tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91832152548924035122024-03-13T00:32:05.485-07:00DAYLE FERGUSSON'S CORNERDayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-39432492910337123662012-07-24T20:09:00.002-07:002012-07-24T20:09:15.966-07:00God Meets Us Where We Are...<br />
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It’s funny how God can just stop us in our tracks. I had been woken early by Tiamo who’d knocked over the glass of water beside my bed, and first thing I was on my knees drying off all the precious books and notebooks that I keep at arm’s length. You know, the ones that mark your spiritual journey and the outpourings of your heart. The ones that are your recent companions. <br />
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As I opened the blinds downstairs, I picked up a couple of magazines and letters found in a neat little stack by the window. Oh, there’s a letter from a friend last year. I carried it to the kitchen table, punched in a CD to start my morning off with some inspiration, slipped open the envelope.<br />
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Bagpipes began playing as I stood there reading the card. <br />
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“Dearest Dayle, Thank you again so much for so many good memories, Love Laura”<br />
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Now tears are streaming down my face as these become the bagpipes in the field as we all gathered to sprinkle Bill’s ashes, and I remember Laura’s friendship that started in our little medieval village in Italy. The gratefulness as she recognized the pain in my heart, then later the delight she experienced in the spirit of love and peace that permeates our beloved Ghost Gums on the Ridge.<br />
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Yes, God knows how to meet us right where we are. He catches us in those unguarded moments. The work’s done, the deadlines are met, and even though a little tired after the late hours to achieve it, now it’s a sense of lightness. And in these moments of abandonment to him he slides his hand right inside our cloak. Softly holds our beating heart. Brushes the tears on our cheek with the other.<br />
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Where do I go today, Lord? I fall on my knees before you.<br />
<br />Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-52098663619572741972012-04-21T22:14:00.004-07:002012-04-21T22:36:57.736-07:00Golden Nuggets from Nashville Film FestivalNashville’s 43rd Film Festival, rated one of the 10 best film festivals in the country, is currently playing in town, so I enjoyed a media pass with photo op to visit one of the top panel discussions today. Nicole Kidman joined actors-turned-directors Famke Janssen, Beth Grant and Carrie Preston to discuss <em>The Evolution of Women Behind the Camera.</em><br />
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These four talented women expressed some wonderful gems, and gave an honest look at life as actor/producer/director in an industry where men have traditionally held the top positions. As a fellow Aussie, I share a kindred spirit with Kidman, who also now resides in Nashville with her country music star husband, Keith Urban. <br />
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Their credits are impressive. Nicole Kidman (producer and Academy Award winning actor); Famke Janssen (“Golden Eye,” “X-Men” Trilogy); Beth Grant (“Sordid Lives,” “The Artist,” “A Time to Kill,” “Speed”); Carrie Preston (“True Blood,” “Doubt,” “My Best Friend’s Wedding”).<br />
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Let me share some of their golden nuggets…<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><em><strong>Nicole Kidman:</strong></em></span><br />
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“I want (to work with) someone who is sensitive, so I can feel brave.”<br />
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“Find mentors. Find people who believe in you, to help you through the tough times.”<br />
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“You’ve just got to try stuff. Just keep going – it’s your story.”<br />
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“I want to play women who push the boundaries, whose stories otherwise wouldn’t be told.”<br />
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<em><strong><span style="color: magenta;">Carrie Preston:</span></strong></em><br />
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“The margin of error is very small when you’re a woman.”<br />
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“Don’t give your power away to anybody. Now, more than ever, people can create their own thing. Just start doing it (filmmaking or whatever).”<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: magenta;">Famke Janssen:</span></em></strong><br />
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“I encourage everyone to explore every part of themselves. In Indie films the only thing we can do is let actors play roles they would normally never get to do.”<br />
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“Everything is an opportunity. What you do with that opportunity is up to you. Don’t let people box you in.”<br />
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“It’s really important to stay true to yourself. You have to be highly creative all the time. There is no one path to anything.”<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: magenta;">Beth Grant:</span></em></strong><br />
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“I try to get my ego out of the way, and seek to serve others and bless them. How can I help this actor, producer, crew tell their story today?”<br />
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“<em>Yes, and…</em>is a better philosophy than arguing.” <br />
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“As artists we have so much energy, we can’t just have an ordinary career. We need to do so much more!”<br />
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<br />Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-55293499174653566272012-04-08T18:26:00.002-07:002012-04-08T18:46:19.207-07:00Invitation to Live!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacyNFe-uIBXFHRlCASIDMmvJS5UascFK97ak40kkRmG_bjDgis0IHovN6o9WpQ9CR9G9dNFMueXyIYp6upIkV8vfteo_BSy72LnvC2pKzntooC7mVeByjF-fAVFdKmec0V-a56n5_IhiJ/s1600/Garden+Tomb+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacyNFe-uIBXFHRlCASIDMmvJS5UascFK97ak40kkRmG_bjDgis0IHovN6o9WpQ9CR9G9dNFMueXyIYp6upIkV8vfteo_BSy72LnvC2pKzntooC7mVeByjF-fAVFdKmec0V-a56n5_IhiJ/s320/Garden+Tomb+1.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>Easter morning is always filled with an air of expectancy. The sun’s first rays bring life to limestone walls covered in a riotous tumble of crimson bougainvillea. <br />
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At the command of his heavenly Father, the Son of Man bursts forth from the grave, fully alive. He steps into the garden, vibrant, illuminated with the brilliance of God himself, victorious! <br />
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The world changed forever in that instant. Man no longer doomed to die, but offered a joyous eternity with his Creator who expressed His love in the most unbelievable way.<br />
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The darkness of separation now fled in the light of this glorious new morning, Jesus fulfills his promise to show us the way. The only response is to follow…<br />
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As evening falls, catch a glimpse of him on that road to Emmaus, falling in step with two believers. Unrecognized, even as he explained the Scriptures, leading them through every prophecy and psalm that foretold his coming. I too have walked that dusty road, plucked ripe figs from overhanging branches, heard birds singing in the trees. Touched the ancient stones in this long-forgotten village. Entreated to stay, he breaks bread at their meal, and in that moment they <em>see</em> him!<br />
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Broken bread, poured out wine – his life given so that we might step with him now into that new day. Irresistible love calling us forth…Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-3226828901960203042012-02-02T22:43:00.000-08:002012-02-02T22:51:13.002-08:00When Heaven Weeps...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfkdndbCqMjbMy2ITXqakfJsnuyLA6q-NTC5QRjEYa_jNyiNdHrNeB29E65hm3moAsDpsyz4BVYl6W10cKaFD5qmW-tv6FX4KzomhRp1uAUmJgQ_Ea84chupR2kCO16a9I9MBKJDql_SY/s1600/wet+spider+web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfkdndbCqMjbMy2ITXqakfJsnuyLA6q-NTC5QRjEYa_jNyiNdHrNeB29E65hm3moAsDpsyz4BVYl6W10cKaFD5qmW-tv6FX4KzomhRp1uAUmJgQ_Ea84chupR2kCO16a9I9MBKJDql_SY/s1600/wet+spider+web.jpg" /></a></div>When the blackness of night covers us in its mantle, hiding the myriad details that fill our waking world, only then is our soul bared. <br />
What pains and unexpressed sorrows drift to the surface uninvited?<br />
What demons haunt, laughing at our feeble efforts, deriding our small victories and leaving us accused and found wanting?<br />
Do we ever really know ourselves? Have we plumbed the depths of our characters, followed the twists and turns into the labyrinth of our own soul?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A few short weeks ago my friend took her own life, and I am struggling to make sense of it. It was so completely out of character. None of the usual warning signs. A sweet and beautiful girl, with a gentle-hearted husband, and two adorable children. Her seven-year-old daughter is a dancing sunbeam, full of light and effervescence. Her three-year-old son a grinning cherub of mischief. I hear her cheery voice and see her smiling face before me. I’ve watched her grow into womanhood, strong, resilient, warm, vibrant, beautiful. Life often takes us over rough roads, and for some the rocky patches lead through dark valleys. As she stood there that night, did the demon of abandonment return in a sudden chill swish of black wings, the sharp spear of her own mother’s rejection thrust again into her heart, killing reason? Or did an emotional threat go horribly wrong? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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I received a message from God the morning after the tragedy, when reading <em>My Utmost for His Highest</em>, by Oswald Chambers. <em>“God is making us spell out our own souls. It is slow work, so slow that it takes God all time and eternity to make a man and woman after His own purpose...It is astounding how ignorant we are about ourselves...We have to get rid of the idea that we know ourselves...The only One Who understands us is God.”</em><br />
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What depths there are to each of us that we cannot plumb or even fathom. We don't really know our extremities or our possibilities. We barely know ourselves. Just as He did with His disciples, when Jesus takes us alone He begins to reveal the truths about ourselves, and we discover our desperate need for understanding and redemption. <br />
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Perhaps one of the most amazing passages in the Bible is Psalm 139, where God reveals that He has loved us even before the foundation of the earth, and laid His hand upon us. <br />
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<em>“Where can I go from your Spirit? </em><br />
<em>Where can I flee from your presence?</em><br />
<em>If I go up to the heavens, you are there;</em><br />
<em>If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.</em><br />
<em>If I rise on the wings of the dawn,</em><br />
<em>If I settle on the far side of the sea,</em><br />
<em>Even there your hand will guide me,</em><br />
<em>Your right hand will hold me fast.”</em><br />
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By nightfall, the ground was covered in a white mantle of snow.<br />
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</div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-55843614904625092372012-01-01T00:20:00.000-08:002012-01-01T21:11:03.668-08:00On the Edge of Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U_qDqkcfmwk/TwAVSpZz1UI/AAAAAAAABcM/CL8AgNnmA7o/s1600/southern+cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280px" rea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U_qDqkcfmwk/TwAVSpZz1UI/AAAAAAAABcM/CL8AgNnmA7o/s640/southern+cross.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
New Year’s Eve holds our lives on tiptoe, breath sucked in, waiting…expectantly. Just what is coming next? We look up into the starry heavens. Perhaps we can read our future in the stars flashing like diamonds, secrets tucked in folds of black velvet vanishing into the depths of space and eternity.<br />
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Reflecting back we study the imprint of our personal history, clues to the meaning of our very existence. Lives intersected, experiences remembered, lessons learned, hearts broken and recreated by love. If we take the time to slip off alone, meditate on years past, ponder on where we are, and the journey to this moment, we may hear God’s voice whisper to us in the stillness. He is calling us to step forward bravely into the unknown, willing to leave our safety zone. How else will we experience the adventure of life?<br />
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But let’s hesitate a moment, and savor the tapestry of New Year’s Eves past, rolling the flavor on our tongue, dancing around the memories like shadowy nymphs circling a bonfire. Take your own journey back through time, and enjoy revisiting each treasure hidden in the recesses of your heart.<br />
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In my late teens, I remember the Christmas Beach Mission Coffee Shops in Australia. A week at Torquay, one of Victoria’s ocean beach resorts. During the day we played on the beaches, connecting with summer holidaymakers. In the evenings the coffee shop became a favorite hang out for young people. Music, free coffee and refreshments, friendly people offering a listening ear, and a message of hope and acceptance with spiritual significance. And then there was the drummer… I have to admit to a personal distraction! My girlfriends and I became instant groupies!<br />
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Despite the years of New Year’s Eve parties, I liked best the times we saw the New Year in quietly, giving time to look back over the year just past, souls bared, precious moments spent talking with God about the year ahead. One year several of us sat on the sandy cliffs at Black Rock beach, slightly apart as midnight approached. Personal time gazing up at the starry Southern sky. Reflecting on our path taken, lessons staked in the sand, relationships, dreams still waiting. Then resolutions made, asking God to hold us accountable.<br />
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The wedding of my best friend, Liz, was another NYE memory. Although I was a camp leader at Bairnsdale, 300 miles away on the Gippsland Lakes, I obtained dispensation to be gone for 24 hours. She and Dick pledged their vows as the sun set on Liz’s family farm, sheep quietly grazing on the hillsides. We were all college friends, destined to share many significant moments in our future. Champagne corks shot into the sky at midnight to celebrate the start of their life together.<br />
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Many years later, on one of my trips back to Australia, life’s pendulum had swung almost 360 degrees. Bill had sent me back to visit family, staying behind in Tennessee to take care of our responsibilities. Liz, Dick and I spent New Year’s Eve together, camping at Beechworth, one of Victoria’s old gold mining towns. We hiked into town to see the New Year in, and joined the Main Street throng. I bought a bottle of champagne, and we all signed the cork after drinking our toast “To Whatever Comes Next,” desperately missing Bill’s presence; once more separated by oceans and continents. Little did I know, that it would be the last time I would see Dick. He was killed in a helicopter crash the following December. <br />
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Bill and I collected our corks in a barrel in our Wine Room at Ghost Gums in Tennessee. Years later, at a party when Liz was staying with us, a curious young friend emptied out the barrel of corks and began reading them. I couldn’t believe it when Nick pulled out the very cork that Liz, Dick and I had signed on Dick’s final New Year’s Eve. I quietly handed it to Liz, the words unspoken as tears pricked her eyes.<br />
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I could speak of other New Year’s Eves, but the most memorable of all was New Year’s Eve at the Gliding Club in Benalla, when the dial clicked over to 1981. We had spent a week flying the Christmas Competition, sharing turns in our single seat glider on triangular cross-country tasks. Just before midnight Bill took me out of the dancing merriment in the theatre of the old World War II barracks for a breath of fresh air. I sat on the curb in the moonlight, Bill at my side, when he totally surprised me and asked me to marry him. I hesitated, just briefly enough to tease him. The strains of Old Lang Syne called us back inside to our friends, and we returned, most not realizing that our future had irrevocably changed in that moment. One of our pilot friends looked at us quizzically when we rejoined the party. "Is there something you should tell me?" he asked. How on earth did he know!<br />
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These are different days now. My soulmate has gone on ahead, and I am left to find my way alone. So how do I see New Year’s Eve now? The stars still rotate across the sky, the seasons still change, and life continues. Deep loss demands that we find the meaning of our individual imprint. A half moon hangs suspended in the winter sky. Its beauty now lies in the curve of its half crescent. Not full, yet perfect in its altered form. I know instinctively that God is telling me I am complete, because I am created in His image. It’s hard when all my friends have their partners to share all those treasured moments of life with, while I stand alone. But my memories remind me that I have been loved to the depths of my being, and I can be content because of that treasure I hold in my heart forever. Bill gave me a glimpse into the very heart of God.<br />
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</div> God calls,<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Starlight beckons.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Stretch beyond your limits.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Mysteries await those willing</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> To fly</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>*Leave a post of your own New Year's Eve memories<br />
