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Catch a firefly while you may</div>
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For the light diminishes every day</div>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-35544203499132662742014-07-08T08:54:00.000-07:002014-09-01T17:19:53.819-07:00Fledglings <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My yard is alive with fledglings this morning. Baby <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/northern_cardinal/id" target="_blank">Cardinals</a>, <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/gray_catbird/id" target="_blank">Catbirds</a>, <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Pine_Siskin/id" target="_blank">Pine Siskins</a>, and <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Tufted_Titmouse/id" target="_blank">Tufted Titmouse</a> are all having their say in the trees and around my bird feeders. Parents are busy flying back and forth in encouragement, and to drop off the occasional supplemental snack.<br />
I look forward to this noisy, happy day throughout the season and will spend the day sneaking outside with my binoculars and a smile to keep track of the newly-mobile families.<br />
There will also be a bit of melancholy in my watching, knowing that tomorrow or the next day my yard will quiet down again as the young leave the safety of their parent's watchful eyes and go off to fend for themselves.<br />
Last year, a brood of <a href="http://birds.audubon.org/birds/black-capped-chickadee" target="_blank">Chickadees</a>, which had made a home in the birdhouse by our front door, fledged on the day my son was graduating high school. I sat on my front steps amid the congratulatory banners and watched as the three fledglings poked their heads out one by one and tested their new wings.<br />
One flew instantly to a nearby tree. Another fell on it's first try, it's mother frantically flying from ground to tree to show it the way. After many attempts and much encouragement, the little one made it to the low branches of our azalea bush, where it hid for quite some time before flying high up into the high branches of the pine tree.<br />
My third little friend took one look outside and promptly went back in. No amount of parental encouragement would entice it to join it's siblings. The parents harangued it for a long time then left to see to the needs of their other young. When all was quiet, the little one popped it's head out to take another look. Having fully inspected its immediate surroundings, it hopped tentatively from one branch to the next of the flowering Clematis that shielded the nest. It then hopped to the ground to make sure all was safe. We exchanged a few words as it cautiously made it's way towards my new seat in the grass. Then, in a moment of uncharacteristic daring, the tiny being hopped onto my extended hand. We chatted awhile longer, then, with one great effort, it flew away from me.<br />
I sat in the grass for quite some time straining to see or hear my little friend before my husband gently called me in to get ready for the graduation ceremony.<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-31183914074972487492014-06-10T18:28:00.000-07:002014-06-10T18:28:39.100-07:00Ode to a Chipmunk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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ODE TO A CHIPMUNK</div>
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Chipmunk SCREAMING near my window at dawn,</div>
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I really wish that you were GONE.</div>
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You wake me up from my sweet, sweet sleep</div>
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With your incessant CHEEP! CHEEP!CHEEP!</div>
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There are HOURS to go 'fore I need rise,</div>
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I don't need your daily, alarming reprise.</div>
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You've stated your case quite LOUD and CLEAR;</div>
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Now go over next door, so the NEIGHBORS can hear.</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8E1Xovz2uY" target="_blank">Chippy The Alarm Clock</a><br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-67800894521083290852014-05-29T18:46:00.002-07:002015-04-19T09:51:34.010-07:00"The Beginning Of Wisdom is to Call Things By Their Right Names." Much like the Native Americans, I feel the giving of names is an ongoing process.<br />
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Take my dog Jake, for example. After living with him for three years he's now known as The Chicka Dog. His name slowly morphed due to his propensity for chasing any bird, bug, or small, furry mammal when I say the words chick-chick. I didn't teach him this handy skill, it's all him. And although he's still called Jake on formal occasions, in his heart, he is The Chicka Dog.<br />
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In the same vein, my chickens have had the working titles of Rosie and Babbette for the last two years. I picked the names when I was driving home from the farm with my adorable little pullets perched in a cage next to me.</div>
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Well, a lot has happened in those two years, and after much reflection on the spirit of the beneficiaries, their true spirits have spoken to me and whispered their new names in a dream -</div>