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</div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-62102182873302942572011-11-06T22:10:00.000-08:002011-11-06T22:30:33.929-08:00Pilots and Pioneers of Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzAcs_AU_IMC_Zll9zxoADDa7K_4ki8eR_ya5mpSWxwc6Fk2CL5Cssp6w3PB6pa5mY3E5_9gLg_bG4NY0To1u4xIzZmtwPEgiH3wnM3hXYSEZExBV5ciR9Sqqm9V3403gZ-fVVdkEo83l/s1600/Labor+Day+09+112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzAcs_AU_IMC_Zll9zxoADDa7K_4ki8eR_ya5mpSWxwc6Fk2CL5Cssp6w3PB6pa5mY3E5_9gLg_bG4NY0To1u4xIzZmtwPEgiH3wnM3hXYSEZExBV5ciR9Sqqm9V3403gZ-fVVdkEo83l/s400/Labor+Day+09+112.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I came across a fascinating admission today in a favorite poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…” <br />
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My thoughts are right now with my dear and close friend, Lia, who tragically lost her husband David just four weeks ago to a massive and sudden heart attack. We are kindred spirits in many ways, and I grieve with her, not only in her loss, but for all the moments and experiences that lie ahead for her, shadows that surprise with their sharp stabs, unwitting wounds, and raw encounters with the deepest emotions, tears that never seem to stop, a loss that never fully goes away. <br />
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But life is filled with serendipities, and the toast Bill and I celebrated with every breath, “Here’s to whatever comes next!” was our open-hearted embrace of the true adventure of life.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fGjZ8GhLpFSgpLyO0e5I6ePaqzPtYoxn8TXWYNihq4BzXdwerBhgjAJ9kGXxZfSwLzT0AC58Z6i_RCLbX1ydAwiRnPZ-pH9fR5eevqrPZsyITOVltzyFZcYw4VkCvaBAt9S0FvzrpAc4/s1600/Esther%2527s+beach+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fGjZ8GhLpFSgpLyO0e5I6ePaqzPtYoxn8TXWYNihq4BzXdwerBhgjAJ9kGXxZfSwLzT0AC58Z6i_RCLbX1ydAwiRnPZ-pH9fR5eevqrPZsyITOVltzyFZcYw4VkCvaBAt9S0FvzrpAc4/s320/Esther%2527s+beach+011.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As I read the words of the poem, I realized for perhaps the first time, that I am more in love with Bill now, even than when he was alive on this earth. Crazy? Imagination? Not at all. Elizabeth Barrett sums up her soliloquy on love with this conclusion</div><br />
“…and, if God choose, I shall but love thee <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">better after death.”</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNjelhITAgh3ZsWKDQcxf2qNlZCN8KpBOeMC1a24GQOa2X6UT0AdGmq1_BgOwYgcDLVxnojMQ11Y55x8gzV6MImVFMMFQWTcf8WVwLzXIRUjuBy9oVp2s8JUSoyEotmYBc0h9JwfwSFgy/s1600/Labor+Day+09+114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNjelhITAgh3ZsWKDQcxf2qNlZCN8KpBOeMC1a24GQOa2X6UT0AdGmq1_BgOwYgcDLVxnojMQ11Y55x8gzV6MImVFMMFQWTcf8WVwLzXIRUjuBy9oVp2s8JUSoyEotmYBc0h9JwfwSFgy/s320/Labor+Day+09+114.jpg" width="320px" /></a>How can that be? It’s simpler than you might imagine. Now the freedom in loving is limitless. No longer distracted with human frailties and failings, or the notches etched on those superficial goalposts of worldly achievement, we are free to love our man as he truly is. The intrinsic Bill, glowing and alive with all the qualities I loved and admired so much. Dancing and fully alive in the presence of God, exploring the universes with Jesus as his guide. Courageous, sensitive, creative, spontaneous, exuberant, warm, and loving. Freed from the restraints of this earth life. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I can’t answer for those with different eyes of faith, but Lia and I both know where our guys are. Blazing new trails in the spirit life, beckoning us onward and upward. Will we be reunited in marriage? Not at all. That is but a shadow of the life to come, a glimpse of the sacred romance that God is calling us to. But the communion of soulmates and like-minded spirits may well continue in God’s eternal kingdom. What we experience here is a mere foreshadowing of what’s to come.<br />
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So I think more these days of the lessons Bill patiently tried to teach me. I was often a stubborn student. Inclined to be rebellious to instruction and discipline. I’m beginning to appreciate the finer points of his gentle coaching, his living example, quietly fulfilling his God-assigned mission to train me up to fly solo and launch off into the wild blue with confidence and the ability to make wise decisions.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi227yW_K__AHnpA67spj-kAhJGiBapWFAhGUI7Oy7sLrnM-UxjHm_v8-KhajSM4MK0i_jBYrqrbIyjBnf9O8Lh5GobOhKa_Y_4Nn31ndcIf7GNDDTbeQrHHmpZM-FVJr4RM8XCwTBtx4Yj/s1600/pilot+profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi227yW_K__AHnpA67spj-kAhJGiBapWFAhGUI7Oy7sLrnM-UxjHm_v8-KhajSM4MK0i_jBYrqrbIyjBnf9O8Lh5GobOhKa_Y_4Nn31ndcIf7GNDDTbeQrHHmpZM-FVJr4RM8XCwTBtx4Yj/s200/pilot+profile.jpg" width="193px" /></a></div>The October copy of <em>Sport Aviation</em> magazine has an article on the 'Pilot Personality.'<br />
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Bill was the advanced version of all their descriptions. His internal clock could tell you the time, night or day, to within a few minutes. Reading the weather was second nature, and he could explain weather systems and clouds and ground fog better than most meteorologists. While filled with dreams and a continual quest for adventure, he always faced the reality of life, with a contingency plan for every “What If” situation.<br />
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‘Pilots scan people as if they were instruments; they draw conclusions at a glance, rather than relying on long and emotion-laden conversations.’ Yes, he was astute at summing people up, giving more attention to those who were genuine, regardless of their station in life. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R3Uedq5LJVG0a5A7xFKhKlP4KcF0Vo1hasInqCYTZlAOuailyphO6o0OyilhQyNxTAVL5o7Z41RMAOgLhwgo4xExwmqtOkxleQ334Ig1SjXU-18LQpufl-DGqgouyaH1yZGeFK3JxoLV/s1600/Kessai+Note+%2526+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R3Uedq5LJVG0a5A7xFKhKlP4KcF0Vo1hasInqCYTZlAOuailyphO6o0OyilhQyNxTAVL5o7Z41RMAOgLhwgo4xExwmqtOkxleQ334Ig1SjXU-18LQpufl-DGqgouyaH1yZGeFK3JxoLV/s320/Kessai+Note+%2526+daughter.jpg" width="228px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">People who talked about themselves a lot were his pet peeve, and he was never impressed with those who self-promoted. He could relate equally to a housekeeper as to a President of a foreign country. Perhaps because he treated each of them as a person of value. Where else do we read about that example?? No wonder God figured he was ready to move on to the next level. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>And so I think about Lia’s husband, David. Humble, self-effacing, modest. He was a quiet doer of the Word with a heart of gold, willing to help anyone without ever asking for anything in return, and never counting the cost. I don’t know anyone who worked as hard as David, sacrificing all for his family and the dreams of his two sons. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSZkwzMlGor92BautJVj4Tnm8OFehVX_wHk15AQ-j1cerq9rEMK1AqE9hziBz9-kz56yKvW3B7v64n9LIiGqkKYPTPBvV1z5xv3i1LQRq6P214EhAD_Eln5UZiB5aXMY0202pgUfqbkJI/s1600/Fij+moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSZkwzMlGor92BautJVj4Tnm8OFehVX_wHk15AQ-j1cerq9rEMK1AqE9hziBz9-kz56yKvW3B7v64n9LIiGqkKYPTPBvV1z5xv3i1LQRq6P214EhAD_Eln5UZiB5aXMY0202pgUfqbkJI/s320/Fij+moon.jpg" width="249px" /></a></div>He quietly believed in them, never demanding the moon, but always encouraging them to strive for excellence with patience and diligence. And their individual accomplishments to date have been nothing short of astonishing. <br />
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</div>Mentoring others is a quiet calling. God whispers His wisdom in the secret places, choosing those who love to watch others grow and take flight. “Trust the wings you have been given,” Bill’s words echo in my heart. “You do know how to fly.”<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVrDv0Kl-MUQGqAXlillVrnjlmp0AcWRNTzNSj-QCg2nCBnHQXjlbKOuQt9bAcd4Fr5B6rKlVVhC3LigVj7XOGJ2XMLTxDD6Cated85TAcjFpf6DawIv1MWAjJQ6S86CPZvU30dLSmjhk/s1600/Labor+Day+09+118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVrDv0Kl-MUQGqAXlillVrnjlmp0AcWRNTzNSj-QCg2nCBnHQXjlbKOuQt9bAcd4Fr5B6rKlVVhC3LigVj7XOGJ2XMLTxDD6Cated85TAcjFpf6DawIv1MWAjJQ6S86CPZvU30dLSmjhk/s400/Labor+Day+09+118.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-37126224047467795092011-10-26T19:52:00.000-07:002011-10-26T19:52:16.754-07:00The Stolen RegattaI glance at the scary Halloween face in the mirror. Who invited you? – and you’re way too early, too. Puffy balloon eye, looking out through a mere slit. Frankenstein would be proud. <br />
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Let’s back up to a prettier scene. Early morning fog hovering over a glassy lake. Canadian geese drift past boats rocking gently at anchor. Trees illuminated with fall colors glow with an inner light, hinting of stories to be told around evening firesides. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsrBPEEAiIPpyhIUWHCq3iTPUBwOtvRgGZUu2Zk3V2deNrZVRvJLUYd6tNGJ41tzee0cljDo-y4neTL6d2lkX0JQ1Pt3HRqrwPnya4BISiKVXXbUmjgohGeMDjXzoX1o62aUM7QcCpwDC/s1600/Regatta+adventure+Oct+2011+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsrBPEEAiIPpyhIUWHCq3iTPUBwOtvRgGZUu2Zk3V2deNrZVRvJLUYd6tNGJ41tzee0cljDo-y4neTL6d2lkX0JQ1Pt3HRqrwPnya4BISiKVXXbUmjgohGeMDjXzoX1o62aUM7QcCpwDC/s320/Regatta+adventure+Oct+2011+001.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
The crisp air is moist and sensuous. The Wanderin’ Star strains at her mooring, eager to slip away and cut a quiet wake through the dark water on a new voyage of discovery.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Charlie and I swab the decks, easy teamwork. The white fiberglass gleams as duck poop is washed off, splashing overboard. Charlie pulls on the motor start cord, and we find the first challenge of the day. No compression on the first half of the pull. The cord still seems to be attached, but we can’t get it to start. Fortunately we’re early, way ahead of our crew. We hike to the yacht club for some advice. Rick Smith, Vice Commodore, has seen this before, and tells us what to try next. We register, grab a cup of coffee and a donut, and return to the boat. We are blessed. Rick’s advice works like a charm, and the Wanderin’ Star is soon sliding across the foggy water and ties up at the yacht club, in a good position to start the regatta. Just one of the many reasons I am so glad to have joined the yacht club. They are a great bunch of people, and offer a wonderful support network.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The new JaM fleet at the Harbor Island Yacht Club – for novices to racing and those looking for more laid back fun – has an enthusiastic turnout of 10 boats. The two other fleets of seasoned racers are asked to treat us kindly!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTazxCLque5WMd9Oa3oxfBSnN2dCyAh7DX7Ey447FPYsjE5chQCktboqy1FZOXDRGzpovg8UJbfTPEmvFji22EEasWEyQWL70PXI0G24ijYk2svcKefEFCMpbXSadg1xo9rebGbPPyIEVG/s1600/Regatta+adventure+Oct+2011+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270px" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTazxCLque5WMd9Oa3oxfBSnN2dCyAh7DX7Ey447FPYsjE5chQCktboqy1FZOXDRGzpovg8UJbfTPEmvFji22EEasWEyQWL70PXI0G24ijYk2svcKefEFCMpbXSadg1xo9rebGbPPyIEVG/s400/Regatta+adventure+Oct+2011+006.jpg" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dayle, with crew Cam, Diedrick, and Charlie on the Wanderin' Star</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Not much wind today, but we’re all eager to get out on the lake. My first regatta in eons, a new adventure in my role as captain without Bill. Many years ago, son James had flown out from California regularly to help us race our Hobie 16 on Percy Priest Lake, but in those days I was just crew, not strategist. I had corralled a keen crew of three young guys in their twenties – Cam Cook, Charlie Huling, and Diedrick Woodard. All willing to learn and have fun together.<br />
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I put Charlie, the most experienced, at the helm so I could train Cam and Diedrick to run the sails, and we cast off. Still cold, the sleepy motor took a notion to quit as we slid past boats at anchor. Instinctively, Charlie pulled hard on the cord, and in one of those moments of bad timing, I found myself too close as his long arm extended backwards. Pop! His elbow cracked me fair and square in the left eye. <br />
<br />
Never one to wimp out, I wasn’t about to cancel our day’s sailing for a black eye.<br />
<br />
I iced it to stop any swelling, but a short time later, when I blew my nose, the picture changed. My eye felt sudden pressure, moved in the socket and instantly swelled shut. Not so good! Hmm, sorry guys. I think I should get this checked out. From many years as a Vet Tech, I knew that eye problems should be addressed quickly to avoid permanent damage. I needed perfect vision for all the adventures that lay ahead in life. How could I fly with only one eye?<br />
<br />
Charlie turned the boat around, and the guys were wonderful, willing to do whatever I needed. Maybe I could go to a walk-in clinic, and be back on the lake in time to start our race. About that time the boat slid to a halt. “Oh!” Charlie said. “I think we’ve run aground.” While I hadn’t been paying attention, on entering the harbor he had missed going between the red and green markers. Certain death on this harbor entrance. I knew that only too well. <br />
<br />
I called Gene Lovelace, our JaM Fleet Captain, on my cell phone.<br />
<br />
“Gene. I have two problems. I’ve injured my eye and need to get it looked at. And we just ran aground and need a tow!”<br />
<br />
This was turning into quite a day! Novice indeed. How many years had I been sailing??<br />
<br />
Frazier soon showed up in the Committee Boat and towed us all the way back to our own dock. God bless this club! Bill and I never had this luxury in all the years we sailed the Wanderin’ Star and ran our boat charters. Frazier took one look at my eye, and declared I should go to the emergency room at Summit immediately.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>My crew has a sense of humor!</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So here I am at the hospital, chaperoned by Cam and Diedrick, while Charlie stayed behind to pack up the sails and the boat. I tell you, these guys are keepers. The best crew and the best friends you could find anywhere. I just hate it that they had to miss sailing in the regatta on this picture perfect fall day. Sadly, this would be no quick fix and a return to the lake. Perforated sinus, slight abrasion to the cornea, and an eye now puffed up with air like a blow fish. </div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The best news (in a twisted sort of way!), when we returned to the Wanderin’ Star three hours later, was that a complete lack of wind had caused the Race Committee to cancel the regatta. No-one got to race that day. We hadn’t missed a thing. A disappointment for all – but it did absolve my guilt for my keen crew. Fellow JaM fleeter, and New Member Liaison Judy Netherton, in her brand new Catalina 22, complete with her hot shot race crew and a boat load of champagne, was reportedly still out on the lake, catching the light airs regardless. Can’t say as I would do any different! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So…to another day…and to whatever comes next – if you dare!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-51199434812292809562011-09-25T19:46:00.000-07:002011-09-26T08:56:18.181-07:00Italian Culture Meets the County Fair<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="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgok5ccOSW8sftbpBT7UQHD31DWVFtwxCuWpCybsSnlxSNmGhcpfVIYU1fl4A_drb6VUblEdD9WwG-IOPD41M09MVoo9jBqvT3p2aHD66JWw0DotwMZG-yUTQfjF7u8sdJ9qfT_ZDBvEq6i/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgok5ccOSW8sftbpBT7UQHD31DWVFtwxCuWpCybsSnlxSNmGhcpfVIYU1fl4A_drb6VUblEdD9WwG-IOPD41M09MVoo9jBqvT3p2aHD66JWw0DotwMZG-yUTQfjF7u8sdJ9qfT_ZDBvEq6i/s400/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+056.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>A Southern Belle dressed for the fair</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">An email announcing the arrival of my friend, Laura, from Milan, Italy, recently sent me scurrying for some varied activities for the weekend. The Wilson County Fair was a long way removed from the sophisticated life of this friend who married countries rather than men. First France, then Italy. But I knew she began life as a GRIT – a Girl Raised In The South. Maybe her early years in Charleston, South Carolina would reveal an appreciation for the simpler life</div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">…so straight from the airport to the fair we went.</div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinu8bWIgYfG0YrcwjJVOgr8i4yWQ9mcaMhVqoeAxwZbxgSN-d8GfgcyXkEfrswpcaYb1uhVxhxXTd-tIdUKqnt4KYcr0pD4G83_UFB9YoPODIuXpnQt3gk2M3pxnu6-ulPxczS15k-mGXx/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinu8bWIgYfG0YrcwjJVOgr8i4yWQ9mcaMhVqoeAxwZbxgSN-d8GfgcyXkEfrswpcaYb1uhVxhxXTd-tIdUKqnt4KYcr0pD4G83_UFB9YoPODIuXpnQt3gk2M3pxnu6-ulPxczS15k-mGXx/s400/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+092.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Laura steps back in time</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEOdMIWBdl6Vy2mwnb3TmrGazLkTY48AiShm1-_v77ujneZnGODkiJOoi1TUrT8SJ0jskgfhO11X4nMG-74WR-2sikIiYPZop4fZXbHUGbBQP_iqcLiExAz6tVHnOruRXe6T20PmvSEzB/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEOdMIWBdl6Vy2mwnb3TmrGazLkTY48AiShm1-_v77ujneZnGODkiJOoi1TUrT8SJ0jskgfhO11X4nMG-74WR-2sikIiYPZop4fZXbHUGbBQP_iqcLiExAz6tVHnOruRXe6T20PmvSEzB/s320/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dayle's agricultural college training kicks in</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was a steamy, hot August night, the kind etched in our memories by Neil Diamond's serenades.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCrSa67J_jGDMJTXRwx6Xk4BhEp8oPbKKBeXi4pq38droAVN1Sy0QqRjWVGyUpwqstKlET5hBSmfra7gBCCNs30IdmVj4YWWEw1D2s7yABp9ZFrVkoVe7xTwtOWpweIJ9BmUyeC9Yjs2P/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCrSa67J_jGDMJTXRwx6Xk4BhEp8oPbKKBeXi4pq38droAVN1Sy0QqRjWVGyUpwqstKlET5hBSmfra7gBCCNs30IdmVj4YWWEw1D2s7yABp9ZFrVkoVe7xTwtOWpweIJ9BmUyeC9Yjs2P/s320/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Julie & Laura both true patriots</em></td></tr>