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<i> </i>"Nutsie The Chicken" & "Little Bitie".</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1b1b1c; font-family: proxima-nova, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 21px; line-height: 31.5px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1b1b1c; font-family: inherit; line-height: 31.5px;">There will be no ceremony</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1b1b1c; font-family: inherit; line-height: 31.5px;">.</span></div>
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<a href="https://suite.io/paula-marie-deubel/41s32fp" target="_blank">Native American Naming Ceremony</a></div>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-79342767917640458892014-05-10T21:18:00.000-07:002014-05-15T18:06:15.821-07:00Wake Up And Smell The Flowers<br />
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Between the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornus_(genus)" target="_blank">Dogwood</a>,<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnolia" target="_blank"> Magnolia</a>, and <a href="https://roadtrippers.com/blog/8-facts-about-the-cherry-blossom-festival-in-dc" target="_blank">Cherry</a> trees blooming; the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhododendron" target="_blank">Rhododendron</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forsythia" target="_blank">Forsythia</a> and<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Azalea" target="_blank"> Azalea </a>bushes a blaze of color in every yard; not to mention the<a href="http://garden.lovetoknow.com/wiki/A_List_of_Spring_Flowers" target="_blank"> Tulips, Daffodils, Phlox, Bleeding Hearts, Hyacinths, Crocus and Dandelions </a>adding their colors to the pallet after their long winter's nap, I find myself going about town with an interminable, delighted smile on my face.<br />
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I also find myself, more often than not, stopped in my tracks, staring.<br />
Like the other day, when a trip out of town and then confinement to a sick-bed had me and my little dog Jake, who had stayed by my side to help nurse me back to health, itching get out of the house and stretch our legs on a sunset walk by the lake. <br />
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We walked through the woods, enjoying the warm spring sun shining through newly budded branches on our favorite summertime-shade path. The ducks on the lake were in full voice and the Cardinals and Robins flew above our heads calling out to loved ones. We turned up the hill to follow the wooded path that opens to a meadow then continues on to a grove of pine trees (the grove where I search in vain for the<a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/barred_owl/id" target="_blank"> Barred Owl </a>that usually scolds us as we walk).<br />
As soon as I entered the meadow I stopped.<br />
And stared.<br />
I was in no way prepared for the changes my week away had brought.<br />
The immense <a href="http://www.tytyga.com/Connecticut-trees-a/272.htm" target="_blank">Apple tree</a>, which dominates the clearing, and her little sister were in full magnificence, every inch covered in soft, pinkish-white blossoms. In her branches I spied two pair of<a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/baltimore_oriole/id" target="_blank"> Baltimore Orioles</a> having a grand ol' time jumping from limb to limb. Above their heads, <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/tree_swallow/lifehistory" target="_blank">swallows</a> darted and dipped, working hard to catch their dinner. Numerous <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/american_goldfinch/id" target="_blank">Goldfinches</a> and <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/NetCommunity/Page.aspx?pid=1077&q=warblers" target="_blank">Warblers </a>captivated me with their intertwining songs while hustling from Apple to newly-blossomed Dogwood tree then setting off to visit my elusive friend in the pines. Meanwhile, the <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/american_robin/id" target="_blank">Robins</a> hopped through the newly sprouted grass and the <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/northern_cardinal/id" target="_blank">Cardinals</a> whistled a happy tune from the thicket. The<a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/red-winged_blackbird/id?utm_source=Cornell+Lab+eNews&utm_campaign=fb7e4c32a2-Cornell_Lab_eNews_2013_3_07&utm_medium=email" target="_blank"> Red-Winged Blackbirds</a> were certainly not going to be outdone and sent their songs floating up the hill from the lake on the breeze. Our constant friend the <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/NetCommunity/Page.aspx?pid=1077&q=sparrow" target="_blank">Sparrow</a> rounded out the chorus.<br />
Occasionally a fellow walker would pass by and our dogs would play for a minute and we'd comment on the beauty of the day, then owner and dog would go on their way.<br />
Not me. I stayed.<br />
And stared.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Bird songs, flowers in bloom, and a bit of sun warming my skin and my soul; all the ingredients needed to wake <i>me</i> up from long winter's nap.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple Trees & Bird Songs</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake doing what he does best</td></tr>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-11432545286324297662014-04-27T15:49:00.000-07:002014-04-27T18:28:52.184-07:00A Walk In The Woods<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAhfDO75s0UsiaTCBKjallrq4HGkCamoX_ej00bZA85Q87KPTB-01rb0jt61CEh8htFT5ruvcoCzyB6wm6l6aiUjmd2GleaXwtrR4pLsLtDxcy8bU6UncAJ9mwgQ8xBk36cFwQGfYwg/s1600/SAM_2068+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAhfDO75s0UsiaTCBKjallrq4HGkCamoX_ej00bZA85Q87KPTB-01rb0jt61CEh8htFT5ruvcoCzyB6wm6l6aiUjmd2GleaXwtrR4pLsLtDxcy8bU6UncAJ9mwgQ8xBk36cFwQGfYwg/s1600/SAM_2068+-+Copy.JPG" height="190" width="400" /></a></div>