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Meeting up with two friends, we found a childlike enjoyment in such simple things as climbing aboard an old antique tractor, cheering pigs and ducks racing around a track, <br />
watching sheep dog trials. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzcgbZgYerRx8gQ9yK3LR8vm7x1XtPu3n0NMW53P6BfyTqdPiPasQ9HGU8sdG7aD-xcEHuax9E-YJPKSJaUAB9Oi29ObFNkkWqiMvKqWM_PwwWrOSke4dazzae1nPExfxy_8hpk2tby7i/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzcgbZgYerRx8gQ9yK3LR8vm7x1XtPu3n0NMW53P6BfyTqdPiPasQ9HGU8sdG7aD-xcEHuax9E-YJPKSJaUAB9Oi29ObFNkkWqiMvKqWM_PwwWrOSke4dazzae1nPExfxy_8hpk2tby7i/s200/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+043.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Mesmerized, we watched hands shaping wet clay on a potter's wheel. A Percheron horse plodded obediently on a wooden ramp, hitched to an ice cream churn, and our wait was rewarded when we stood outside the old barn dipping spoons into a shared cup of creamy homemade ice cream. Nothing ever tasted so good!<br />
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When did we lose touch with the quiet, steady beat of the earth, or take time to watch the stars rotate across the sky marking the seasons? That night we met folk whose hands were rough from repairing farm ploughs, eyes crinkled from years in the sun, boots muddy with manure, hats oiled with the sweat of honest work. Friendly welcomes with sweet Southern charm, stories of families and home remedies, samplings of moonshine jelly, and the humid night dancing to the rhythm of Bluegrass fiddles and banjos.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCD2_G0ZM8NoY0xinKmmLUrBAxdViO0hJLkxeL_a4mJdvCuItArwKYLjAaqJR1rax3XZe-lPfQrtwvNHdU-TfgpZo0BtFjrf6yVTiQueK8NZEEc-ZN67SF-QF3PDPsHGB-eHFK1e7JeYf/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCD2_G0ZM8NoY0xinKmmLUrBAxdViO0hJLkxeL_a4mJdvCuItArwKYLjAaqJR1rax3XZe-lPfQrtwvNHdU-TfgpZo0BtFjrf6yVTiQueK8NZEEc-ZN67SF-QF3PDPsHGB-eHFK1e7JeYf/s200/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+099.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The crowds jostled amongst all the food vendors. Fresh squeezed oranges, </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Julie & Laura dip into the decadent funnel cake</em></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">butter dripping off ears of corn, powdered sugar mixed with the sweet, irresistible dough of hot funnel cakes. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Winning quilts each tell a story</em></div></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Rides, sideshows, exhibit halls, arts and crafts. The fair was filled with prize-winning talent.</div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKP_-uExvUgHTV-mRLPRLlDexwL-N4WKd5sk6yYz4wgWtMReeRMDpF0Q3JBDFLFxDSUA6lfEk20G45pKNt6Nq7LEocIdjjHLVz60lsUjyZq_V5WksY87hqmoMqTC3hyhMBQtcijjiRNIBh/s1600/Julie%252C+Julie+%2526+Laura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKP_-uExvUgHTV-mRLPRLlDexwL-N4WKd5sk6yYz4wgWtMReeRMDpF0Q3JBDFLFxDSUA6lfEk20G45pKNt6Nq7LEocIdjjHLVz60lsUjyZq_V5WksY87hqmoMqTC3hyhMBQtcijjiRNIBh/s400/Julie%252C+Julie+%2526+Laura.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The fun of the fair is infectious for Julie B., Julie D. and Laura</em></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It took us all back to our roots, days when the agricultural fair was the biggest deal of the year. Laura admitted in surprise “This reminds me of my childhood. It’s wonderful!”</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><em>The aristocratic Jacobin pigeon</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKyvGnRDn-IN_CnVXVdmpnbrWCus0d35we4C7LqWsCd7r85Q7mFn8z4UDELvvLIh9FyS5vAPzX9TffL2sgHIAsmzNMZKDo_OIB6NVQoR1NmWrm9LXJLYaYFOub_jiDy4QlNxIK_X0fziX/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKyvGnRDn-IN_CnVXVdmpnbrWCus0d35we4C7LqWsCd7r85Q7mFn8z4UDELvvLIh9FyS5vAPzX9TffL2sgHIAsmzNMZKDo_OIB6NVQoR1NmWrm9LXJLYaYFOub_jiDy4QlNxIK_X0fziX/s200/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+018.jpg" width="121" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>We often hear Barred owls (Hoot owls) calling to each other on still nights</em></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Before the birds went to roost for the night, we admired their feathered finery. My best friend Julie has her own bevy of colorful chickens, and we wandered through the parade of roosters, hens, ducks, geese, and pigeons, all dressed as though going to a ball.<br />
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It was a return for all of us to the earthy aroma of life, and we wandered the dusty roads in wide-eyed wonder, carefree kids on the loose.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; 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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBXKGVWxwjjjcEa3YfVVlRYt-PyR4NO8W8caOXLWdOFavhln3X0nWrozyOY_xWJ8zsTvNCJFKTaBQJYQKZ9gQXL-jsd2BZlsi8WfdBriIkggaguHAXMaeI0xIfAmo8zqE62KW6tiddu7F/s1600/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBXKGVWxwjjjcEa3YfVVlRYt-PyR4NO8W8caOXLWdOFavhln3X0nWrozyOY_xWJ8zsTvNCJFKTaBQJYQKZ9gQXL-jsd2BZlsi8WfdBriIkggaguHAXMaeI0xIfAmo8zqE62KW6tiddu7F/s400/Laura%2527s+visit+August+2011+106.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>We voted this corn Best of the Wilson County Fair</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-26310950074038297862011-08-31T20:38:00.000-07:002011-08-31T21:13:13.405-07:00Thai Cooking With Penny<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIROdOhvK7px3pYIYeIo06i93kDJobg-UHfoiKYtOlU-eNvFJnIb5CYy6Zac6qnL9zIyOhPsfG4sdsOrzRXPIT5g99nxfl2QWwIvVBqWUfWUX-u-FOX_eCw5swCBVFDQP-nBQVy9arnov/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIROdOhvK7px3pYIYeIo06i93kDJobg-UHfoiKYtOlU-eNvFJnIb5CYy6Zac6qnL9zIyOhPsfG4sdsOrzRXPIT5g99nxfl2QWwIvVBqWUfWUX-u-FOX_eCw5swCBVFDQP-nBQVy9arnov/s320/Thai+cooking+class+029.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Penny's Thai dinners are legendary!</em></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When a friend from long ago came back into town and offered to cook a Thai meal for her friends, we were only too willing to participate!</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N8eB6MtkLDU6nTuiOqArSL9tYGJ-SyxoQwx-T40prUP7bWw9ZxW2TRUdBOCcsrS1QYk3EP5qJWC4KsxsShSX17f5FwYpXocY7Bb5Rqs_pwY45fmgFWDWe3D9mWYRtxu1XRlTAMxGUnxp/s1600/thai+header1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N8eB6MtkLDU6nTuiOqArSL9tYGJ-SyxoQwx-T40prUP7bWw9ZxW2TRUdBOCcsrS1QYk3EP5qJWC4KsxsShSX17f5FwYpXocY7Bb5Rqs_pwY45fmgFWDWe3D9mWYRtxu1XRlTAMxGUnxp/s200/thai+header1.jpg" width="200px" xaa="true" /></a></div>Penny has history with us all. For Bill and myself, it included an adventure down in the Florida Keys swimming with dolphins, followed by the most incredible dinner on the beach at a waterfront restaurant. Penny lives life in the fast lane, so it’s always fun to catch up with her again. And Thai food is her specialty.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Julie had complied with Penny's very detailed shopping list, and then the party began with various cooking assignments. Come along now and join in the fun! Your mouth will soon be watering!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I grew up with a mother who knew how to cook anything – her dishes were nothing short of miraculous. But the most intriguing thing about her recipe book, which I inherited when she passed away in 2007, was the scant detail on each page. As though all one needed to know were the basic ingredients. The directions might read “Make sauce, add chopped vegetables, cook very slightly, then add meat.” I’d learnt how to fill in the gaps and do a little improvising, which made cooking a lot of fun. <br />
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I pass on to you the same challenge. Experiment with taste, and add extra things if you have them in the fridge. Pretty soon you’ll find you’re the next Pioneer Woman blazing your own culinary trails. Don’t be afraid to experiment!</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmm2CrhZy8-b7K8xVkML4XfPPeVKnYxHo0xF8biKEcojpxu7YLpNoS0eK27fC4v-JvFTCyx8EGC6yA6KGavtkHHeUgU6cL3QD_P7zJy8tIpKS1CSZfNvnjhh11W_BGVv4iTkqW2vPWySh/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmm2CrhZy8-b7K8xVkML4XfPPeVKnYxHo0xF8biKEcojpxu7YLpNoS0eK27fC4v-JvFTCyx8EGC6yA6KGavtkHHeUgU6cL3QD_P7zJy8tIpKS1CSZfNvnjhh11W_BGVv4iTkqW2vPWySh/s200/Thai+cooking+class+007.jpg" width="200px" xaa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Scott, the master chef, grills the sirloin steak to perfection.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Sirloin Steak</strong></span></span> Splash with fish oil, lime juice and crushed red peppers. Jab holes in the steak with a fork so all the good flavors soak in, then grill and slice into thin strips. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmxWzTkF7zCuVO8GPTdSXyuBG7BaLFK7HRdEnG0jF4cSkQfgKa9aTTaVcUvL7J2HgjnFKmqeHBMZF-YkNETeyyA9V1sgA6vWVEt6D-eosOaVB0hppEbzzp1Z_Zel89ANKikVFn0RbaunC/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="163px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmxWzTkF7zCuVO8GPTdSXyuBG7BaLFK7HRdEnG0jF4cSkQfgKa9aTTaVcUvL7J2HgjnFKmqeHBMZF-YkNETeyyA9V1sgA6vWVEt6D-eosOaVB0hppEbzzp1Z_Zel89ANKikVFn0RbaunC/s200/Thai+cooking+class+001.jpg" width="200px" xaa="true" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Ann chops the scallions for the chicken curry</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><strong><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Green & Red Curry</span></strong><br />
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Dice chicken breasts, slice and dice onion and garlic, and cut snow peas into bite size segments. Heat oil in a pan (coconut, Asian or olive oil are the best choices). <br />
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Saute chicken and vegies. Add coconut milk, sliced bamboo shoots, a teaspoon of green and red curry paste, green beans, zucchini, Asian eggplant, long skinny Thai peppers, and red peppers. Add more curry to taste (that’s the fun part!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDD4aE003KQ0ZC24fBKSL_TNEeclQ0_hH3IZSgvADIZfFl0yIwNRD9OyWR5jUAhxb8onh7zurwHfO5qKwjaWrvSVR5KRRwPM4vEcRNn9bjZQi8SboxI6NktO7bHU0Gb8P24XmVWUj9q3L/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="326px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDD4aE003KQ0ZC24fBKSL_TNEeclQ0_hH3IZSgvADIZfFl0yIwNRD9OyWR5jUAhxb8onh7zurwHfO5qKwjaWrvSVR5KRRwPM4vEcRNn9bjZQi8SboxI6NktO7bHU0Gb8P24XmVWUj9q3L/s400/Thai+cooking+class+008.jpg" width="400px" xaa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Vegies cook in a wonderful curry broth</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDS0T9v-3mvEjdOm43wjHyWVUFaUUMdeoWkgxIQuMef0-TKldxTbGqkJdMDFJ68uyJq1kYS_7gIEnUXBp_IzH2jhQFykMARGXCB2pqX4wQ9X2mHm4wepQ3EA7iEWTXmIcidObVAnFOiftN/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="243px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDS0T9v-3mvEjdOm43wjHyWVUFaUUMdeoWkgxIQuMef0-TKldxTbGqkJdMDFJ68uyJq1kYS_7gIEnUXBp_IzH2jhQFykMARGXCB2pqX4wQ9X2mHm4wepQ3EA7iEWTXmIcidObVAnFOiftN/s320/Thai+cooking+class+016.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Taste testing is the best job, as Dayle discovers</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh_e9n0Sa1SF4M-y7HnpsajHceu-t8Dwz60z1fVUJ8KJzqdj28eBXRvTsKbPMbsYId0MBSX_-TeYaDGQzC9VtHjb6AJEZ8Zzc2l0dhB9HhDCzrbwzYwPP1xgKHnqxRZGaDbq75bxDOIW3/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="276px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh_e9n0Sa1SF4M-y7HnpsajHceu-t8Dwz60z1fVUJ8KJzqdj28eBXRvTsKbPMbsYId0MBSX_-TeYaDGQzC9VtHjb6AJEZ8Zzc2l0dhB9HhDCzrbwzYwPP1xgKHnqxRZGaDbq75bxDOIW3/s320/Thai+cooking+class+011.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Penny and Julie prepare the sirloin steak.</em></td></tr>
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At this time I need to explain that all these assignments are going on simultaneously. How you organize your own grand master plan is up to you. Invite a bunch of good friends over, and it’s easy!<br />
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<strong><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thai Salad</span></strong><br />
Grated carrot, thin sliced onion, cucumber, cilantro leaves, scallions, and lots of lime juice. Add strips of the grilled sirloin steak and thinly sliced hot pepper, and wow! Do you have a great accompaniment to the chicken curry.<br />
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Serve the curry on a bed of rice, add the Thai salad, and now it's time to relax and enjoy.<br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtpKpWKI5sy8qdAyTO-RKVpqHFrxeKEQj84ehJaq8rwhQDTGJyXdOeYo6ifFAFgJu6tG0STDnBvOTG0HI3g3mZ8gJvOvIJJ1i0_xvC8s8I5bGglZm7S1QA4tMu822E2j69UHAC5C2Eh4C/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtpKpWKI5sy8qdAyTO-RKVpqHFrxeKEQj84ehJaq8rwhQDTGJyXdOeYo6ifFAFgJu6tG0STDnBvOTG0HI3g3mZ8gJvOvIJJ1i0_xvC8s8I5bGglZm7S1QA4tMu822E2j69UHAC5C2Eh4C/s320/Thai+cooking+class+009.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR1hs5pmePjpLREBMxz2Brgb3ASARDm2LJCfdwWfPmw11CYS6WdaWbPGEwmyelc4GysHgGmfzcKQslN_ZH7hrteJqGW-hwACFtFygjWTcOlLpgD0c_Tt7le4bJeuHJKwTmXRXQ1tBhWO-/s1600/Thai+cooking+class+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR1hs5pmePjpLREBMxz2Brgb3ASARDm2LJCfdwWfPmw11CYS6WdaWbPGEwmyelc4GysHgGmfzcKQslN_ZH7hrteJqGW-hwACFtFygjWTcOlLpgD0c_Tt7le4bJeuHJKwTmXRXQ1tBhWO-/s320/Thai+cooking+class+030.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The Thai dish is ready to eat!</em></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To this I would add a bottle of crisp, white wine, and you have an awesome meal!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Penny has many more incredible recipes, but we'll just have to wait till she's back in town…<br />
<br />
In fact, after reading this abbreviated version of her delicious masterpieces, she will probably fly in on the next whirlwind and chastise me for not giving you all the intricate and specific details of her cooking class. Not just any fish oil will do. And curry paste...there are different degrees of quality and heat. Did you get the right <em>kind</em> of Thai peppers? You get the idea. Maybe next time I will be put on shopping duty. Ah, perfection is in the details.<br />
<br />
Apologies, folks. This is the relaxed Australian version.<br />
Can I pour you a glass of wine?</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em></em></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-15573990215979404572011-08-11T07:26:00.000-07:002011-08-12T19:31:37.788-07:00Sky King Goes to Oshkosh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyo1jedxFV1qzgncUGQZe_BCGj3vHkhwZCfP8noFom0_SQ0uutObTXG3NAvozqVz7MpIMusF_jJUybdtBb-KuZCY9nO-mdHeFf9pydzQSywk73ufhe8BQK_-RmA6q7AV9kBJKury23uQh2/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyo1jedxFV1qzgncUGQZe_BCGj3vHkhwZCfP8noFom0_SQ0uutObTXG3NAvozqVz7MpIMusF_jJUybdtBb-KuZCY9nO-mdHeFf9pydzQSywk73ufhe8BQK_-RmA6q7AV9kBJKury23uQh2/s400/Oshkosh+2011+131.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
My husband, Bill Fergusson, was an Accidental Stunt Pilot – as I found out from his sister, Kay, over dinner one evening at the old family homeplace in Hendersonville, Tennessee.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5RMx78geV6tqLVbSIqVhdXc_EaBVSBonXDtzxPUTue2vPH2S8MsAm7QcGorQdjaVBnBSPk1WtfqDn-XmwcEuRNMXfyvxCUEAJj-PQ2TB5Ej-PwnvqFzXvE7SU7fecGHAH1A6nwSQo-G8/s1600/BWF+Songbird+pilot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="108px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5RMx78geV6tqLVbSIqVhdXc_EaBVSBonXDtzxPUTue2vPH2S8MsAm7QcGorQdjaVBnBSPk1WtfqDn-XmwcEuRNMXfyvxCUEAJj-PQ2TB5Ej-PwnvqFzXvE7SU7fecGHAH1A6nwSQo-G8/s200/BWF+Songbird+pilot.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Bill W. Fergusson II - Sky King Songbird pilot</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was back in the late Fifties, and Bill was working for Cessna Aircraft Company in Wichita, Kansas. As National Sales Manager for their new twin, the Cessna 310, Bill was constantly traveling, demonstrating their new airplane to potential customers all over the country. Nabisco, the sponsor of the popular TV series Sky King, approached Cessna about providing a new airplane for the series. The T-50 (the Bamboo Bomber) had been retired due to serious wear and tear in the main spar of the wing, and moves were afoot to begin filming a new series of episodes. Cessna jumped at the idea as a great way to promote their new twin, and agreed to provide the airplane at no cost for several weeks of filming.<br />
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Bill delivered a sparkling new Cessna 310B demonstrator to the filming site at Apple Valley, California. The stunt pilot next on the assignment list for the job was only a single engine pilot, so Bill was instructed to stay long enough to check the guy out for a twin engine rating, and then return to Wichita.<br />
“He’s doing great,” Bill reported back to his boss, Frank Martin, “but I can’t sign him off. The insurance company would never approve it.”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean?” his boss exploded.<br />
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“The flying involves landing on roads and dry lake beds, flying under bridges, and landing with both engines shut down. He’s just not up to that sort of flying yet. Maybe they can provide another pilot.”<br />
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The McGowan Brothers were already breathing down Martin’s neck, anxious to begin filming. Everyone’s blood pressure was rising. <br />
<br />
“Well you stay and do the flying yourself,” Martin snapped, and slammed down the phone.<br />
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Bill soon discovered it was some of the most fun flying he had ever done since his military days. For two weeks his job was to be Kirby Grant, aka Sky King, wearing a big cowboy hat for close up shots behind the wheel of the airplane, and doing an intensive program of adventurous flying while the production company made up a film library of every imaginable sequence they needed for the upcoming series.<br />
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<strong><em>Fast forward to July 2011.</em></strong> The Fergusson clan is planning a trip to Oshkosh Airshow in Wisconsin – the first time for several members in the party of 8 (both friends & family). It was time for the world at large to learn more about the man who really did the flying for Sky King. So we made up special t-shirts featuring a picture of Bill with the Songbird, the Cessna 310 that became world famous, and what fun we had wearing them at the airshow and telling Bill’s story. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OT4XTwOZOJO1vsGDUs5p2uExAvkLiD5wNMyI_2zlrRyuGigbheBhosGbJcdJRFU5jQIOrulQ2L8v-Z3KDs-YrQYjpZ14J3de01tazk9VRVO2I_PwTB_pR6Nt8hr_JS8s4W7R3JHpNmCR/s1600/three+fergies+by+stan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OT4XTwOZOJO1vsGDUs5p2uExAvkLiD5wNMyI_2zlrRyuGigbheBhosGbJcdJRFU5jQIOrulQ2L8v-Z3KDs-YrQYjpZ14J3de01tazk9VRVO2I_PwTB_pR6Nt8hr_JS8s4W7R3JHpNmCR/s200/three+fergies+by+stan.JPG" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Son Dave Fergusson (L), widow Dayle Fergusson,</em><br />
<em> brother Don Fergusson (R)</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>What a stroke of good fortune to find a Cessna 310D at Oshkosh, beautifully restored and actually claiming to be the third Songbird in the TV series Sky King. We had the natural backdrop for our photographic memento!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmheX5neg0hcDszmVDjbbSMEwX_Z2yf0fdUoBgEPZdnLCnUYJsJt8TGeJvGxxFTxVFwWwnr9vfU5f_lvtschHBCjTW0ZjDXusgSjK-ZGfCdOxs9jeEHFf_7IP1QsgZ687PZEr47lcYNl-1/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmheX5neg0hcDszmVDjbbSMEwX_Z2yf0fdUoBgEPZdnLCnUYJsJt8TGeJvGxxFTxVFwWwnr9vfU5f_lvtschHBCjTW0ZjDXusgSjK-ZGfCdOxs9jeEHFf_7IP1QsgZ687PZEr47lcYNl-1/s400/Oshkosh+2011+290.jpg" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The "Real Sky King" crew with Songbird III</em><br />
<em> (L to R - rear) Bari & Jamie Deaver, </em><em>Stan & Callita Eason, Don Fergusson,</em><br />
<em>(L to R - front) Dave Fergusson, Dayle Fergusson, Barbara Fergusson.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Oshkosh AirVenture 2011 was an amazing affair. Picture the world’s largest airshow, where almost 14,000 airplanes had flown in, ranging from tiny ultralights to the Blue Angels’ F/A-18 fighter jets. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlXUzj4lM4VT89Y7JIJwefaad7zyc0Z0OEJu1S2eBu5IaV2U_B2AYSyWXPwAC3wKJLlcAuCPN7svQBH3mSRyfKJkQtJCP9nKqWFvOE989dQQ7xB2jMj6zm44tH9fK4BTHWE9SRl8B5WTE/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlXUzj4lM4VT89Y7JIJwefaad7zyc0Z0OEJu1S2eBu5IaV2U_B2AYSyWXPwAC3wKJLlcAuCPN7svQBH3mSRyfKJkQtJCP9nKqWFvOE989dQQ7xB2jMj6zm44tH9fK4BTHWE9SRl8B5WTE/s400/Oshkosh+2011+088.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div>A sea of airplanes cover acres and acres of grass at Wittman Field, many with tents pitched under their wings. Whole sections of homebuilts, Warbirds, antique airplanes, ultralights & rotocraft, aerobatic planes, and even a special seaplane base, stretch in every direction. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ11AbwryBjXWEZmxRkmPtBtMqYVHbxCIVIpUj5DMJtbFfRKRJZGZHiihRh5phmBg191q609Jo3iFNN9S0deiD0Ew1bIOUTJmSEL1pGJOOrEKkJu_jPlwxEdvaPhzEjYFH1yJZBb9OMUDS/s1600/B-25+Lady+Luck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ11AbwryBjXWEZmxRkmPtBtMqYVHbxCIVIpUj5DMJtbFfRKRJZGZHiihRh5phmBg191q609Jo3iFNN9S0deiD0Ew1bIOUTJmSEL1pGJOOrEKkJu_jPlwxEdvaPhzEjYFH1yJZBb9OMUDS/s320/B-25+Lady+Luck.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>B-25J Lady Luck</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>If one only had enough time, you could explore thousands of exhibitors, large exhibition halls, a Theatre in the Woods, the permanent AirVenture Museum, workshops, forums, kids’ activities, and author’s corners.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOISYjh4ijI02Uig4wzGED1KA2beOo7DUXLLj-1oQb1E3l9p644X2sCKkvnlh-nlO7Ibud24eMF7Na56jZ1idYtbNou9NxoXTeDyqRogixQoBEc1F-mGNoi5WKnelS0Z_3qcvm6OEI6n5z/s1600/North+American+T-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOISYjh4ijI02Uig4wzGED1KA2beOo7DUXLLj-1oQb1E3l9p644X2sCKkvnlh-nlO7Ibud24eMF7Na56jZ1idYtbNou9NxoXTeDyqRogixQoBEc1F-mGNoi5WKnelS0Z_3qcvm6OEI6n5z/s320/North+American+T-6.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>North American T-6 Advanced WWII Trainer</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHkvliRS4gIYQFyq22q2M9_x-vi0jcevPANqGimuI_JlFFCkrbVUQ8RVFoM6SM5gZ-vl6PuARnV7ZRypE8DEdNBjLVNglF3twqORkraiL3z9EYPOpjbqCMY-8aa3wcv10-NBdvFqy21qi/s1600/barnstormer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHkvliRS4gIYQFyq22q2M9_x-vi0jcevPANqGimuI_JlFFCkrbVUQ8RVFoM6SM5gZ-vl6PuARnV7ZRypE8DEdNBjLVNglF3twqORkraiL3z9EYPOpjbqCMY-8aa3wcv10-NBdvFqy21qi/s200/barnstormer.jpg" width="170px" /></a></div><br />
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I was keen to buy the book <em>The Barnstormer and the Lady</em> – the story of Beechcraft founders Walter and Olive Ann Beech. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuHqI45HL7LAPVAuC1wtLlwogPOeChnsbSyhvD0ourarscPjOpdsAK9N854MJywxjshjb2SSx9Qc-ciVUgFJzVZ0KFwcsnQ2cEQ0QpCVAQJR2XjxPMHQyJ3gwe-8k0YZFwcro5qdYAY_C/s1600/Dayle+with+Mary+Lynn+Oliver+%2526+Jennifer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuHqI45HL7LAPVAuC1wtLlwogPOeChnsbSyhvD0ourarscPjOpdsAK9N854MJywxjshjb2SSx9Qc-ciVUgFJzVZ0KFwcsnQ2cEQ0QpCVAQJR2XjxPMHQyJ3gwe-8k0YZFwcro5qdYAY_C/s320/Dayle+with+Mary+Lynn+Oliver+%2526+Jennifer.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dayle with Walter and Olive Ann's daughter, Mary Lynn Oliver, </em><br />
<em>and grandaughter Jennifer</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>In the early days of aviation in America, Wichita, Kansas was the home of several big aircraft manufacturers, including Cessna and Beechcraft. Bill had told me stories about the infamous Olive Ann, reknowned for her imperious demeanor and the colored flag displayed on her office door which gave fair warning whether it was safe to approach. If black, enter at one’s own risk! It was a thrill to personally meet Walter and Olive Ann’s daughter, Mary Lynn, and their grandaughter Jennifer, when Dave & I were strolling past the exhibits. <br />
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It seems I am constantly walking in Bill’s footsteps, shadowing the intriguing life he lived all over the globe, meeting people and connections from his illustrious past. He mentioned their names so casually, modest about his experiences, simply enjoying telling the stories. So many reasons I loved him so much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NmwuddA3oN1kbvrG09Pifku21Dl2d63kEC_nMK83p9_1ByYDj1cKUbTpMEDXv_AdTw8lWtHA6EML8KGnD4P8i-n-QwZxEwEtxcoQUCy_8lSX03qmq9JfO3cMloRc0LlRgbYsuHUL79D_/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="400px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NmwuddA3oN1kbvrG09Pifku21Dl2d63kEC_nMK83p9_1ByYDj1cKUbTpMEDXv_AdTw8lWtHA6EML8KGnD4P8i-n-QwZxEwEtxcoQUCy_8lSX03qmq9JfO3cMloRc0LlRgbYsuHUL79D_/s400/Oshkosh+2011+100.jpg" width="266px" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Warbirds open the daily airshow at Oshkosh AirVenture 2011</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The Aeroshell Aerobatic Team</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Our first two days at Oshkosh were blessed with perfect temperatures in the mid-eighties. During the spectacular airshows each day, aerobatic planes trailed white plumes across midnight blue skies. Flights of Warbirds thundered overhead, the deep throated roar of their radial engines reverberating across our conscious memories. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Flying the knife edge down the runway</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaUve5zykkhd4k7Z0QTkxQF6wkU0gKk_w8mELPLF6vCDtfV0FzW7foBMhwq1-a648oecBRBovGVDvWweAzuoYW1Sx99M3WPxzGmiTKDSdX0oIVB109VKhWFH8SpRJCnhVqiiV2NacIQ0_/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaUve5zykkhd4k7Z0QTkxQF6wkU0gKk_w8mELPLF6vCDtfV0FzW7foBMhwq1-a648oecBRBovGVDvWweAzuoYW1Sx99M3WPxzGmiTKDSdX0oIVB109VKhWFH8SpRJCnhVqiiV2NacIQ0_/s320/Oshkosh+2011+260.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The Liberty Parachute Team dropped in to the strains of patriotic music</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The camaraderie among pilots is like nothing experienced elsewhere. An inherent politeness and courtesy not found at other public gatherings. At every turn, someone was willing to share a story about a past flying connection or experience. </div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAk8sbXX5pN-k-GO_w4ayvViqjIEHOxE2s17WvVVobR3mwGagFlIW52CKDYTnmngt2ohRo4gUfVYl-tnP86VHzYJciQAO51IJh2xHSTleMnfJKurtdHYSzZPdEYHz8cnLCzASRMEMHmnXK/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+Long-EZ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAk8sbXX5pN-k-GO_w4ayvViqjIEHOxE2s17WvVVobR3mwGagFlIW52CKDYTnmngt2ohRo4gUfVYl-tnP86VHzYJciQAO51IJh2xHSTleMnfJKurtdHYSzZPdEYHz8cnLCzASRMEMHmnXK/s320/Oshkosh+2011+Long-EZ.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Saucy Burt Rutan design Long-EZs bask in the sun</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Every stranger became a friend. The passion of thousands who had made the trek from all corners of the world had merged, and become the heartbeat of Oshkosh. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </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="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDv2V_9plpJr8Nofe922BF4DWfM18FC-8vh_olrrH_N1vjz4E1vsB_XbjKNMzlAvD4vi8if863sKK0sHbAdvi3HWGcBcUvnUVAApGw6valPvMP5GVaB_haxXjhC3ruZFa2f8NNTtMYa-u4/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDv2V_9plpJr8Nofe922BF4DWfM18FC-8vh_olrrH_N1vjz4E1vsB_XbjKNMzlAvD4vi8if863sKK0sHbAdvi3HWGcBcUvnUVAApGw6valPvMP5GVaB_haxXjhC3ruZFa2f8NNTtMYa-u4/s400/Oshkosh+2011+173.jpg" width="302px" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Gene Soucy with Wingwalker partner Teresa Stokes</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGFoXrqOG0u0OnMlYknSwcX57oITGH7odQ-ZRZa8u0EnSFJCfg8yjXYkTNFo9jOlFpBZ1CBp2jvS7MM2DCPvGeCELAJUEKY40wP-_AtEjsvQIIGKNhYa9IJq9r2rym9OV4n6mJENdf8QG/s1600/Gweduck+Oshkosh+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="212px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGFoXrqOG0u0OnMlYknSwcX57oITGH7odQ-ZRZa8u0EnSFJCfg8yjXYkTNFo9jOlFpBZ1CBp2jvS7MM2DCPvGeCELAJUEKY40wP-_AtEjsvQIIGKNhYa9IJq9r2rym9OV4n6mJENdf8QG/s320/Gweduck+Oshkosh+2011.jpg" width="320px" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Prototype Gweduck Amphibian</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
One afternoon, while looking for a shady spot to view the airshow, I was even offered fresh, ripe cherries and a chair under the wing of a prototype amphibious flying boat. This gracious group of guys from Seattle were displaying their prototype Gweduck, now being offered for sale in kit form. Its development had taken 19 years, and began with the ambition to build a flying boat without the problems of the Grumman Widgeon. It will be interesting to track their success. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9mKKleMjLvSZj5oycNpA4_Jl9Huw84c89OUEaWexy55KAA8UgR6p1IfSxOm4DFXap3mXVrPuKVn4VgQM3-N2Hn7j_6QRoi0GlkOe7HX2BnqV9Lc1ducY7pka5NoTyu3uI_Zdu7XFqCJ6/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9mKKleMjLvSZj5oycNpA4_Jl9Huw84c89OUEaWexy55KAA8UgR6p1IfSxOm4DFXap3mXVrPuKVn4VgQM3-N2Hn7j_6QRoi0GlkOe7HX2BnqV9Lc1ducY7pka5NoTyu3uI_Zdu7XFqCJ6/s200/Oshkosh+2011+009.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Our house in Oshkosh</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Rather than camping at the airfield, we rented a beautiful home in the town of Oshkosh, a more comfortable option in spite of the vicious little virus that ran its course through 7 out of 8 of us with violent vomiting and diarrhea like one of Pharoah’s plagues. Not quite the bonding experience we had anticipated!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjkup-FKpMbSGNW9-Sz4X8sGHhLgMlz-2uNcbOnlMl3LSu2pn7eGssNlZDUKXr4uSZzJsQg8A1JmtZkBuyhamLYY4o3Ly3P2xhH_FavvVVqgssv5208dL_B6lRESJtcMd0dklVz6AA5X7/s1600/Aerocar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjkup-FKpMbSGNW9-Sz4X8sGHhLgMlz-2uNcbOnlMl3LSu2pn7eGssNlZDUKXr4uSZzJsQg8A1JmtZkBuyhamLYY4o3Ly3P2xhH_FavvVVqgssv5208dL_B6lRESJtcMd0dklVz6AA5X7/s320/Aerocar.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dave with the 1956 Aerocar - it still flies today!</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Son Dave was thrilled when we found the strangest of flying contraptions that was surprisingly familiar to him. <br />
The 1956 Aerocar N102D on display, one of only five ever built, and the only airworthy Aerocar in existence today, was once owned by TV personality Bob Cummings. When Dave was working for Gunnell Aviation at Santa Monica in the early Sixties, Bob flew in from Palm Springs one day, and wanted his car delivered to his home in the Hollywood Hills. After the wings were removed and stowed in a hangar, Dave was given the job of driving the wingless Aerocar to Bob Cummings’ home. Not many people could chalk up that experience!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ZYatMs0zlfX4dw0wXu8zK09b9UvWzFG21oICof3tpIXVLsWl2m2RCGkXDCpKuReqclxmP9oQCzAl5gvRMCcN78uFmpI2BqAEx4L8qjEp1BpifjmXuLjOih8RZzq40YprjUNWxZDMA6u/s1600/Nomad+on+floats+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ZYatMs0zlfX4dw0wXu8zK09b9UvWzFG21oICof3tpIXVLsWl2m2RCGkXDCpKuReqclxmP9oQCzAl5gvRMCcN78uFmpI2BqAEx4L8qjEp1BpifjmXuLjOih8RZzq40YprjUNWxZDMA6u/s320/Nomad+on+floats+003.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Sam Johnson (Johnson Wax Co.) owned this Nomad N-22B </em><br />
<em>on Wipline floats</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
At Wipaire’s display tent I hopefully stopped to see if Bob Wiplinger was there. I first met Wippy in Australia – my first “date” with Bill, back in 1978, when he invited me to interview Bob as they prepared to announce the breaking news of the Australian Government Aircraft Factories (GAF) Nomad twin turboprop receiving North American certification on floats. The N-22B was being equipped with Wipline floats, and I had first shot at the breaking story for Australia’s premier aviation magazine. It was a marker moment in my career. Regretfully, at Oshkosh 2011 I would miss Wippy by a day. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EYhlkKf6WZ9sPbA1Ct_pRzB1iZwYfbAeMH5D6SYAjXWUuu3aXF0THR8BMfGkJsxSqxTGzKsOS995eBkrJpeg55Lxm-G_pFbPIRCSAloKr7Mmz7y2YmQks3ifP9G1dVsnxpO6d2vevKWm/s1600/1929+Waco+Taperwing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EYhlkKf6WZ9sPbA1Ct_pRzB1iZwYfbAeMH5D6SYAjXWUuu3aXF0THR8BMfGkJsxSqxTGzKsOS995eBkrJpeg55Lxm-G_pFbPIRCSAloKr7Mmz7y2YmQks3ifP9G1dVsnxpO6d2vevKWm/s320/1929+Waco+Taperwing.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>1929 Waco Taperwing</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
We couldn’t resist a walk through the antique aircraft on our last day, wishing we could stay longer. The line up of gleaming metal and taut skin on the restored airplanes from yesteryear almost brought tears to our eyes. The early history of aviation kept alive by passionate aviators. Dave and I both relived recollections from Bill’s early days. “Paw loved the Waco. It was one of his favorite airplanes.” The Stearman – the early WWII trainer, that Bill flew when based at Selma, Alabama, was beautiful in its original colors of blue and yellow. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1PVa5_H9rV6fCrZXn0WKD2J3V6ZB_JtJf6FWXL9sRYN0nqvgBE5Wk1iG4TAggi-LfUt_z55SGH7BhRICtSkd2Xmlc4Z0ZkZBbtedgIY8ZoZQyRsRD1wR0A7Hs5BrKCW8JRH4_J1eUDer/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1PVa5_H9rV6fCrZXn0WKD2J3V6ZB_JtJf6FWXL9sRYN0nqvgBE5Wk1iG4TAggi-LfUt_z55SGH7BhRICtSkd2Xmlc4Z0ZkZBbtedgIY8ZoZQyRsRD1wR0A7Hs5BrKCW8JRH4_J1eUDer/s320/Oshkosh+2011+029.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
Tents pitched under the wings, the simplicity of life, the essence of freedom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V5sVDMkbMWBcJptI3Gmr5Fb5n8D2KxPzf20ZiH2J3RBvrbznwFw_ac1nqIuF1zBLrBas5ZKc3QWiiBwvvNknpfCtNCZgYWaeBFDFFXxMVaqUEXeRlTwLsJxoPIMCbz02hTQMAE0zD-NG/s1600/1953+Piper+Tripacer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V5sVDMkbMWBcJptI3Gmr5Fb5n8D2KxPzf20ZiH2J3RBvrbznwFw_ac1nqIuF1zBLrBas5ZKc3QWiiBwvvNknpfCtNCZgYWaeBFDFFXxMVaqUEXeRlTwLsJxoPIMCbz02hTQMAE0zD-NG/s320/1953+Piper+Tripacer.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Pilot camping beside 1953 Tripacer</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
It’s hard to describe the pulse that throbs in every lover of flight when surrounded by these amazing flying machines. Antoine de Saint-Exupery expressed the flight of the soul of a man thus…<br />
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<em>…The wind of the Spirit, blown from the stars, enters the sand of the physical body and life begins anew. In our very essence we are all Wind, Sand, and Stars.</em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJPvD6sJuROkHJfY1NgPtoSXzxULjPHwtqOSXeqTbNAzsHv6kwzAkhU8ZZ2C4E9uxbM1fh2ifE9RltGSQtSDYoY1yG0b2rmoVudbu8wgPQuefHFCsknax_5jKIW778YpqU6WmQi8KDcCM/s1600/Oshkosh+2011+flyer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJPvD6sJuROkHJfY1NgPtoSXzxULjPHwtqOSXeqTbNAzsHv6kwzAkhU8ZZ2C4E9uxbM1fh2ifE9RltGSQtSDYoY1yG0b2rmoVudbu8wgPQuefHFCsknax_5jKIW778YpqU6WmQi8KDcCM/s200/Oshkosh+2011+flyer.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
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Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-58924083355349930002011-08-11T04:51:00.000-07:002011-08-12T18:51:14.903-07:00A Brush With Hollywood FameWhen Bill Fergusson, National Sales Manager for the Cessna 310, was called into Bob Chatley's office to discuss a new marketing opportunity to help promote Cessna's new twin, little did he realize he was about to have a brush with Hollywood fame as Sky King's "accidental" stunt pilot.<br />
<br />
Bill W. Fergusson II, the real Sky King...Songbird pilot<br />
<br />
See <a href="http://daylefergusson.blogspot.com/2011/08/sky-king-goes-to-oshkosh.html">"Sky King Goes to Oshkosh"</a><br />
and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sky_King">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sky_King</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvIIyztdEmPLQJtpmuJn-R2VLyLAe8-yII8L9ZBK9Es8kgbT-dDxmIgW8Au-Rv5QagsONGbwQcc-1wT7rstQJ7JZ9XugG7g_UiY0oyHTLRXRJX7-zoOG4kQXk3mEtuJ6oET5C4EpEj_Or/s1600/Sky+King+t-shirt+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvIIyztdEmPLQJtpmuJn-R2VLyLAe8-yII8L9ZBK9Es8kgbT-dDxmIgW8Au-Rv5QagsONGbwQcc-1wT7rstQJ7JZ9XugG7g_UiY0oyHTLRXRJX7-zoOG4kQXk3mEtuJ6oET5C4EpEj_Or/s200/Sky+King+t-shirt+003.jpg" width="200px" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3fIo04TMm2eGsQVDJzSVnEcgw5hgvFg5zXD3smarQIbrCvW4qq83hst5T1FnEeuT4vKHmOWuSq_LnQ7XP840dPg6eqNHL3d-MO0iwihxy5GluIfG3XVGAYp80Ri1U8n-QMdxzzNibyR7/s1600/Sky+King+t-shirt+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3fIo04TMm2eGsQVDJzSVnEcgw5hgvFg5zXD3smarQIbrCvW4qq83hst5T1FnEeuT4vKHmOWuSq_LnQ7XP840dPg6eqNHL3d-MO0iwihxy5GluIfG3XVGAYp80Ri1U8n-QMdxzzNibyR7/s200/Sky+King+t-shirt+004.jpg" width="125px" /></a></div><br />
Sky King t-shirts are available for $15 cash/check (includes USA domestic postage)<br />
<a href="mailto:daylefergusson@gmail.com">daylefergusson@gmail.com</a><br />