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A Walk In The Woods</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a clearing in the woods</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I saw some colors bright.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petals blowing in the wind, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Catching day's last light.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cut flowers in a field of brown,</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know not how nor why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps a small </span>remembrance<span style="font-family: inherit;"> o</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ffered God's all seeing sky.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a clearing in the woods</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I saw some colors bright.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petals blowing in the wind,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Catching day's last light.</span></div>
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-33980552150867775472014-03-11T13:25:00.000-07:002014-03-11T13:34:46.010-07:00Sing a Song of Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE1s9LdLmUotYdLNUBCUI7KD9Twe2dBoW5qb8AJVC8JfpR_j-OA6z6RA09kJo3D6gIas5zGE4_YlrH1oeVf4W_ED9VAk4f1QfH2yTwn6EPL8K4eVs_NOvdXLd2N0IEmDcFpFKym07Ag/s1600/S-VA-bird1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE1s9LdLmUotYdLNUBCUI7KD9Twe2dBoW5qb8AJVC8JfpR_j-OA6z6RA09kJo3D6gIas5zGE4_YlrH1oeVf4W_ED9VAk4f1QfH2yTwn6EPL8K4eVs_NOvdXLd2N0IEmDcFpFKym07Ag/s1600/S-VA-bird1.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
Cardinal singing in the tree<br />
I like to hear your song's new key<br />
<br />
All winter through you sat and chirped<br />
And told me of your warmth usurped<br />
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Through wind and ice and flakes of snow<br />
You warbled "Where'd my sunshine go?"<br />
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But now the bright beams warm your verse<br />
No longer do you winter curse<br />
<br />
Your notes have changed from ire to glee<br />
And I you answer joyfully<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4ZBZDjCLKQ">sing a song of spring</a></div>
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-31256053718999617022014-03-10T06:00:00.000-07:002014-03-10T06:00:58.288-07:00United We Stand<div>
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Other kid's parents.</div>
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They are the bane of my existence and have been ever since I became a mother 19 years ago. They are the ones who said nothing to their child about pushing mine out of the way while he was waiting for his turn on the slide at the playground. They are the ones who let my 8 year old son play Grand Theft Auto. They are the ones who let their high schoolers stay out till four in the morning.<br />
And now they are the ones who don't care if my 19 year old sits at their house and drinks half the night then drives home.<br />
Now, I understand that it's my son doing the drinking. We have very strict rules about underage drinking in this house and he knows it. He is at fault for breaking our rules and has been punished accordingly. But perhaps if half of his friend's parents didn't facilitate the drinking by allowing it when they hang out at their house, and even occasionally BUYING it for them, my arguments to my son against it might seem more valid to him. As any parent who's heard the phrase "<i>Well, so-and-so's parents don't care</i>" uttered to them can attest, it can be the most frustrating thing when another parent undermines a value you are trying to instill or disregards a rule made for your childs well being.<br />
In this case, these parents are actually breaking the law.<br />
<br />
We must be a united front in raising our children. Not all of our values will always be the same, but there are core rights and wrongs on which we must stand together. There are rules of law and rules of society on which we all must be firm and help each other guide our children down the right path. <br />
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I will help your child in any way I can. Please help me to help mine.</div>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-87185307736426229612013-11-28T06:26:00.000-08:002013-11-28T06:32:26.933-08:00Happy Thanksgiving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjj6-zxkCn4oXFd7QjeJQz12zlC40O97MHeWHK9oMWCXtkhiLduPdFvplaK9GiaVA4v2GfFuZmoOzlIBZRfChoPUyIQuv75Yksn9DPCdwFG4Op7Luzamd1OOW1ssyrVSL0odv1ywBuQ/s1600/P1030489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjj6-zxkCn4oXFd7QjeJQz12zlC40O97MHeWHK9oMWCXtkhiLduPdFvplaK9GiaVA4v2GfFuZmoOzlIBZRfChoPUyIQuv75Yksn9DPCdwFG4Op7Luzamd1OOW1ssyrVSL0odv1ywBuQ/s400/P1030489.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Brush Script MT'; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">The
turkey is cooked</span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">The stuffing is made</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">The smell of fresh pies</span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="background: white;">