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The best adventures in life often take us by surprise. The secret is to always be ready!Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-74459806925651872232011-08-01T18:06:00.000-07:002011-08-01T18:08:33.406-07:00The Wanderin' Star Sails Again!Sailing, flying, living life…we’d better get the stories out there before time wipes the slate clean with ever-increasing adventures that overlay one after another.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ4G1msMa6z9KTv8jGoTpnQFQmtCvqYSP-OWMGqsse22sHWamuoi9CMdBSs6eVNaOG62juu8hG_FBKGPyrA0_WaY-xctA2ljRM26JHktS4wq6Po1ttYSAl77I90gVegA6WE2zF5AXLQ4f/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ4G1msMa6z9KTv8jGoTpnQFQmtCvqYSP-OWMGqsse22sHWamuoi9CMdBSs6eVNaOG62juu8hG_FBKGPyrA0_WaY-xctA2ljRM26JHktS4wq6Po1ttYSAl77I90gVegA6WE2zF5AXLQ4f/s200/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+093.jpg" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Wanderin’ Star now sits impatiently at the dock – she’s like me in that regard, the preparation is all done, the effort put in… let’s go! Tiamo, my little Siamese girl, is perhaps regrettably also like her (human) mother. Fast moving, wild, impatient, impetuous. It’s actually a bit terrible to have any kind of offspring, be it natural born or adopted, reflect who you are. It’s a betrayal of our innermost secrets. We can no longer hide from the truth. All our foibles, our tendencies, our weaknesses…out there, for all to see. So let’s just admit the obvious now.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I am flawed. I run too fast, sleep too little, take life in a single bound, and expect to be there NOW! The reality...and if only Bill, my light, my compass, my steadying influence, were here to keep this wild brumby in check, were here now. Ahhh…how different the world would be. How different would I be??</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At this point I will defer to the Wanderin’ Star. She has taken all my energy for these past few months. Perhaps I will find some clues to my deeper self in all that. Who knows? That crazy human instinct we have, to always be looking for meaning in what we do. If we slow down long enough to hear the music in the stillness, I suspect we will find the rhythm of our soul. I’m hoping God will pick up where Bill left off, and gently reign me in, to pause on this merry-go-round to the pace of my own heart beating.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvkVvOL0LppazNk0pssMnE26vPGM9MN5eLWJnGOP1QmF0j5t7rEicqRpMl0ji8pevpq8UoEyWA29A-ZKRnDWtsk3L9czkdyzGan30QVNeNxIGu6B_X0umEGkDt40wIlKrsTjCeUb8-IxM/s1600/pressure+washing+the+hull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvkVvOL0LppazNk0pssMnE26vPGM9MN5eLWJnGOP1QmF0j5t7rEicqRpMl0ji8pevpq8UoEyWA29A-ZKRnDWtsk3L9czkdyzGan30QVNeNxIGu6B_X0umEGkDt40wIlKrsTjCeUb8-IxM/s320/pressure+washing+the+hull.jpg" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Pressure washing the hull</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It has been a long spring/summer to finally get the Wanderin’ Star ready for launching (first there was the trailer…sandblasting, painting, new electrics, new tires, etc, etc.). How often do we embark on a project only to find it way bigger than we ever expected! I’ve learnt some valuable lessons along the way – mainly about perseverance and staying committed to a project, discovering I can work hard for a prolonged period if the goal is strong enough! <br />
<br />
Well, it’s pretty motivating to have a big 25ft sailboat parked in your driveway, sitting over 10 feet tall with its fixed keel on the trailer. For a good period it was fun to work on her every chance I got, a true labor of love, but the further I went, the more work evolved! Pressure washing the bottom, buffing, polishing, cleaning, sanding and staining the teak, replacing hardware, ropes, electrics, painting, gluing, overhauling the motor, repairing the sail cover, washing sails, rebuilding the rudder, rewiring the radio. The project took another turn when the crack in the side of her hull became an insurance job, and led to both fiberglass repair and a repaint of the whole hull. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDsQRj4xT3Z5N60VmmP_82z1VVnWoz9Kv-T42FARrqMm89BSDFG9eXa6AIbOhk7RCf2AZ8bZ_ekoe5dwVg-9r-IU3zTwXLi-VV6Jea6nOMInbxriKLLdbERzhNUYJGV8LorkA3gYsgOKx/s1600/WSYC+Maintenance+2+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDsQRj4xT3Z5N60VmmP_82z1VVnWoz9Kv-T42FARrqMm89BSDFG9eXa6AIbOhk7RCf2AZ8bZ_ekoe5dwVg-9r-IU3zTwXLi-VV6Jea6nOMInbxriKLLdbERzhNUYJGV8LorkA3gYsgOKx/s200/WSYC+Maintenance+2+001.jpg" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Ray (left) kept the boat several weeks</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvZtewLMku1rp2b9RdpBSBcdeyTWN4TTuQvYtyjl3zH41LxXTzDiK2Aq8VbxWJSb66BnnGo6hNOCxpEJDQBI4CgIkyPW-Cxi19UEw_uySBGlQzwMsEP-s2TRS5HrltVO92tRtXTYAQLTF/s1600/Wanderin+Star+maintenance+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvZtewLMku1rp2b9RdpBSBcdeyTWN4TTuQvYtyjl3zH41LxXTzDiK2Aq8VbxWJSb66BnnGo6hNOCxpEJDQBI4CgIkyPW-Cxi19UEw_uySBGlQzwMsEP-s2TRS5HrltVO92tRtXTYAQLTF/s200/Wanderin+Star+maintenance+004.jpg" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dayle the martian sanding off the toxic</em><br />
<em>bottom paint</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Thank God for Ray – the guy I hired to do this job. He also pointed out all kinds of other things we needed to take care of! Like grinding the blisters off the steel keel & covering with an epoxy barrier paint, sanding the bottom to a super smooth finish before applying two coats of bottom paint, putting in a bilge pump, re-doing the electrics on the mast, resealing the leaking windows, and on and on! The projects he took on had awesome results. I wish all of mine had been as perfect! <br />
<br />
There comes a time when you have to put a date on all these activities and simply launch the boat. Nephew Mike and his wife Melissa coming over from Australia to spend 4th July on the lake to see the fireworks put the cap on this. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAnxzO9jAw_pn_hVdiGwOXYFmhHis-3sZ3ILe7WJmdPWuRWwEKk20EQs3HFRmXcuDF56KW9VwXjoyMwH3whiqN97Mm0Qxjwu97uDnrNbyxjDVOQif66OhspvoOQvuG396uiy0RfMWlHCc/s1600/Wanderin+Star+maintenance+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAnxzO9jAw_pn_hVdiGwOXYFmhHis-3sZ3ILe7WJmdPWuRWwEKk20EQs3HFRmXcuDF56KW9VwXjoyMwH3whiqN97Mm0Qxjwu97uDnrNbyxjDVOQif66OhspvoOQvuG396uiy0RfMWlHCc/s200/Wanderin+Star+maintenance+006.jpg" t$="true" width="145px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Dave discovered the blisters </em><br />
<em>were filled with water</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12VM4VUwiRC_4oUaKEyKp2hV1TYrFrkw_TQ-GZAmIGG3l4YdSx1_3I1cifsaS-89_BL4xm4w3aZHkoGj7rTCh8bV5n4rpP_ZjbG3X7KOTCj-TYuxUQidvsWasr4nvjO7txDZfFI2lZsx_/s1600/WSYC+Maintenance+2+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12VM4VUwiRC_4oUaKEyKp2hV1TYrFrkw_TQ-GZAmIGG3l4YdSx1_3I1cifsaS-89_BL4xm4w3aZHkoGj7rTCh8bV5n4rpP_ZjbG3X7KOTCj-TYuxUQidvsWasr4nvjO7txDZfFI2lZsx_/s200/WSYC+Maintenance+2+008.jpg" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Awesome sister Mally was willing </em><br />
<em>to do anything</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After Dave’s help grinding blisters, trying to reseal windows, and Mally’s help painting the keel, there followed a seeming lifetime of hours of lonely work. But the day Mike & Melissa arrived I declared it done! Thank God!!!!<br />
<br />
They flew in on from both London and Australia, a nice bit of combined jetlag, but were good naturedly ready to help launch the boat the very next day. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpylyrsC-UF0v7el4rDJemjnPBwdzOMi8FeXRHhyc74M9ktrZ8mrDoF6YAJMoYU3C7ciqqvtYY-PVLKAjUTrzidofcVNakUr4XZLaaiYatEIZZuDa4vlDbnyqrV7dSHyrhgvIYoGS_Pidc/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpylyrsC-UF0v7el4rDJemjnPBwdzOMi8FeXRHhyc74M9ktrZ8mrDoF6YAJMoYU3C7ciqqvtYY-PVLKAjUTrzidofcVNakUr4XZLaaiYatEIZZuDa4vlDbnyqrV7dSHyrhgvIYoGS_Pidc/s400/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+009.jpg" t$="true" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Jeff towed the boat and helped launch the Wanderin' Star</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Dx4X7JmePUJWrbm6K-yrZeJk8jI9-7Wy_n0717yw38SFWlDsrnplRh67pnATbmA3QKCMTv8taxgsZL4188vhQLhC92WcdODLHByGg9sNK7n5J9JR1RpzvlK_NiDKr2KYG1HZDsiUEH2k/s1600/wind+vane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Dx4X7JmePUJWrbm6K-yrZeJk8jI9-7Wy_n0717yw38SFWlDsrnplRh67pnATbmA3QKCMTv8taxgsZL4188vhQLhC92WcdODLHByGg9sNK7n5J9JR1RpzvlK_NiDKr2KYG1HZDsiUEH2k/s200/wind+vane.jpg" t$="true" width="140px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><em>Dave shows Mike the prize</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Friends from the Harbor Island Yacht Club generously shared their expertise to accomplish a smooth launch – with just one little hiccup. It was a chilly, overcast day, and while Commodore Dave Desforges was attaching the wind vane to the top of the mast before we stepped it (raised it) …plop! The wind vane slipped from the mount and sank to the bottom of Old Hickory Lake right at the dock. We all stared in dismay. “We didn’t come this far to lose it,” I declared, ready to take off my jacket and dive in. Last summer a storm blew the last wind vane off the mast, and I’d sorely missed it when sailing. I wasn’t about to start a new season without one.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHqmkSOYAKBm62jxVnPXCy3H6Ixsu2sQDyMA8eJQlMnLXOztL0Eqh5mmyBUSGADxmPTt5WouDCONZgURYiV-DkXg5SyWp2XWiif_WqVbOWvrj4PAbUpoqvAPuZp3xtiNvwtZOqqX4gHpp/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><em><img border="0" height="214px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHqmkSOYAKBm62jxVnPXCy3H6Ixsu2sQDyMA8eJQlMnLXOztL0Eqh5mmyBUSGADxmPTt5WouDCONZgURYiV-DkXg5SyWp2XWiif_WqVbOWvrj4PAbUpoqvAPuZp3xtiNvwtZOqqX4gHpp/s320/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+023.jpg" t$="true" width="320px" /></em></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Stepping the mast takes a strong crew</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mike, my gallant Aussie nephew, wouldn’t hear of me jumping in. “I’ve got my boardies on,” he said. “I’ll go in!” He stripped down and jumped into the cold water. “Bit chilly!” he gasped, before duck diving, and coming up with a 10 ft long bar in his hand. No, not the wind vane. Try again! Several more attempts, and suddenly we noticed Dave Desforges peeling off his wet weather gear. “I know what it looks like,” he explained, secretly remembering the yacht club creed to be responsible for whatever you lose or else pay up. He dived into the murky water, and came up with the wind vane held exultantly in his hand. First time! Mike grinned sportingly. “Make a fellow feel really good!” he admitted with chagrin. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gM-Wm2kmJdhLXnlhx1GK5nzJoiOO8-iRy6U_A2t-qGy8Znx2eMxEZQ5JOC0joMusoJ-EL82rrsnQ0eTXMVZy_xwswnS7ejCCnLT2XN6-WcwP5fcBpT9Kk-co27XZanAPFcbjDELIBBN_/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gM-Wm2kmJdhLXnlhx1GK5nzJoiOO8-iRy6U_A2t-qGy8Znx2eMxEZQ5JOC0joMusoJ-EL82rrsnQ0eTXMVZy_xwswnS7ejCCnLT2XN6-WcwP5fcBpT9Kk-co27XZanAPFcbjDELIBBN_/s320/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+106.jpg" t$="true" width="214px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Mike catches supper</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Two days later the Wanderin’ Star embarked on her shake-down cruise. Sun sparkling on the water, a light breeze, and, in answer to Mike’s prayer, the fish were biting! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em></em> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em></em> </div> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A catfish and striped bass found their way into the pan for supper that night. Delicious! The new mainsail, custom made by Australian sailmaker (of course!) Rolly Tasker, performed superbly, and the champagne cork was retrieved from the lake to be added to the collection in the wine barrel at home to mark this momentous occasion. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo1DwY-agplfRd82Zt4Z-Ywweoabij3aMSjXGBRTrrgLt-WCvhboVqAC9CqPkqCD7Wi6hsl7wVMo4sthl3iyY54obUUZtd2MexyNJwjGk8WjYvK_iGw3GNmk31DG0UnF8lk9ijDzF_Nv2/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo1DwY-agplfRd82Zt4Z-Ywweoabij3aMSjXGBRTrrgLt-WCvhboVqAC9CqPkqCD7Wi6hsl7wVMo4sthl3iyY54obUUZtd2MexyNJwjGk8WjYvK_iGw3GNmk31DG0UnF8lk9ijDzF_Nv2/s320/MIke+and+Melissa+trip+2011+083.jpg" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Mike retrieves the champagne cork</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
The Wanderin’ Star is sailing again!</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4s-MJy4djy0JTSTdTKgcrXYg6hveXcXWjGQFbjwY1m8vNriiEr91glBK04HyDXCop3ZFtPMYpVJxh55ABY7pnXeboApU3W6QatzD-FwySxnNynrdERHSWjMOXCn8EGg8PXc7b2Z6DISwT/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+USA+trip+2011+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4s-MJy4djy0JTSTdTKgcrXYg6hveXcXWjGQFbjwY1m8vNriiEr91glBK04HyDXCop3ZFtPMYpVJxh55ABY7pnXeboApU3W6QatzD-FwySxnNynrdERHSWjMOXCn8EGg8PXc7b2Z6DISwT/s320/MIke+and+Melissa+USA+trip+2011+043.jpg" t$="true" width="214px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Young love</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5_A2GL9acX9QQ6HfB4UTpB0FV4UycNP7uLhpQIo5PMBQVyXDPvj5ft3_aHbidPJPqcTneSfdWh_huS6jxnXnJyKC8bDZDE_zJE-wg5mhEzPVxaS7hzsoBsFIMrYXDDzoVFEJXQfvlVzz/s1600/MIke+and+Melissa+USA+trip+2011+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5_A2GL9acX9QQ6HfB4UTpB0FV4UycNP7uLhpQIo5PMBQVyXDPvj5ft3_aHbidPJPqcTneSfdWh_huS6jxnXnJyKC8bDZDE_zJE-wg5mhEzPVxaS7hzsoBsFIMrYXDDzoVFEJXQfvlVzz/s200/MIke+and+Melissa+USA+trip+2011+014.jpg" t$="true" width="81px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Mike learns about</em><br />
<em>climbing the mast</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Fourth of July she cruised the lake with her crew of nine. Memorable sunset, fireworks, laughter, friendship, and a stolen kiss (watch those Aussies!). </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Here’s To Whatever Comes Next!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4ecqr4p2086aqEyEOdWpy8afGXJktZdr4l_SIE-YCpEYESEBV-qXcRbdjcS9hLLMBpiaRPHrbbEp3PTt0Hfbo3mPj8P0HsxiE7p-T5a6tnWxMfzADdDOdQCPy5CBLfB9Trxm_P9vgUmF/s1600/Mike%2527s+pictures+USA+trip+2011+311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4ecqr4p2086aqEyEOdWpy8afGXJktZdr4l_SIE-YCpEYESEBV-qXcRbdjcS9hLLMBpiaRPHrbbEp3PTt0Hfbo3mPj8P0HsxiE7p-T5a6tnWxMfzADdDOdQCPy5CBLfB9Trxm_P9vgUmF/s400/Mike%2527s+pictures+USA+trip+2011+311.jpg" t$="true" width="400px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-4773653962592750742011-03-06T21:33:00.000-08:002011-03-07T06:27:06.057-08:00I Left My Heart in San FranciscoWe paint our memories in vivid colors across the canvas of life. As the refrains of the song echo in my mind, I can remember so clearly the evening Bill and I walked into our San Francisco hotel, my first time on American soil. A young man at the grand piano in the lobby was playing “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” and from that moment I fell under its spell. It became one of our two most favorite cities in the world, filled with magic and romance.<br />
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What a treat when nephew James invited me to spend the long weekend out there. I don’t think I have ever been spoilt quite like that before. He went over the top, leaving me open mouthed, a big “Wow!” hanging on my lips as each new moment unfolded.<br />
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The first pleasure was being met by James and his delightful girlfriend, Dana, at the airport, temperatures cold, a blustery heavy rain falling. But the warmth of the welcome was like a big umbrella. We dodged the showers, laughing in the fun of new discoveries. A noisy, friendly, English-style pub jammed with a wildly eclectic mix shoulder-to-shoulder on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Sharing the umbrella as the rain spattered on the water and boats at anchor at the deserted marina. The hilly streets around Berkeley, intriguing shops lining hip neighborhoods. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Claremont Hotel</i></td></tr>
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The gracious Claremont perched on a tree-covered hillside, presiding in the elegant glory of her colorful history. Exchanging stories of our lives over drinks in P.F. Changs, and then a wondrous meal in the best company, oblivious to the steady rain falling glistening on the lamplit streets.<br />
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Next morning James and I visited a local Uniting Methodist Church – his choice for our spiritual nourishment. Discovering the call of God on your life was the theme. God couldn’t have been speaking more plainly. When tears prick my eyes, and escape their retraints to slip down my cheek, I always know the Spirit of God is there. And so He was. In power and tenderness, reaching in to the core.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anything goes in San Fran!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i> </i>James’ next treat was an incredible Sunday Jazz Brunch at Scott’s in Walnut Creek. One delicious dish after another. Imagine four different types of Eggs Benedict! Elegant, tasteful, friendly, and mimosas that were mysteriously always full. Then we hopped a ride on BART – the Bay Area Rapid Transit – into San Francisco, and wandered the hilly streets of this fair city. </div></div></div><div style="border: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB9UYHTy1S6jfD5itVgWM2Bjm-JIGEgpDgtKTMN1O8LCRATSfx0X-bPv6ebagxuA17SlZhgNKidri09smJDonO2FItt3-0BVCc1b-eiimE2v9v0taIYSwwHfish0C-EICvsXQIhcIKSmq/s1600/San+Francisco+2011+034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB9UYHTy1S6jfD5itVgWM2Bjm-JIGEgpDgtKTMN1O8LCRATSfx0X-bPv6ebagxuA17SlZhgNKidri09smJDonO2FItt3-0BVCc1b-eiimE2v9v0taIYSwwHfish0C-EICvsXQIhcIKSmq/s200/San+Francisco+2011+034.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none;">“Wait here while I talk to someone,” instructed James, glancing at his watch. He chatted to the concierge outside the Hilton Hotel, then led me round the corner and down the hill, stopping beside a red and white mini bus. He pointed to the sign on the back of the bus, grinning broadly. “San Francisco Helicopters” it proclaimed. <i>Oh my gosh!</i> I was speechless. A dream come true to fly over San Francisco Bay.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0YcuQDyOQsC3P0cwPUBIxMpy_b0xvfd-zGbJbReIfBQepI1sud-rqErt8pgJ8WL9tKs2kw8s_stEP9lsY4UdjGg6GGsOUHhhyphenhyphenyyAvys_EzTz9cjL7vparQvoqDxlfOrdH_gVXpeyZQEw/s1600/Golden+Gate+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0YcuQDyOQsC3P0cwPUBIxMpy_b0xvfd-zGbJbReIfBQepI1sud-rqErt8pgJ8WL9tKs2kw8s_stEP9lsY4UdjGg6GGsOUHhhyphenhyphenyyAvys_EzTz9cjL7vparQvoqDxlfOrdH_gVXpeyZQEw/s400/Golden+Gate+Bridge.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Our Bell 206 Jet Ranger rose above the airport and flew northward along the western perimeter of the city. Paragliders glinted silver in the afternoon sun, hovering over the cliffs south of Ocean Beach. Flying between 500 and 1000 feet, we admired the neat grids of whitewashed houses, almost able to determine the make and model of cars driving down the road. We flew low over the Presidio on a straight line to the sharp red pylons of the Golden Gate Bridge spanning San Francisco Bay. She was beautiful in the clear California sunshine. And then…what a surprise…we flew <b><i>under </i></b>the Golden Gate Bridge, almost skimming the tops of sailboats heeling in the brisk breeze below! Too cool! “Can we do that again?” I begged the pilot, but he shook his head ‘No.’ <br />
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<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP_pQOxiEMzQ_PzK6wgClkAUKHys9j9F9ZhU60RXfBR-Z-jHeJz32_SetBpHNdlDyAqQVftPOklKTtMWJm1La2cnAsgm-NL3MHP4Z_Pr0MpME6tncBz4Yoo6D8vmhjEROPT08l3jI2UYJ/s1600/San+Francisco+2011+104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVP_pQOxiEMzQ_PzK6wgClkAUKHys9j9F9ZhU60RXfBR-Z-jHeJz32_SetBpHNdlDyAqQVftPOklKTtMWJm1La2cnAsgm-NL3MHP4Z_Pr0MpME6tncBz4Yoo6D8vmhjEROPT08l3jI2UYJ/s200/San+Francisco+2011+104.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5lQ5bc1KByrw8VlW_j5TMCrZqfH8GDw_bWv5sP0SRUlj0yHsDn88MYBlbN4ctcw1TIbHItb_zNOE2f2iooPYlcTDE0GqNL2fjNxWpvLOIaRC1nwPEHhonjM3aktpp2GHnrPwCN8bSRVq/s1600/IMAG0274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5lQ5bc1KByrw8VlW_j5TMCrZqfH8GDw_bWv5sP0SRUlj0yHsDn88MYBlbN4ctcw1TIbHItb_zNOE2f2iooPYlcTDE0GqNL2fjNxWpvLOIaRC1nwPEHhonjM3aktpp2GHnrPwCN8bSRVq/s200/IMAG0274.jpg" width="200" /></a>Then on past Alcatraz, once a formidable prison where all but a few of the handful of inmates who escaped were either shot or drowned in the treacherous, cold waters of San Francisco Bay. We circled low over landmarks in the hilly city by the Bay, Fisherman’s Wharf bustling with tourists, the marina filled with boats from around the world packed in like sardines, A T & T Park - home stadium for the San Francisco Giants, and over the pylons of the Oakland Bay Bridge that links San Francisco with Oakland and Berkeley.</div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhyyXitRQwYJ-Ft-NFfL8erdyxfBpFN1aCQph5WraMjucjmPvbRLUZtgHdW-RC839KYozLBV6nQ7ok_l6urs7aF7lv-Q_0IK6nbLrz4O-fUKBAO7i74r1-9bpgYG6fWPdXpEtnnL5WfTa/s1600/San+Francisco+2011+172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhyyXitRQwYJ-Ft-NFfL8erdyxfBpFN1aCQph5WraMjucjmPvbRLUZtgHdW-RC839KYozLBV6nQ7ok_l6urs7aF7lv-Q_0IK6nbLrz4O-fUKBAO7i74r1-9bpgYG6fWPdXpEtnnL5WfTa/s320/San+Francisco+2011+172.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>That evening, after the mandatory chilly stroll through Fisherman’s Wharf, we joined the patrons of the Buena Vista, reknowned for its Irish coffees. Would you believe everyone at the bar was drinking Irish coffees? It’s true! And they were the best!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AiAONUEfxK5wLXkgYd55hd5qRX9zjP0ZqIt96hj52I7HFi9GSps3SmQQeEh2_c-jJdfEOTrM2imyJ_flUujKD_MQGQ8eYMcJmEOPNpPD5fKbZ1YaYylaxmTft0-9UVumqKt1OvyfNQuE/s1600/San+Francisco+2011+200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AiAONUEfxK5wLXkgYd55hd5qRX9zjP0ZqIt96hj52I7HFi9GSps3SmQQeEh2_c-jJdfEOTrM2imyJ_flUujKD_MQGQ8eYMcJmEOPNpPD5fKbZ1YaYylaxmTft0-9UVumqKt1OvyfNQuE/s320/San+Francisco+2011+200.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Monday we followed Highway 1 down the California coast, savoring the stunning scenery, quaint coastal towns, steep cliffs, lighthouses, fertile fields of artichokes and bright yellow oilseed rape. As the sun dipped low on the horizon we clambered over rocks along the beach at Pacific Grove, until daylight faded into dusk and the brisk ocean breeze encouraged us to turn for home. A brief stop at Cannery Row in Monterey reminded us of the history of this area, vividly portrayed in John Steinbeck’s novel of the same name.<br />
<div style="border: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgS7_TNeJeEmYAsAyjUoUFmmw9bUxGKxlPUPvx19BINtzey2vZMZtlA-RdTrR-_wKsPz1qyM7LiP7T7BzGcNVNOBE0Zpfy0lKW78dUlNNAO0vPGclG2isNVUyIplA2PeQQhwxKeuzK1YD/s1600/San+Francisco+2011+245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgS7_TNeJeEmYAsAyjUoUFmmw9bUxGKxlPUPvx19BINtzey2vZMZtlA-RdTrR-_wKsPz1qyM7LiP7T7BzGcNVNOBE0Zpfy0lKW78dUlNNAO0vPGclG2isNVUyIplA2PeQQhwxKeuzK1YD/s320/San+Francisco+2011+245.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The weekend was over all too soon. Closeness renewed with nephew James, who had spent a year with us in Tennessee during his teens, and become more like a son. Now a mature young man making his way in the world. Bill would have felt as proud as I did. More memories to add to this city that has always captured my heart.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-84651548979202675752011-02-07T18:20:00.000-08:002011-02-07T18:56:16.937-08:00And the Snow Keeps Coming...The seventh snow this winter arrived today, blowing horizontally, and moving in so quickly that some school buses up in Robertson County got stranded on some of the hilly back roads. It meant Kathy and I got to leave work early, and by the time I reached the top of the ridge it had already been transformed into a snowy wonderland. Tree limbs covered in white frosting, a dusting beginning to stick to the roads. Kathy’s husband, Joel, had called to tell her there was 3 inches in Springfield and she’d better head home.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWAiFORlh04HO-yjd8JaFRPgKyeDhnO43a3XXXu0Vqm9h2PCox2Oz-ikJbw7LPkwwb-wN8ee7ae-_yN8HfLvOYbrzGPL43gD9WHGv08AuxoGjR1bxziejAmr2sdMxXScyJB6SUA3e6uNt/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWAiFORlh04HO-yjd8JaFRPgKyeDhnO43a3XXXu0Vqm9h2PCox2Oz-ikJbw7LPkwwb-wN8ee7ae-_yN8HfLvOYbrzGPL43gD9WHGv08AuxoGjR1bxziejAmr2sdMxXScyJB6SUA3e6uNt/s320/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The wonderful side benefits of these quite frequent snows this winter has been a little more leisure time. I’m very grateful! Arriving home at 3:30pm, with plenty of daylight remaining, it completely energizes me. <br />
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So the bird feeders are soon all filled. Tiamo is going crazy inside watching the birds in the snow, simply dying for the day I will let her outside. She will be a killer hunter, and I’m not excited about it for the birds’ sake. She’s fast as lightning. It’s so pretty I even take a walk down into the woods – not done nearly so often since Schooner departed. Have I gotten lazy? Wrapped in scarf and jacket to keep the biting wind and blowing snow at bay, I am once again in awe at the pristine beauty snow brings to the landscape. Frosted pinecones on a heavily laden bough, cold crunching beneath my feet, Cardinals a red flash darting between the trees.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pW_qEKBk5M474TjR9QnlkvJdl2MY-f1qaYCG5mWgAh7wJRVkDr8pMrEfisXFUVm8onhm_0OpGFsJRO5ZW4DgoKhiEmslaTST8qKPCkcixEzt-eFgNI-N-j4A0fevzI4oOb1z9iksOnjA/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pW_qEKBk5M474TjR9QnlkvJdl2MY-f1qaYCG5mWgAh7wJRVkDr8pMrEfisXFUVm8onhm_0OpGFsJRO5ZW4DgoKhiEmslaTST8qKPCkcixEzt-eFgNI-N-j4A0fevzI4oOb1z9iksOnjA/s320/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFP5GLxxXLkIEsLhTaWFajGfm_Uz1VNviv9Y5AZ9iovXiqpWBIPp0jtHYv7zAq9cH9tfbjvTBoBFH46UJ3rvKdbkZBlDPkrurWK6kuYSIVFLPS-X5xMuJf_7qS57r8E7w6gXoN-5rs9-6/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFP5GLxxXLkIEsLhTaWFajGfm_Uz1VNviv9Y5AZ9iovXiqpWBIPp0jtHYv7zAq9cH9tfbjvTBoBFH46UJ3rvKdbkZBlDPkrurWK6kuYSIVFLPS-X5xMuJf_7qS57r8E7w6gXoN-5rs9-6/s320/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Back into the welcome warmth of our home, there is soon a fire crackling in the hearth, and it’s early enough that I decide the Pioneer Woman shouldn’t have all the fun. <br />
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Time to get busy in the kitchen. I’m trying really hard to develop some healthy habits, changing my diet and exercising more often. I’ve found a great recipe for mini quiches, so cook up a batch that will be healthy breakfasts for the next week. Yes, I know, diets come and go, but the present attitude is to cut out dairy and grains and processed foods. Get back to the perfect weight and work on the physical conditioning. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduyD8zTcC90HekU5v3rNje9hOQKlFJZSVO6LQxagdABFy5_J4VyFSXBFDLKjfHaDn7Ni0x91mCX9knCsqE2vsq9c9-UdphH5371rnIRrss0LCe0GlQRMo2spE2kREb48laVKydJ_XmizQ/s1600/quiches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhduyD8zTcC90HekU5v3rNje9hOQKlFJZSVO6LQxagdABFy5_J4VyFSXBFDLKjfHaDn7Ni0x91mCX9knCsqE2vsq9c9-UdphH5371rnIRrss0LCe0GlQRMo2spE2kREb48laVKydJ_XmizQ/s200/quiches.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>These quiches are so simple. Eggs and vegetables. That’s it. Add some herbs and seasoning. Take a look at these pictures – perfect for those quick breakfasts on the run. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3aQy5FZX1kjJI0PsORWSmeCXumXtQCg58ofiY7kX59UXj7PmutkJ8_UrqZbPD30iz1FmL8aQ2hK3jymUytQqP3G0P8kiXI3ab0uwchrWJf7oBgstAzYK6uUB4S6mL81qqxnTv7arkXmr/s1600/curry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3aQy5FZX1kjJI0PsORWSmeCXumXtQCg58ofiY7kX59UXj7PmutkJ8_UrqZbPD30iz1FmL8aQ2hK3jymUytQqP3G0P8kiXI3ab0uwchrWJf7oBgstAzYK6uUB4S6mL81qqxnTv7arkXmr/s200/curry.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Next, I prepare the crockpot for a chicken curry that will simmer tomorrow and produce one of my most delectable creations. Bill and I loved making curries. He may not be physically present in the kitchen any more, but he sure is in spirit. Always. We had such fun doing this together.<br />
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Then it’s a batch of blueberry muffins for Home Group tomorrow night – using almond milk instead of cow’s milk. They look pretty good!<br />
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For dinner a stir-fry fits right into the program. Chicken strips and vegetables, with a glass of Australian red. Can’t do much better than that. I think I like this healthy regime!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIczOSCh3jWdJ15t9O-RAVAMqNE_Rx9h-ewHpCPTRgkzAaNejXpDE8vNvVjOem0F_FKZaLPDeS84ttHXekq8ubVM05j_bLXj7WkBA4hUKkX9pbrD_uLywprdNX2tTio8uEO1JFxxPMAUg/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIczOSCh3jWdJ15t9O-RAVAMqNE_Rx9h-ewHpCPTRgkzAaNejXpDE8vNvVjOem0F_FKZaLPDeS84ttHXekq8ubVM05j_bLXj7WkBA4hUKkX9pbrD_uLywprdNX2tTio8uEO1JFxxPMAUg/s200/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+048.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KYANl-Trf0m51gyGAxXn6oRUYa2_A3octF4r3wf0pi_mJUcIw4bX04Iz-au5q_eSKZyr5qMUUIoTi0rmN0j5dDHeQvBtZU2rUcVzJ6rJum-ZXJCUoB5FQNlzHolGs-nqmiWg8LZerEN1/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KYANl-Trf0m51gyGAxXn6oRUYa2_A3octF4r3wf0pi_mJUcIw4bX04Iz-au5q_eSKZyr5qMUUIoTi0rmN0j5dDHeQvBtZU2rUcVzJ6rJum-ZXJCUoB5FQNlzHolGs-nqmiWg8LZerEN1/s320/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+042.jpg" width="320" /></a>Now, excuse me while I settle back by the fire to do some writing. The book awaits, and Tux and Tiamo have both settled in for a long winter’s nap. Cats! They know how to do it!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEGOiAarWs9ZDBNp2V4OlEgLHAWjugxGCqcX2Thlra4IdlAmAXaGgPQ6Mfuq94jx85vFiy5bC25_SN7lI30LVjMb3iZEjSJcrVvub4EB-9jddV9gLNJyczvE5uGtcullZUHvTfhO0CZ_g/s1600/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEGOiAarWs9ZDBNp2V4OlEgLHAWjugxGCqcX2Thlra4IdlAmAXaGgPQ6Mfuq94jx85vFiy5bC25_SN7lI30LVjMb3iZEjSJcrVvub4EB-9jddV9gLNJyczvE5uGtcullZUHvTfhO0CZ_g/s320/Ghost+Gums+-+seventh+snow+2011+054.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When is it going to snow again? </div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-13931385616374336922010-12-30T19:33:00.000-08:002010-12-30T20:58:57.442-08:00Christmas on Amelia Island<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE1jqinVpjA_R2mvrNrMGsztzulx25s5JqooVKj-TjKUERwUD9TQcLpfb4tXuhyQh3gQllKvB3S9aDjGLTKZG9YLrpBkEyj7x8WKKX3kFdPWVJnZB5oov-KadQllzdlrZE_qXquehActB/s1600/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE1jqinVpjA_R2mvrNrMGsztzulx25s5JqooVKj-TjKUERwUD9TQcLpfb4tXuhyQh3gQllKvB3S9aDjGLTKZG9YLrpBkEyj7x8WKKX3kFdPWVJnZB5oov-KadQllzdlrZE_qXquehActB/s320/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tiamo selects Christmas lights</div></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's quite amazing how time slips by. My excuses for not writing more are not even worthy of mention. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Instead, I will take this opportunity to share this Christmas before the New Year rolls in.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBT7Auzdeik76usH09SA3WJXRP_sbU1gqGnlTRXHw1z13o96R2AoHHjLZsBBN_mIcAp5pKHmkzIC3qr9hs-d8uTZLTm5_KceF6vFjgRCXE2fFhq9n7eewO2B0A6lggSjK3m6WgrnxlAov/s1600/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBT7Auzdeik76usH09SA3WJXRP_sbU1gqGnlTRXHw1z13o96R2AoHHjLZsBBN_mIcAp5pKHmkzIC3qr9hs-d8uTZLTm5_KceF6vFjgRCXE2fFhq9n7eewO2B0A6lggSjK3m6WgrnxlAov/s200/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+065.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long winter's nap</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don and Barbara invited me to spend Christmas with them on Amelia Island, Florida. Tiamo stayed at the clinic with Ann - spending her first Christmas in a cage, but it was good to know she was safe and warm. She did enjoy all the early stages of Christmas, such as putting up Christmas lights and </div></div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">wrapping gifts. </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAFzQOb0UFEIUp5621h2ESutxswl5ZI2vxjaTubSQ838m0aInj9f9QR2mhlrn2Sl9c6fguBXnbcPmByYgtSEUYcmrHU2Y9x48WIJyUU62ET2m1RUCqfAfCT-M2Zu2b2IzpREUGdR4edDU/s1600/Tiamo+Christmas+2010+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="158" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAFzQOb0UFEIUp5621h2ESutxswl5ZI2vxjaTubSQ838m0aInj9f9QR2mhlrn2Sl9c6fguBXnbcPmByYgtSEUYcmrHU2Y9x48WIJyUU62ET2m1RUCqfAfCT-M2Zu2b2IzpREUGdR4edDU/s200/Tiamo+Christmas+2010+005.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrapping gifts is fun</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tux was thrilled to have the house to himself, able to come and go at will, with no pesky little sister bothering him. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmi2iX5TQy_Pzs44EqpVIgzvyfklzKJgRZKjFpiKw-yzoFI-p1B7tOhpCRPia5b_6KQWrYLhJWCDhB2MuI-rbGwqDBwkgRl-vG2JFfWRrV27O2GPtdnqQLpP8o1p-j56kNu8kENtcOL4VS/s1600/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmi2iX5TQy_Pzs44EqpVIgzvyfklzKJgRZKjFpiKw-yzoFI-p1B7tOhpCRPia5b_6KQWrYLhJWCDhB2MuI-rbGwqDBwkgRl-vG2JFfWRrV27O2GPtdnqQLpP8o1p-j56kNu8kENtcOL4VS/s200/Ghost+Gums+Nov-Dec+2010+148.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghost Gums on the Ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I missed Tennessee's white Christmas - but we'd already enjoyed our first snow on December 14, so I was fine with a walk on a sparkling beach instead!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPRyLe7gzFOfrt0OCB8jha2UpYsqw0DjxJN6IwizwBySOFi-QFHRUma2-1oJ-qyhovkt827OAVbd2HnAz-XzMb4O2eFDhjxLRq7s0zp4lK13VXom3JlhpgVjl6M5E_2_QiyqektgQvNPF/s1600/Christmas+Eve+beach1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPRyLe7gzFOfrt0OCB8jha2UpYsqw0DjxJN6IwizwBySOFi-QFHRUma2-1oJ-qyhovkt827OAVbd2HnAz-XzMb4O2eFDhjxLRq7s0zp4lK13VXom3JlhpgVjl6M5E_2_QiyqektgQvNPF/s320/Christmas+Eve+beach1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amelia Island - Christmas Eve</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLYAF28vv34giNVtrXCeWzzC0kQxKkm0Jmd_Oyk-hwotyd5bHE6Y-IS__E_BlFws1vowx_M2wK_PYzE4Mh8k1wNbFbXuL2Ua4zNh2owk9ZwnOWURSdwlNMB-fnUK0vhgCDwoj0oZhcseF/s1600/Black+Skimmers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLYAF28vv34giNVtrXCeWzzC0kQxKkm0Jmd_Oyk-hwotyd5bHE6Y-IS__E_BlFws1vowx_M2wK_PYzE4Mh8k1wNbFbXuL2Ua4zNh2owk9ZwnOWURSdwlNMB-fnUK0vhgCDwoj0oZhcseF/s320/Black+Skimmers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Skimmers</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Christmas in Florida - invigorating walks on the beach under a cold, blue sky criss-crossed with contrails. The beach where I always feel so close to Bill. The sea was the reward - sparkling silver in the sun. Migratory birds wheeling and soaring in the brisk wind. Black Skimmers sporting orange bands on their long beaks sharing the same spot of sand with resident flocks of gulls, brief transients on their journey southward.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHrPHufqYLlcH6WH2lLWnlcp9AA2oumgnjTamN3AS2DS4uIipzUKtVXmBgaCk08iWAfmF_OYzhehZiq6KnV8L50XwORWISEwPAtbia1PhiEB8C4IpEfcd7MpY05JQxd6sggeEUlT066Lo/s1600/Amelia+Island+Episcopal+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHrPHufqYLlcH6WH2lLWnlcp9AA2oumgnjTamN3AS2DS4uIipzUKtVXmBgaCk08iWAfmF_OYzhehZiq6KnV8L50XwORWISEwPAtbia1PhiEB8C4IpEfcd7MpY05JQxd6sggeEUlT066Lo/s200/Amelia+Island+Episcopal+Church.jpg" width="119" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Peter's Episcopal Church</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<br />
Barb, Kendall and I attended a Candlelight Service on Christmas Eve at the beautiful little Episcopal Church (built 1881) in Fernandina Beach, enjoying the procession and ritual and singing as the clock ticked over to midnight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRZySfk6QAH9I1JzbKFvHR-mcVH0Ubs6RY5qUZvFCN6K0pbktuopDWmHznnusAmOoeajXkO1ujBE8LVz4RZiZ4aGvNFHCqrqvmf8nk37IcwNBXsl8N-TDmwVolZ_vwsidqPtJNHaXqL1m/s1600/Christmas+2010+126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRZySfk6QAH9I1JzbKFvHR-mcVH0Ubs6RY5qUZvFCN6K0pbktuopDWmHznnusAmOoeajXkO1ujBE8LVz4RZiZ4aGvNFHCqrqvmf8nk37IcwNBXsl8N-TDmwVolZ_vwsidqPtJNHaXqL1m/s320/Christmas+2010+126.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rick teaches Debi how to play the drums</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The most memorable Christmas gift was the drum set nephew Dennis gave to his brother Rick <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOmFEVsHBA_M1U4fFoW47zaodx7lQHnQzloTVBjNy-o6hEd5Xg7mGBUumVN04dsfLB4xwNqlBEjl87AgzpAXBhskXhapiuAw7rZCgLK0fV6SBjOLMwnfiKvRLtEBPTj2Ior65ciWyxQch/s1600/Helicopter+Dennis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOmFEVsHBA_M1U4fFoW47zaodx7lQHnQzloTVBjNy-o6hEd5Xg7mGBUumVN04dsfLB4xwNqlBEjl87AgzpAXBhskXhapiuAw7rZCgLK0fV6SBjOLMwnfiKvRLtEBPTj2Ior65ciWyxQch/s200/Helicopter+Dennis.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dennis eyes Don's helicopter</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