</span>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">For days, will not fade</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">The silver is polished</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">The table is set</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">As I look around</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">I'm not finished yet</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">I have to give thanks</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">To my Lord up above</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">For all of my blessings:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;">
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">Friends, Family and love</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;">As we all gather round </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">On this festive day</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">No matter how many</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">No matter which way</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">Let's us all give thanks</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">As well as we're able</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">For all we enjoy</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 18pt;">as we dine at life's table</span></span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></span>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-12200672660590504172013-11-10T17:51:00.000-08:002013-11-11T05:21:39.085-08:00A Rose By Any Other Name Today I attended a lovely alumni reception at St. Patrick's Church, which is celebrating its centennial. Although the reception was light on actual former St. Patrick's School students, the hall was filled with the bustling, devoted women who have lovingly kept the parish running for more than half of the celebrated centennial. As I bent over the dessert table to get a homemade piece of chocolate cake to go with my coffee, one of these devotees called out, "Karen!". I instantly raised my head and responded, "No. My name is Kathy". She gave me a perplexed look and then started talking to the woman behind me, whose name actually is Karen.<br />
I laughed to myself as I walked back to my table, the calling of that name bringing back a flood of memories; Memories of 8 years spent following my well behaved, studious older sister, Karen, though school.<br />
Not once, during any of those 8 years, by any teacher, was I ever called by my rightful name, Kathy. In every class, the teacher's eyes would come to rest on me and, with the certainty of the sunrise, that teacher would: 1) call me Karen; 2) be offended when I corrected her; 3) 15 minutes later, call me Karen again.<br />
One elderly teacher not only couldn't get <i>my</i> name right, she couldn't even get my<i> sisters</i> name right, so I went through 4th grade as Karen Louise. Now, it's bad enough being called the wrong name, but tacking a Louise onto it just added insult to injury.<br />
To compound this confusion, all through school there was a girl in my class whose actual name was Karen. Karen's older sister was in my older sister Karen's class. Guess what Karen's older sister's name was? You got it- Kathy.<br />
Let the hilarity ensue.<br />
Poor Little Sister Karen and I never knew which one of us was being spoken to. The teacher would ask, "Karen, would you please spell PREPOSTEROUS" and when Karen opened her mouth to respond, she would invariably be beaten back with whatever weapon the teacher held at the time and told "I was speaking to <i>Karen</i>!"<br />
If Kathy was asked to come to the board to diagram a sentence, I was meet with equal fury upon rising.<br />
Throughout the years LSK and I endured endless blows raining down on our heads from countless yardsticks and pointers for the imagined disrespect of not answering to the wrong name.<br />
I can still hear my comrade's plaintive voice pleading, "But my name<i> is</i> Karen, Sister." in her never ending attempt to rectify the injustice.<br />
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I gave up around 7th grade when I realized it was probably better if they <i>didn't</i> know my actual name.<br />
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Karen Louise- identity crisis over and no worse for the wear </div>
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-29131742774473796742013-11-03T15:53:00.000-08:002013-11-03T15:53:36.602-08:00Thoughts on an Autumn Eveningas I settle<br />
by the fire<br />
on a cold<br />
Autumn night,<br />
the leaves<br />
through my window<br />
catch the sun's<br />
final<br />
light<br />
<br />
all day it's been raining-<br />
orange<br />
red<br />
gold<br />
and green<br />
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colors<br />
cover<br />
the Earth<br />
like the crown<br />
of a queen<br />
<br />
some still cling to branches<br />
reluctant<br />
to go<br />
<br />
their vibrance<br />
a memory<br />
of Summer's<br />
warm glow<br />
<br />
I tend to the fire<br />
then take<br />
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turn up the lights<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-565943322890860352013-09-04T18:24:00.000-07:002013-09-04T18:45:20.985-07:00A Light in the Darkness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The city of Bridgeport often gets a bad rap for a variety of things: corrupt politics, unplowed streets, being crime ridden and dangerous, just to name a few.<br />
While much of this disfavor is well earned, I'd like to offer up a little bit of the good side. Specifically, Ruben Gonzalez, supervisor of The Bridgeport Department of Public Works, who went above and beyond the call of duty to help a little old lady find her purse; That little old lady was my mother and that purse was one which accidentally got taken out with the recycling bin. <br />
Labor Day Monday, after fielding a tearful call from my mom, Ruben went to her house, took all her information and a description of the purse and the circumstances, then started making phone calls to see which truck picked up her bin. All the trucks had already unloaded for the day, so he learned the purse was somewhere buried within the city's tons of recycling. The fact the purse was<i> inside</i> a brown paper bag when it was put out with the bin only added to the hopelessness of the situation.<br />
Undaunted, Ruben reassured my sobbing mother they would find it and asked her to give him 24 hours.<br />
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Mom didn't sleep a wink that night; she cried, she worried, she berated herself for putting her purse in a brown paper bag.<br />
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Well, her sleepless night was in vain. Ruben called first thing in the morning and told her the good news; He and 4 workers sifted through countless pounds of debris and recovered her purse with her wallet and belongings still intact. He even made a special trip to her house to drop it off to her personally. She was ecstatic, to say the least.<br />
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Thank you, Mr Gonzalez. That's what I call Public Works.<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-23098868618190242822013-08-19T20:47:00.000-07:002013-08-20T20:58:18.989-07:00Hello Sailor, Come On In... Mike and Rose were just heading out to a late showing of "The Conjuring" and I was letting Jakey out the back door to take care of his nightly business, when Mike yells out to me that there's a dog wandering around our front yard. In the time it took me to get to the front, the chihuahua had already made it into the house and was picking out his bedroom; What the little guy lacked in size, he made up for in chutzpah.<br />
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We removed him from the foot of my bed, wrangled his collar off and I called the number on his anchor dog tag thinking how happy his owner would be to hear I had found his little friend; "Mailbox full" was the response I got for my efforts. The next several times I called, the phone didn't even ring, it was the ol' straight to voicemail trick. Perhaps my new found friend had overstayed his welcome at his own house and was looking to branch out. </div>
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Resigned to my houseguest, I dragged up the dog crate up from the basement, fitted it with a Red Cross blanket (seeing as he was kind of a refugee in distress), gave him some water and a treat, and made plans to track down his owner through his Ash Creek rabies tag in the morning. </div>
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He just sat and wagged his tail.</div>
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We were all just getting to know each other, when the phone rang and a hopeful voice asked " Do you have my dog?".</div>
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"Yes. Yes I do." </div>
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We made arrangements for pickup and few minutes later my tiny houseguest was happily wagging his tail from the front seat of his owner's jeep.</div>
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I'm glad my story has a happy ending, and Jake is happy he hasn't lost his spot at the foot of my bed.</div>
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Sailor: The unexpected guest</div>
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K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-82745701316294770042013-06-14T05:47:00.001-07:002013-06-14T05:47:35.145-07:00The Meaning of the Word While battling my latest bout of insomnia, I found myself looking through Facebook posts of some obscure pages I liked once upon a time. On these pages I found a wide variety of comments and opinions on many different topics. One thing struck me as a common thread throughout all the pages, though: The ridicule of people who can't spell. I know it's a common thing for the spelling police to swoop down on a comment on pretty much all the pages you visit, but for some reason it really hit a nerve with me today.<br />
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One poor man was trying to ask a question, his spelling and grammar made the post almost indiscernible, and the spelling police let him have it. Here this man was, reaching out to try to connect with people, and they couldn't see it, all they saw were the misspelled words and incorrect punctuation. It made me angry to think anyone would completely disregard the content of his question simply because he couldn't express himself in a way that met their standards. There are many possible reasons as to why this man can't spell, none of which give people the right to disregard him or his question.<br />
Finally, one kind soul answered his question without any mention of the errors in his asking.<br />
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It reminded me of a dear friend I had when I was growing up. He had a learning disability. He also had a pretty tough time at home. He ended up in jail and we use to write to each other. His letters were riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. Most of the time I could barely make out what he was trying to say, but I took my time to try and decipher it because what he was saying was important to him.<br />