- and the remote controlled helicopters that kept the "boys" entertained for hours! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDcoVg10mgFDTTwZ5zAzL05LUj9yZ1jP6CgRuhJSfcIgkQmnhK5kuFTx7hwPi-FIRnCE22VWTwfF5uIujclMLssPACgwjp2Rb0lAQJr4DYp_E7fn7jewEg23NVN7X1QQ4b0kRq-YN_A8a/s1600/Christmas+2010+048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDcoVg10mgFDTTwZ5zAzL05LUj9yZ1jP6CgRuhJSfcIgkQmnhK5kuFTx7hwPi-FIRnCE22VWTwfF5uIujclMLssPACgwjp2Rb0lAQJr4DYp_E7fn7jewEg23NVN7X1QQ4b0kRq-YN_A8a/s320/Christmas+2010+048.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My thrill was a ride in Rick's 427 Ford Cobra, followed by a fast drag run down Rick's airplane runway in Dennis' Corvette. These guys are the experts on fast cars!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04Ot4o-fKrrf1iHa2UISDWrid6iwGyRg3iUzcRc9rXyb1953Wo7gJGVMH3y9RUiTFMwnD07TG-WSkACOcpwTYixig6psTIVmwg63FJoyj0DrV647sv93lZ9dDHTeuCk8nyklpKqOiJV_B/s1600/Christmas+at+Rick+%2526+Debi%2527s+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04Ot4o-fKrrf1iHa2UISDWrid6iwGyRg3iUzcRc9rXyb1953Wo7gJGVMH3y9RUiTFMwnD07TG-WSkACOcpwTYixig6psTIVmwg63FJoyj0DrV647sv93lZ9dDHTeuCk8nyklpKqOiJV_B/s200/Christmas+at+Rick+%2526+Debi%2527s+006.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don carves the turkey in Debi's kitchen</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We had two Christmas dinners, with great company of family and friends. Don and Barb hosted the first dinner on Friday, and Rick and Debi the second one on Sunday. Linda's Bread Pudding is the recipe we all want - maybe I will have it to share next posting! </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_tL89E1MTKBF4DwEvd8oeQrHWrGqBuDRdlmhY3Ghkkmhp311oTmAp1DxCzVCaz4zYhGc3BDVL2BeiXmVwShtgy0AZdBoueuAtDkBVI007pZlbr6f6EtunB6o6R4EI3ESdCJ51wm56HR-/s1600/Christmas+2010+084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_tL89E1MTKBF4DwEvd8oeQrHWrGqBuDRdlmhY3Ghkkmhp311oTmAp1DxCzVCaz4zYhGc3BDVL2BeiXmVwShtgy0AZdBoueuAtDkBVI007pZlbr6f6EtunB6o6R4EI3ESdCJ51wm56HR-/s200/Christmas+2010+084.jpg" width="133" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Debi and Kendall</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Lots of great food and wine, cozy fires, comfortable hours spent reading and chatting. I am blessed to have family to share this time.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOKbme74XNogih3j7uWPjjx7szYS2o00dDamsFzS6ATYDi9oJGXW-fvkX4XiPQOd1iCATliTQ7WCBkeiW9G9iKIkpJZtPTfnPn08VnfRVXhqKGrOtrYT8jGc5h0elRFOnb58EPfJg8-ic/s1600/Christmas+at+Rick+%2526+Debi%2527s+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOKbme74XNogih3j7uWPjjx7szYS2o00dDamsFzS6ATYDi9oJGXW-fvkX4XiPQOd1iCATliTQ7WCBkeiW9G9iKIkpJZtPTfnPn08VnfRVXhqKGrOtrYT8jGc5h0elRFOnb58EPfJg8-ic/s320/Christmas+at+Rick+%2526+Debi%2527s+016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas is best shared with family and friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-80562934525676906012010-10-30T21:47:00.000-07:002010-10-30T22:44:32.718-07:00Lessons From a Seagull<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwPzF_CZ-6rb1F9gDCvycGHCUN_5Jy9cyWrd4ytLG7kQ2qi9eg_3Wsb0kU5fcrmWEdy51Bfu1-hmG5CdvKAJ0YchId0DLIkXmkP9Ed6JHkWsTNkxEhvMiquRX_q5Dko06h8Rnmdq5Rlgg/s1600/Amelia+Island+October+2010+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwPzF_CZ-6rb1F9gDCvycGHCUN_5Jy9cyWrd4ytLG7kQ2qi9eg_3Wsb0kU5fcrmWEdy51Bfu1-hmG5CdvKAJ0YchId0DLIkXmkP9Ed6JHkWsTNkxEhvMiquRX_q5Dko06h8Rnmdq5Rlgg/s320/Amelia+Island+October+2010+007.jpg" width="320" /></a>God seems to know when we hit the wall. Stress mounting so high it feels like my head will fly off my neck, pressure mounting outside my control. Not managing it very well at all. And then God says “Let’s go,” and I fly away with him, leaving it all behind.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Amelia Island has been our getaway since Don moved to his home in a little piece of heaven. The view from my bedroom is early morning mist, dappled shadows, a faint breeze stirring palm fronds, the ocean’s deep-throated echo.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA73LeEtzlxpBKPZSGmtDjN9g10sTknyBtaXVfwgc2vR48gIPn-r4da-XbVLv-FmFISZPiBRZPmcgijGoNwVX4o5hEa_z3qVRfnwCPxfHxX9IQRWH1amiWHrl5cwVkiqfnn2zS6BnTcA8Z/s1600/Amelia+Island+October+2010+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA73LeEtzlxpBKPZSGmtDjN9g10sTknyBtaXVfwgc2vR48gIPn-r4da-XbVLv-FmFISZPiBRZPmcgijGoNwVX4o5hEa_z3qVRfnwCPxfHxX9IQRWH1amiWHrl5cwVkiqfnn2zS6BnTcA8Z/s320/Amelia+Island+October+2010+021.jpg" width="320" /></a>First footprints in the shallows, covered in swirling foam. If you stand in one spot in the wet sand for very long, you sink in deeper and deeper, pretty soon off balance and teetering. You have to move forward or step back, but you can’t stay in the same place. It’s a strange sensation, the sand disappearing beneath your feet, tide rushing back, leaving you stranded. Just like life.</div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoCaNECL77H0Z81EyF7mj3qhlKpj2D0_keSH2CUKWGoOi9j433bXsT2ZFhUJ_mZj51tcGucIzx7vzWdCns31Ggha6GJgCKmh1eQLH8LqDMTX5Mr6iIjOP1q7B1s3U7OkQJU-Wf_r_tktG/s1600/foam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoCaNECL77H0Z81EyF7mj3qhlKpj2D0_keSH2CUKWGoOi9j433bXsT2ZFhUJ_mZj51tcGucIzx7vzWdCns31Ggha6GJgCKmh1eQLH8LqDMTX5Mr6iIjOP1q7B1s3U7OkQJU-Wf_r_tktG/s200/foam.jpg" width="200" /></a>A dog walks its owner along the beach, a broad stretch of shimmering wet sand, a mirage lapped by rippling waves, their energy almost spent. Two dogs – one the mirror image of the other, wet and glistening. Crab holes fill and gurgle as the sea washes them clean, little speedboat wakes as the water recedes. The sky is criss-crossed with contrails, dreams scattering in every direction in pursuit of adventure.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs38B3GuR880LcknunDYaVDA-gV8XmLne93LFOiii15DC28ugqymvmvduOkmoeR00F98fnwqVxzsjVFFHdivlvOggIWzAKOtrUivGQdfYG22JOKdfFSnwHyVJaF4rHWmnYUQqkmz6Xqf9a/s1600/Amelia+Island+October+2010+054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs38B3GuR880LcknunDYaVDA-gV8XmLne93LFOiii15DC28ugqymvmvduOkmoeR00F98fnwqVxzsjVFFHdivlvOggIWzAKOtrUivGQdfYG22JOKdfFSnwHyVJaF4rHWmnYUQqkmz6Xqf9a/s320/Amelia+Island+October+2010+054.jpg" width="320" /></a>A feather floats on the tide and I reach for it. Held between my fingers, it hangs soggy and straight. I have stolen its life. Instantly regretful, I release it to float free again, and it quivers in delight, fluffing out its quills, off again.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Pedaling hard, a bare-chested cyclist rides along the beach, playing the drums on his handlebars with two drumsticks, to the accompanying symphony of the sea. A group of women walk a muscular greyhound, one sipping wine from a glass on their Sunday afternoon stroll.</div></div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMvbKquhY5xMM4S8_NKr9DYkMHHdDyRWGxQ8JOznW2cbXnHvxl_qaNzZ4wFruXEvCAKogNYigUV6PmdKRvrJtIju8XgADbPIdPAglmzNHXejMsYaU2ppgCY_W0I-gJGjSxea_Wk4uIag-/s1600/sandpiper3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMvbKquhY5xMM4S8_NKr9DYkMHHdDyRWGxQ8JOznW2cbXnHvxl_qaNzZ4wFruXEvCAKogNYigUV6PmdKRvrJtIju8XgADbPIdPAglmzNHXejMsYaU2ppgCY_W0I-gJGjSxea_Wk4uIag-/s200/sandpiper3.jpg" width="200" /></a>The cheeky sandpiper digs for crabs, running from the rippling eddies of foam flecked water that wash in on the rhythm of the sea, a game that goes on for hours. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
A dozen seagulls face into the wind on their private stretch of shallows. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnRr9cn4MHyxEOCVU0DGyDWdDFbBHKrSdhS8rGNwTV64PW5ScCTjkydJ9KMdy0CGj7RCTcfNFvU265UE1sttYsQYQ96NkU-ucJ7DNHrIUpiUfxZrHIBoU3ERXkutoqcMPJZAgk8faZL6j/s1600/broken+wing+livingston+seagull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnRr9cn4MHyxEOCVU0DGyDWdDFbBHKrSdhS8rGNwTV64PW5ScCTjkydJ9KMdy0CGj7RCTcfNFvU265UE1sttYsQYQ96NkU-ucJ7DNHrIUpiUfxZrHIBoU3ERXkutoqcMPJZAgk8faZL6j/s320/broken+wing+livingston+seagull.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A lone gull stands apart, two broken wings hanging like heavy grey suitcases on either side of his white body. It breaks my heart. On this horizon of freedom and beauty, he is damaged and earthbound. He gazes over his beloved ocean, wanting only to feel the breeze ruffle his feathers and the salt air fill his nostrils. He nestles into a spot on the damp sand, resting, kissed by the sun and caressed by the wind. But not for long. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCumNVdWkTWi3YOjDKjb5VqIClTHaWr3jXikcMefBWDTBDOD1AYAO8oOC_vbFJuoodsq-bbC1-lXxXykqsDGnPRweK_fPPpJOsgnfi23OVXzLHzyh9rDaJ1FBFphebQTnoTjlQN44inUn/s1600/Dare+to+be+different.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCumNVdWkTWi3YOjDKjb5VqIClTHaWr3jXikcMefBWDTBDOD1AYAO8oOC_vbFJuoodsq-bbC1-lXxXykqsDGnPRweK_fPPpJOsgnfi23OVXzLHzyh9rDaJ1FBFphebQTnoTjlQN44inUn/s320/Dare+to+be+different.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Another gull approaches, menacing, chases him with evil intent. My broken bird scurries on, bravely carrying his heavy burden. I remember scenes from Jonathon Livingston Seagull, the ruthlessness of the flock, unforgiving when one of their brothers falls from perfection. I wish I could give him new wings. That would show them! He’d be the bird that would suddenly appear on that distant shore, advanced lessons already learned.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">* * * </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgf2Lopb54kfpolncgqUaVMh3iFOu75EUy_bv8U3zx4c_kcV7Q-2UYizi7xtIG7CXgj2Ip4SYbkBf2fxu8oQ5tkZ_QY8In_J7gNb289OK4faMRmOgB13h1cYncwPFlD0SxFfF8ezWKycC/s1600/Amelia+Island+October+2010+023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgf2Lopb54kfpolncgqUaVMh3iFOu75EUy_bv8U3zx4c_kcV7Q-2UYizi7xtIG7CXgj2Ip4SYbkBf2fxu8oQ5tkZ_QY8In_J7gNb289OK4faMRmOgB13h1cYncwPFlD0SxFfF8ezWKycC/s200/Amelia+Island+October+2010+023.jpg" width="200" /></a>My last day at the beach. No camera, no notebook, no backpack, no people. Just me walking along the seashore. Sun on my face. Sun on my shoulders. Footprints in the sand erased by the incoming tide.</div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-83599536309007808842010-08-30T23:13:00.000-07:002010-08-30T23:30:09.990-07:00Tiamo Steals the Show<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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEgfIOMhjtNnKQxlbgT2ipeN8cxsWMyFfyarS-yINFL4nQWMtJUZFTzMlbK235v398z7BN53_As0FVAl0rsXjEK216P7gwf7W4tW0TL5GHfoOFAjv_KyzkU8-MKCmc0Hiyd5fTdwgECvh/s1600/Tiamo+%26+Tux+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEgfIOMhjtNnKQxlbgT2ipeN8cxsWMyFfyarS-yINFL4nQWMtJUZFTzMlbK235v398z7BN53_As0FVAl0rsXjEK216P7gwf7W4tW0TL5GHfoOFAjv_KyzkU8-MKCmc0Hiyd5fTdwgECvh/s320/Tiamo+%26+Tux+011.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiamo's First Day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Last night was like one of those wonderful September nights I remember so well. Warm, but no longer the baking heat of summer that has been so oppressive. The window open and a misty rain falling, tires of a passing car squelch on the wet road. Tux and I are no longer just survivors. With the arrival two nights ago of Tiamo – our sweet little Siamese girl – we are a family again. Life has returned to our home. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Her name, Tiamo, means “I love you” in Italian. And she really is a lover. </div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPtQwieoPMabiavqHv5O7DrZ83vx3giaAevf0xbVdsH6ec-j_CRLY4VImCTj3whAs-AcX_Ax67hA3PFY_ZqJLF156UaA-0uQ0EeEprpB9M1vtepXI74OuR6vuR6MWG8trLwbbOeUlEliZ/s1600/Tiamo+arrives+015a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPtQwieoPMabiavqHv5O7DrZ83vx3giaAevf0xbVdsH6ec-j_CRLY4VImCTj3whAs-AcX_Ax67hA3PFY_ZqJLF156UaA-0uQ0EeEprpB9M1vtepXI74OuR6vuR6MWG8trLwbbOeUlEliZ/s320/Tiamo+arrives+015a.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking for mischief</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwRTqlJklz3-on4oMXCXiXVscAY8iGZha1b-FyGFUrhY1xuXF3n9iZgCXC8U6xmMyrMShgOTa6irqUuP597VZXDsVTmLmcAiotq1Vjd5pfyaoN0jaaOyUf8KMQEJgKL5gLDtSCjoHfvxV/s1600/Tiamo+%26+Tux+052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwRTqlJklz3-on4oMXCXiXVscAY8iGZha1b-FyGFUrhY1xuXF3n9iZgCXC8U6xmMyrMShgOTa6irqUuP597VZXDsVTmLmcAiotq1Vjd5pfyaoN0jaaOyUf8KMQEJgKL5gLDtSCjoHfvxV/s200/Tiamo+%26+Tux+052.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tux glares at the Interloper</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now I delight to sit on the sofa in the original part of our home, notebook on my lap making notes for the book, while Tiamo scampers around chasing toys, climbing the scratching post, and playing tag with the blinds cord. Tux is reluctant to admit this little interloper into his domain, but I tricked him earlier. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tiamo was asleep on the sofa, nestled under my arm, when he suspiciously crept in, sniffing for any signs of her. Up till now, as soon as he sighted her he’d bare his sharp white teeth with a vicious hiss, and skulk out of the room, furious with me, enraged with jealousy. Then I would go and pet him, reassure him he was still my #1 boy, and he’d purr happily, all forgotten.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTQ2MDsxq7wF5eyNNDqilROGTCnBwwidKujNK3A-W2t64kGfeBZwIGK_2wAIap2ECg6KzVHpEePKxd9znPi_rPUw_DOJXqFi6tfk-Q_TdoxEGlwpnTA_Ye6gljjR8gucyn3b1XIsfsYQ0/s1600/Tiamo+%26+Tux+100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTQ2MDsxq7wF5eyNNDqilROGTCnBwwidKujNK3A-W2t64kGfeBZwIGK_2wAIap2ECg6KzVHpEePKxd9znPi_rPUw_DOJXqFi6tfk-Q_TdoxEGlwpnTA_Ye6gljjR8gucyn3b1XIsfsYQ0/s320/Tiamo+%26+Tux+100.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiamo has settled right in!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This time he was oblivious to her presence, and finally perched contentedly on the scratching post, watching out the window as daylight faded, convinced she must have left. What a surprise when she finally stretched and mewed! He hissed with a toothy snarl, while I snapped pictures and the flash disarmed them both. I think we’re making progress! He stayed quite a while before miaowing to be let out the front door. While young mischief pranced around the room, Tux reclined on the front porch listening to the night noises, still king of his domain.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lD21bvu-tTbmQ5MFvkhxNTJazoMkyd0xc95O_r8QZKrlsFoH6KdT7MpfJGTcgIb267_ewji40nSI6kIMs-3BRNXAka1JgQOqn6YEKf1lQuQUcRya_7J4-3An-ICacaCfMxOVTI_1OPzL/s1600/Tiamo+%26+Tux+081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lD21bvu-tTbmQ5MFvkhxNTJazoMkyd0xc95O_r8QZKrlsFoH6KdT7MpfJGTcgIb267_ewji40nSI6kIMs-3BRNXAka1JgQOqn6YEKf1lQuQUcRya_7J4-3An-ICacaCfMxOVTI_1OPzL/s320/Tiamo+%26+Tux+081.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard at work at the Chamber</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Today Tiamo had her first day at work – accompanying me to the Chamber of Commerce, where she was cuddled and spoilt royally by Kathy. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Her life of adventure is just beginning!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrR2TaIqpkcx6f2JBWhWWsAPipAfuy3-vDDT0_CUnHMkR3Bk-Uf61N2A4IuKU182wEOAAgZBHJTG4fNDJ3FQWAT24SfRTYuzNeqC_ACRpQ3GUWV-KuoyH6UVKOd0skB6hVt9LPJx-E7kWW/s1600/Tiamo+%26+Tux+064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrR2TaIqpkcx6f2JBWhWWsAPipAfuy3-vDDT0_CUnHMkR3Bk-Uf61N2A4IuKU182wEOAAgZBHJTG4fNDJ3FQWAT24SfRTYuzNeqC_ACRpQ3GUWV-KuoyH6UVKOd0skB6hVt9LPJx-E7kWW/s200/Tiamo+%26+Tux+064.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time for a catnap</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-56034933184560339272010-08-30T21:49:00.000-07:002010-08-30T21:53:48.109-07:00The Art of EnjoymentFunny how too much pleasure can be seen as an indulgence. We work at such a crazy pace, fill our lives with responsibilities – but slowing down to enjoy life, to savor the moments…we’ve almost forgotten how. Even my chiropractor says I need to learn how to relax. I can hardly remember the last time I sat in front of the TV for a couple of hours watching a movie. If I’m not being industrious in some way, I almost feel guilty.<br />
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But last weekend (a week ago), circumstances contrived to pack in the most fun weekend I’ve had in the longest time. I played all weekend, it’s true. And since you’re all probably so disciplined that you wouldn’t take a whole weekend off, here are some pictures to remind you that life is to be lived, and even though I don’t have my soulmate to share the moments with anymore – God fills them with the joy of His presence that draws me onwards.<br />
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<strong><em>The weekend begins…</em></strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbS6NFNKtVfQ25r0rwXeHqwaiSxm92arZzKwI5_kuKl0OKfxnKAJDCOZgoLEXuLicwlErdsgN7X8IErnzqb2L5AT5oEpuWF6IytQ09Ji5Vcm2XOUuVgWu_INeyzBXZRM80LY-VN8Uaqu1-/s1600/EAA+August+Breakfast+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbS6NFNKtVfQ25r0rwXeHqwaiSxm92arZzKwI5_kuKl0OKfxnKAJDCOZgoLEXuLicwlErdsgN7X8IErnzqb2L5AT5oEpuWF6IytQ09Ji5Vcm2XOUuVgWu_INeyzBXZRM80LY-VN8Uaqu1-/s200/EAA+August+Breakfast+008.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) Fly-In Breakfast at Gallatin airport Saturday morning. I belong to the Gallatin chapter, and it was our turn to host the fly-in, so I arrived at the airport around 7:30am to help Carolyn. She had cooked up the most incredible breakfast, that everyone declared was like a fantastic Sunday brunch! I helped collect the money, then prowled around some of the beautiful airplanes that had flown in from the surrounding region, most of them from Lebanon, TN. <br />
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<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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosBooS0xxBf-R7HoW2iFcAKQkyi19PcyXYRVdEWmYxPM56lsEE7yYX9VHcx3N0t1CcRAEjIkKGfwH5mMwUIyaf-bF4fpJ1jmTCLDFHETStYxfJ8o14xb1uxxywGYGFwC7c_WdIpZxREAW/s1600/EAA+August+Breakfast+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosBooS0xxBf-R7HoW2iFcAKQkyi19PcyXYRVdEWmYxPM56lsEE7yYX9VHcx3N0t1CcRAEjIkKGfwH5mMwUIyaf-bF4fpJ1jmTCLDFHETStYxfJ8o14xb1uxxywGYGFwC7c_WdIpZxREAW/s320/EAA+August+Breakfast+002.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1958 model Cessna 310 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>This immaculate Cessna 310 was a ’58 model, similar to the one Bill would have flown in his days doing the stunt flying for Sky King. It was always his favorite airplane. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOnVbm7qZh7pfyvOzhhgcU6ANMoP5OzAtIiUO9T6atXQOVLpmGn6x_p-mIWpU7CNxDdGgV8_TE5ZKZ1r7c0Rpyk3LEqGZpLL47grtAXE0aXBFqDP-Sr5KrXkOWsNwASyYUvw-D2vHEo_p/s1600/EAA+August+Breakfast+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOnVbm7qZh7pfyvOzhhgcU6ANMoP5OzAtIiUO9T6atXQOVLpmGn6x_p-mIWpU7CNxDdGgV8_TE5ZKZ1r7c0Rpyk3LEqGZpLL47grtAXE0aXBFqDP-Sr5KrXkOWsNwASyYUvw-D2vHEo_p/s400/EAA+August+Breakfast+016.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I’ve always had a soft spot for the simple, basic airplanes, like this sweet little Piper Cub. Glad that all my early flying was basic stick and rudder in a glider. The pilot has promised to take me flying in this one sometime, so need to get myself back current to take full advantage of such an opportunity.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGyq2JwcXfC1JVe8R71WslIJxbD_SJWYV0TQx3KajRJpA3nXEptdTcp08ODs-hJ82Yy3BnWLXmU0vWtJp9fvJLCaysDTMT1aHmW_O8r9d8eZMVbWeJzBqRhe2gOS27vSfnbWKz8gmypAq/s1600/EAA+August+Breakfast+033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGyq2JwcXfC1JVe8R71WslIJxbD_SJWYV0TQx3KajRJpA3nXEptdTcp08ODs-hJ82Yy3BnWLXmU0vWtJp9fvJLCaysDTMT1aHmW_O8r9d8eZMVbWeJzBqRhe2gOS27vSfnbWKz8gmypAq/s320/EAA+August+Breakfast+033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>This beautiful aerobatic biplane is available for lease for anyone wanting to go through the paces of experiencing the real art of flying.<br />