That friend died of Leukemia several years after he was released from prison. His misspelled, grammatically incorrect letters are priceless to me.<br />
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My friend's lesson, of looking past what you see on the outside to find the meaning on the inside, has stayed with me to this day. So, before you hit enter on your witty spelling correction comment, take a moment to consider what you're<i> </i>really saying ... about yourself.<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-14192346541287014552013-05-14T20:49:00.000-07:002013-05-15T04:21:41.440-07:00Waving Good-Bye As I sat next to my son at the DMV today, waiting for our number to be called, I found myself suddenly fighting back tears.<br />
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I'm not sure if there's a word for the emotion that causes these unbidden tears, but I know most parents are all too familiar with them. They're the ones you cry when something wonderful happens, but in that bit of wonderful, you feel you've lost something too.<br />
They're the tears you cry when your child says their first words or takes their first steps.<br />
They're the ones that fall when you drop them off for their first day of school or they ride their bike without training wheels for the first time.<br />
They're the ones you cry behind the closed front door when they leave to spend the night away from home for the first time or to go out on their first date.<br />
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They're also the tears you cry when they buy their first car.<br />
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Well, I managed to make it out of the DMV without embarrassing either of us. I made it through the ride home, I made it through putting the new licence plates on his car, and I even made it through the hug and kiss he gave me when he thanked me for all my help.<br />
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Watching his smiling face as he drove down the street waving good-bye, that proved to be a little too much for me.<br />
The tears finally won the fight.<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-57861360831800641442013-05-02T17:34:00.001-07:002013-05-02T17:39:29.200-07:00Lazarus and The Two Finned Nine Sometime last week I depressed everyone, including myself, with my sad 'Little Rays of Sunshine" tale.<br />
Well, weep no more.<br />
Since the fish were gone, I decided to empty the pond so I could clean it. When I got down to about five inches of extremely murky water, I noticed a large, orange spot on the bottom of the pond. "What is that? Leaves?" I asked my husband. Then the orange spot started to move.<br />
"My fish!" I screamed (my neighbors for 3 blocks around don't need to read this post. They definitely heard me).<br />
It's true. The fish are alive and well and living in the pond. I don't know how they eluded me that day. The water <i>was</i> murky, but I thought, for sure, with all my poking around, they would've surfaced. They must have been hiding in the leaves at the bottom, traumatized by the Heron.<br />
The only other excuse I can think of is, perhaps it's some type of Easter season miracle; I did find the fish three days after I thought they were gone.<br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27166498330493932.post-56392719754212038392013-04-30T18:31:00.000-07:002015-04-18T07:48:26.389-07:00This Boy's Heart<br />
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Music has always been a big piece of who I am. I've always felt as if it's a part of me, like tasting or breathing. From the time I was young, when I would sit in my little chair listening to a song over and over again on my record player until I knew all its secrets, I've felt it's power. Music is my companion and confidant.<br />
It's my heart when I don't know how to expose my own.<br />
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While driving to the store the other day, a song I've never heard before came on the radio. From the first notes of the guitar, it pulled me in. As I listened to the words my eyes filled with tears.<br />
She was singing about me; Singing the words I would have written if I could have found them.<br />
Words about how I felt growing up and still feel now.<br />
Words of sorrow for the pieces of himself my son must leave behind in order to be considered a man.<br />
Words, which, quite simply, tell the story of us all, before we're told who we're suppose to be.<br />
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There was no need to listen to this song over and over again; Its secrets have always been kept in this boy's heart.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JU-1UOa9QsS7Qx1BaFSXtOBhDiWu9s0W7KagHSY9iTKwM1kEG-RU01FfnCklu2x7ZgDQZbjoVR2xuRSC5etIQMLsnrwj0pHOMBs2_edoD-HP6Uys0CxIYFOApxNlIof5-7VFDB8-gg/s1600/20439_256761796658_3630781_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JU-1UOa9QsS7Qx1BaFSXtOBhDiWu9s0W7KagHSY9iTKwM1kEG-RU01FfnCklu2x7ZgDQZbjoVR2xuRSC5etIQMLsnrwj0pHOMBs2_edoD-HP6Uys0CxIYFOApxNlIof5-7VFDB8-gg/s200/20439_256761796658_3630781_n.jpg" height="196" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and "Mean Green" 1975</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gIZt0hE1E0">Dar Williams "When I Was A Boy"</a><br />
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<br />K. Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09934734648534934333noreply@blogger.com0