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For those of us who didn’t get to fly that day, I came across this delightful video of those magnificent men enjoying a Sunday afternoon flying at Bucks County airport, Pennsylvania. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFydfrAbAyI">Enjoy!</a><br />
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I was due at Gail’s place around 9:00am, where several of us saddled up the horses for a three hour ride through fields and woods adjoining her property. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC96Sinof91O5-JE6Ohk99LN51rV8ITcH9_BnN57n91Sof6mz1niSD5RnTOGSx4iHLqwHg-cNwJ44-lEKBxg2n3BqrqT95b0RvBIrj9ih1CKoGe4a1_Wx2hvSB0FaXcgWlxFCIiNvRhVj9/s1600/The+magnificent+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC96Sinof91O5-JE6Ohk99LN51rV8ITcH9_BnN57n91Sof6mz1niSD5RnTOGSx4iHLqwHg-cNwJ44-lEKBxg2n3BqrqT95b0RvBIrj9ih1CKoGe4a1_Wx2hvSB0FaXcgWlxFCIiNvRhVj9/s320/The+magnificent+5.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Magnificent Five</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQFmeAjoAxJahhR-915L0N-CR0M-BQ_P002RjeU0yNTVlmzZx9uvhRmHRu5mY52rTqHPg-YRQvkaSulIyeFSuT1kTQuvg5Y2S8Jy4gw7qVJbQo7GzCkrBhQAx0B6_VnitmpYnx03RxkzX/s1600/Emma+%26+Dayle+8-2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQFmeAjoAxJahhR-915L0N-CR0M-BQ_P002RjeU0yNTVlmzZx9uvhRmHRu5mY52rTqHPg-YRQvkaSulIyeFSuT1kTQuvg5Y2S8Jy4gw7qVJbQo7GzCkrBhQAx0B6_VnitmpYnx03RxkzX/s200/Emma+%26+Dayle+8-2010.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma & Dayle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>No day’s ride is ever short of an adventure, and as we blazed a trail through thick woods and scrub up a steep slope, Julie was knocked clear off her huge Belgian horse, Caylee, by a tree limb stretched right across the rocky path. Always the brave horsewoman, she climbed right back on for the ride home. I was riding Red, an old gaited gentleman horse that used to pull a wagon for the Amish. Gail had been feeding him alfalfa, so he actually had more zip to expend than all the other horses that day, and we had a few nice gallops. <br />
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Time to go home and clean up, and then I met up with 6 friends for a Girl’s Night Out at the movies. Chef’s Market was doing a three-week menu special to coincide with the movie <em>Eat, Pray, Love</em> –serving Italian dishes the first week, Indian the second, and Indonesian the third. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw72C6wgTBlcV3a6mA1PNqu-2DsNbdTix27ArVekZw9lW9DIoYp7zfSXfXlHxiHm0IxsIC-RjNnD2M_2xxd0tfTFP7FdAR_mxSBBnhRuICqzrqQ6OEYtv0uzodzi50-pLrlv-rhTzM31BV/s1600/August+2010+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw72C6wgTBlcV3a6mA1PNqu-2DsNbdTix27ArVekZw9lW9DIoYp7zfSXfXlHxiHm0IxsIC-RjNnD2M_2xxd0tfTFP7FdAR_mxSBBnhRuICqzrqQ6OEYtv0uzodzi50-pLrlv-rhTzM31BV/s320/August+2010+005.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYytIpii2VQdfQUTHXVgAELjivvHIqctrGp0i55PDbt4SsxbOU90uMykpyBz2ViwkF0sQBfKv9bllHBV-Wj3MW3LaT487TFmfKF0fE-sEg7lqpuQ-bR-YjevVfuiC4lpiYhGnuVAipdOq3/s1600/August+2010+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYytIpii2VQdfQUTHXVgAELjivvHIqctrGp0i55PDbt4SsxbOU90uMykpyBz2ViwkF0sQBfKv9bllHBV-Wj3MW3LaT487TFmfKF0fE-sEg7lqpuQ-bR-YjevVfuiC4lpiYhGnuVAipdOq3/s320/August+2010+013.jpg" /></a></div>We enjoyed some Italian specialities, then went to the movie based on the book, which is a woman’s journey to explore pleasure, spirituality and balance in Italy, India and Bali.<br />
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Sunday I explored my own spiritual growth in church, then later that afternoon took friends sailing on the Wanderin’ Star – including a really special family to whom sailing was brand new. That is always fun! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLBl_Tqh1jZJgR_XbI27LzdFCtDJvTvVRdNNwA6WmVqwoGlb8f6IyPcTS_ZhLD2666BMXD6vz_p0lHyPOPTaFaxIhu_I_F_GalU_oYmD4Y5D04MdjyrB5tAGRvRs7Z6pbfuL4HMK9-1xN/s1600/WSYC+Aug+2010+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLBl_Tqh1jZJgR_XbI27LzdFCtDJvTvVRdNNwA6WmVqwoGlb8f6IyPcTS_ZhLD2666BMXD6vz_p0lHyPOPTaFaxIhu_I_F_GalU_oYmD4Y5D04MdjyrB5tAGRvRs7Z6pbfuL4HMK9-1xN/s320/WSYC+Aug+2010+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwBHi0HRSsEBGuyrMB8Asaw7rU4dQETXcnuMBNYLrTAWiLlSXpgigsPKod6N49oUIolx6ipcfkgBFZ3ChMzZvc7jd2bz-XSE2DPWzLIoL8cmlmb9OgIcJhW84gLyGC-5ZyKYLajXn3-Bk/s1600/WSYC+Aug+2010+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="164" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwBHi0HRSsEBGuyrMB8Asaw7rU4dQETXcnuMBNYLrTAWiLlSXpgigsPKod6N49oUIolx6ipcfkgBFZ3ChMzZvc7jd2bz-XSE2DPWzLIoL8cmlmb9OgIcJhW84gLyGC-5ZyKYLajXn3-Bk/s200/WSYC+Aug+2010+014.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kesia - first time sailor</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was a perfect afternoon, the wind filling our sails, water sparkling in sun-dappled irridescence. Laughter, exhilaration, and once again that incredible sense of inner peace I so often shared with Bill on our boat, when I could quite happily forget time and sail carefree and happy into the velvet softness of night.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAN88yBpUhMauG05dacSrF27JaHiIkmofrX4hdTL1OsYkWwUUKjttclRCcNuU-bG1m78CDK4f5X2xCPF0aWpvUWvaMabhwQTg9dnt1qPDVjFp-30rYAzi1ylX3Ni1VnX8kwnD7IUaMFpJ/s1600/WSYC+Aug+2010+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAN88yBpUhMauG05dacSrF27JaHiIkmofrX4hdTL1OsYkWwUUKjttclRCcNuU-bG1m78CDK4f5X2xCPF0aWpvUWvaMabhwQTg9dnt1qPDVjFp-30rYAzi1ylX3Ni1VnX8kwnD7IUaMFpJ/s320/WSYC+Aug+2010+035.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I fly, I sail, I throw caution to the wind"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-38690990869253107872010-08-15T22:39:00.000-07:002010-08-15T23:31:11.013-07:00The Furnace of Life<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_IQGINA1MA_sxa_6_RdWijxRemTA2QRYeFjYOxjZGmRKb74ohQvtHtMcNf4W6xT9u5CwJ7YEuqM77flo9_-MImRgNrk9Py2yp96TuaxfhiiYg7daFBgnf4oI54uYPEKMiLJaTUYVVqfA/s1600/DSC_0945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_IQGINA1MA_sxa_6_RdWijxRemTA2QRYeFjYOxjZGmRKb74ohQvtHtMcNf4W6xT9u5CwJ7YEuqM77flo9_-MImRgNrk9Py2yp96TuaxfhiiYg7daFBgnf4oI54uYPEKMiLJaTUYVVqfA/s320/DSC_0945.JPG" /></a>This morning while I was praying I asked God to help me see things through His eyes. The sun rose through the pine trees and poured its heat and light onto my closed eyes, and in that moment I saw the glass in the furnace, fire blazing, burning hot. I was that molten glass on the long rod of the Venetian glass blower. </div><br />
He expertly turned it this way and that, dipped it in cold water, then began fashioning it to a form only visible in his mind’s eye. Returned it again to the fire.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbnuo2lSD2E5lkqWLneHJTsRcalXhl-JN18onv_NBaAEst13lSLVPN8imKXM54wyFE_aJ7nw06bh_Zcu33vLJqGNMuzx7a1y4te_jgoJOghL8UgYSyPS4E5oElF1c1rmBZluOHb7b9oIF6/s1600/DSC_0949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbnuo2lSD2E5lkqWLneHJTsRcalXhl-JN18onv_NBaAEst13lSLVPN8imKXM54wyFE_aJ7nw06bh_Zcu33vLJqGNMuzx7a1y4te_jgoJOghL8UgYSyPS4E5oElF1c1rmBZluOHb7b9oIF6/s320/DSC_0949.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Flames, heat, molten glass, colors melting, flowing, screaming in the agony of change. Always, at the perfect moment recognized by the master, he pulled it again from the furnace to sizzle in relief in cooling waters. Then more molding, fashioning, drawing out the beauty and artistry of this one unique piece. His perfect creation. No two the same. We watched in wonder, mesmerized by the flames, the burning heat, the sizzle of steam rising, the emerging beauty.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvoOCMyFy8Mr_qAlmFM2w7o-TUpZZJzeeeu8yN5mnquKzu1GnfOP_EshWXnw3Jd-Yzd1HeZpGSajsRqSRjVtT3vgmsdcEaT3YZ4tT0z2LamAAgprat5UZaUx_DXOSgxsdaxedbDpecaUN/s1600/furnace.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvoOCMyFy8Mr_qAlmFM2w7o-TUpZZJzeeeu8yN5mnquKzu1GnfOP_EshWXnw3Jd-Yzd1HeZpGSajsRqSRjVtT3vgmsdcEaT3YZ4tT0z2LamAAgprat5UZaUx_DXOSgxsdaxedbDpecaUN/s200/furnace.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Thank you, Lord, I whispered. This is how you transform our lives. You hold us in the furnace of life, turning us this way and that while the fires sear us and consume our arrogance. We are overcome with the trials of life, the pain and the agony, the heartache, the loss, the broken dreams, the grief, the failure. Yet you keep turning this molten glob of glass, knowing just how much heat to allow before cooling us in the waters of your love, molding us expertly with your fingers, unafraid of being burnt as you tenderly shape us into a creature of beauty only you could envisage. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9q7E2won7iJQ-sf4OpC9L3Dp5Y2Rf3QPEa8BVIfqTHlWNoBxhGWyRF_BaVXn_M-JEsmKK8cbMoRIf-qpOMApNFy0wI8p0pAIyd114CpcE5mzBnMGcU7t_QskFDqxfko4C5rNY_iqGOe6/s1600/DSC_0958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9q7E2won7iJQ-sf4OpC9L3Dp5Y2Rf3QPEa8BVIfqTHlWNoBxhGWyRF_BaVXn_M-JEsmKK8cbMoRIf-qpOMApNFy0wI8p0pAIyd114CpcE5mzBnMGcU7t_QskFDqxfko4C5rNY_iqGOe6/s320/DSC_0958.JPG" /></a>The colors of our life bleed in misshapen swirls, our mistakes dark streaks, our personal agonies drops of blood in pools of blue and indigo and violet.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The glassblower finally removes the glass from his rod and caresses it into its final form. Searing heat, sizzling cold, stretching, molding. We watch in wonder as a work of art unfolds in all its beauty. All the pain forgotten. </div></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKSCxE5RnXRnWPy820KeO7tfCSBsX8m_LLDIIUP9R_gaGdfbfYjCoTCNEReKzW02jxKD6r2kJEHK8xgoOlXtsIn63P0xTmMgNQu7ue8hg4g_RvYbzp84Bha0ZRdUUvTc0sRs_-s0abBYtL/s1600/venetian+dish+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="343" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKSCxE5RnXRnWPy820KeO7tfCSBsX8m_LLDIIUP9R_gaGdfbfYjCoTCNEReKzW02jxKD6r2kJEHK8xgoOlXtsIn63P0xTmMgNQu7ue8hg4g_RvYbzp84Bha0ZRdUUvTc0sRs_-s0abBYtL/s400/venetian+dish+002.jpg" width="400" /></a>This is how I see each one of you, the Lord spoke to my spirit. You live the pain and the struggle, the loss and heartache. I see beauty emerging through the furnace of life. Allow me to transform you through these trials into a creation of exquisite beauty.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJ3N1V5QS2SsNbIL4GmWGLcIyeWxsNo3ABMtxlDEgFjU1ctwmmKmsWNpx75TbWlVhhooc8oX1NsTXM0Te_M0xDqoBvGowIXsbQqoOchRr06bV5JjPAto8DjcRu0TMa1tZryanat1EWtRW/s1600/contemporaryglass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJ3N1V5QS2SsNbIL4GmWGLcIyeWxsNo3ABMtxlDEgFjU1ctwmmKmsWNpx75TbWlVhhooc8oX1NsTXM0Te_M0xDqoBvGowIXsbQqoOchRr06bV5JjPAto8DjcRu0TMa1tZryanat1EWtRW/s400/contemporaryglass.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-58980872305964865722010-08-14T21:39:00.000-07:002010-08-15T23:56:35.596-07:00The Last Magic Carpet Ride<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/AVvXsEhKHP3X6CKXg-0uV-t24mC6G5RejVOlqT0MoDQhmC_bP2TJKCsbfOIjoPBS3Om0yxjIq8Mf86jfCcmE6mSLE1uPPs6YYSLJev_m064n2ORZ9PGdnsJHeTYdKEvVCWJwqYpHNmAkvDHJrVpE/s1600/ghost+gums+sept+09+016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505483335824510786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKHP3X6CKXg-0uV-t24mC6G5RejVOlqT0MoDQhmC_bP2TJKCsbfOIjoPBS3Om0yxjIq8Mf86jfCcmE6mSLE1uPPs6YYSLJev_m064n2ORZ9PGdnsJHeTYdKEvVCWJwqYpHNmAkvDHJrVpE/s320/ghost+gums+sept+09+016.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 251px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 384px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schooner in his Magic Carpet</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It could only be to one place. Our usual haunt at Books-a-Million, where Schooner hung out happily in his truck while we – or, as it’s been reduced to in this new life – I would indulge in a good book and a latte. Extra hot, extra cup of foam on the side. This was our ritual.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0cTkbYejSyY8veD8uN8XczDN0pzGsOQ1P4_FVGnnlVT6fCp5VRVYTbOchWOBPLAMwMr-CpYRUUZ-cBBFPR7baiDcRnCtvazPj7_4aUlGeF8a5kDAoWl2Tb8NCtKQNKaolzv2qmguLTi1/s1600/sharing+wendy%27s+lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0cTkbYejSyY8veD8uN8XczDN0pzGsOQ1P4_FVGnnlVT6fCp5VRVYTbOchWOBPLAMwMr-CpYRUUZ-cBBFPR7baiDcRnCtvazPj7_4aUlGeF8a5kDAoWl2Tb8NCtKQNKaolzv2qmguLTi1/s320/sharing+wendy%27s+lunch.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill sharing the spoils of a Magic Carpet ride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For years it was the three of us. Our little escape. Schooner and I kept it going these past two years. He always eager to be boosted up into his magic carpet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxkaOBmDOfJVl1nfLGBrNxkqW8QSOMPDDoWSKXVrFL3EIJEJD9SFjcSiR2fX3Xsw0al7nUGSiuRgqlDyh5YUhjmOMOp1_WoWVeMD_K8VNtzKFD6EwUYt-70Kl7aOIFKClG6PN6Dl1_D_Y/s1600/heeling+the+Wanderin+Star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxkaOBmDOfJVl1nfLGBrNxkqW8QSOMPDDoWSKXVrFL3EIJEJD9SFjcSiR2fX3Xsw0al7nUGSiuRgqlDyh5YUhjmOMOp1_WoWVeMD_K8VNtzKFD6EwUYt-70Kl7aOIFKClG6PN6Dl1_D_Y/s320/heeling+the+Wanderin+Star.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun on the Wanderin' Star</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oh, the places it had taken him! Sailing, camping, swimming, visiting dog friends, feeding the horses, church, collecting firewood, shopping, cappuccinos, every trip a new adventure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5M-iqEb8qmFQs4UFQMx6rXQ-H2aUoO7H0YpXKYdrUedC8cT1wkiQ4AaJs4aC1Jed7sse9Hkx3M4a2_f0vAqy7b4wLkD_pzeIaJdzVQQNhsa8D0efD8YvndXIhO1nEM7ZaBh5SF19dB0J7/s1600/campdog+resting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5M-iqEb8qmFQs4UFQMx6rXQ-H2aUoO7H0YpXKYdrUedC8cT1wkiQ4AaJs4aC1Jed7sse9Hkx3M4a2_f0vAqy7b4wLkD_pzeIaJdzVQQNhsa8D0efD8YvndXIhO1nEM7ZaBh5SF19dB0J7/s320/campdog+resting.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping at Big South Fork</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
As the truck rumbled down the road, King Schooner always barked excitedly, standing legs apart, perfectly balanced, flag tail blowing in the breeze, golden furry pantaloons flying.<br />
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Neighborhood dogs emerged from every house, insanely jealous and driven to frenzy. Occasionally Schooner would snap at overhanging branches. It was a fine game.<br />
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This last magic carpet ride was a touch subdued. Schooner stood for a while, but soon subsided in a heap, breathing in all the great night scents from a reclining position that was easier on his arthritic hips. I handed him the usual dog treats while I went into the book store for my latte. It was late, nearly closing time. In fact, they had already cleaned up the cappuccino machine for the night. But in deference to a regular customer, they obliged with my favorite caffeine fix.<br />
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Funny how those memorable occasions just don’t work out in the perfect way we think they should. I tipped generously for their trouble, and, feeling guilty for leaving Schooner out in the truck alone, I decided to share our last night together. Took my coffee and sat in the bed of the truck with my companion for a seeming lifetime. Schooner was a bit puzzled at the attention. If I returned to the truck, it must mean we were ready to leave! What was I doing sitting up there with him?? And then, wouldn’t you know it, while reaching for something out of my purse, I knocked the coffee over, and now sat in a warm, wet puddle, while my barely tasted latte soaked my shorts and dribbled out of the truck bed onto the ground. So much for those final memories. I gave up, and we drove home for the last time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjE4yNGIp87VVMYHYCjd4kny3iNGbnrQc9CFI2aP2XkH1uwfqQBB30FUhuG9DLrnlSAqAr1mq_IpmLQZCLYcbl9nCVq6OyEof_nfjj8lvnm4neDv-s8rzwiEjoStq7ud4x2RwOcpe66iM/s1600/hunting+buddies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjE4yNGIp87VVMYHYCjd4kny3iNGbnrQc9CFI2aP2XkH1uwfqQBB30FUhuG9DLrnlSAqAr1mq_IpmLQZCLYcbl9nCVq6OyEof_nfjj8lvnm4neDv-s8rzwiEjoStq7ud4x2RwOcpe66iM/s320/hunting+buddies.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Now it’s just over a week later. They gave me Schooner's ashes at the clinic a few days ago. They still sit on the kitchen table in the black gift bag, the wooden box wrapped in paw-printed tissue paper buried inside. Is that supposed to be Schooner? It's all rather odd, and my mind hasn't quite accepted that dramatic transformation. I'm sure I'll walk outside soon and find him lying contentedly on the back deck. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_CYpBsQnM62lgnnUZdZb6aDi08H_H_g1ws0oxAvB_9BC69Os23_SG0mvHmCHYKNWb0x1y7EXVLN2zZrUCODVgBtKG-t2am0GuoIvo3ZQz3C5uBqaZBWTp3RPR7yiLGUJup0MilOpExft/s1600/Bill's+memorial+206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_CYpBsQnM62lgnnUZdZb6aDi08H_H_g1ws0oxAvB_9BC69Os23_SG0mvHmCHYKNWb0x1y7EXVLN2zZrUCODVgBtKG-t2am0GuoIvo3ZQz3C5uBqaZBWTp3RPR7yiLGUJup0MilOpExft/s320/Bill's+memorial+206.jpg" /></a></div>My gentle spirit, so full of love, those adoring brown eyes and soft golden fur. The sweetest companion, ready for anything, or content to simply lie close by. My last special connection with Bill. He was always a Daddy’s boy, and I regret I have not been as attentive as Bill always was.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUX9ihrINH-2JbBi4IepL4UtypRJp4ClZI4vgo_navpyFSQXD6ft01ukQZFyhdflf1HV_sQo_rHnQXeXBvNzxlX151Zj1ThgknCBe-wHJq7jopotKDE2VQAlrrdAxPJaobZFXk4kB-bsqV/s1600/Fall+%26+Thanksgiving+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUX9ihrINH-2JbBi4IepL4UtypRJp4ClZI4vgo_navpyFSQXD6ft01ukQZFyhdflf1HV_sQo_rHnQXeXBvNzxlX151Zj1ThgknCBe-wHJq7jopotKDE2VQAlrrdAxPJaobZFXk4kB-bsqV/s320/Fall+%26+Thanksgiving+019.jpg" /></a></div>A thousand memories scroll by. I remember the day we brought him home. Schooner was a rescue dog, and had spent the first year and a half of his life tied to a post. I can still see him running the hills in our woods, exhilarated in his new-found freedom. Boat days were his absolute favorite. While we cleaned the Wanderin’ Star, he would leap off the dock retrieving sticks, sometimes swimming way out into the middle of the lake, startling the Canadian geese. Then he would blow dry on the way home, always stopping for a cappuccino, where shoppers would stop to pet him in the back of the truck.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT3uQ7RLNR8QEkjWdq0uhuiYL2Kkn714aImIZ0DW-UWw8xiwy3I8WCj7t4OlRfIFiQ_ML-IfryjFOjlDXj7MfZsSjVU82fl5iuikYhfau3QeJ6rdx04a-Cb2ek6kzx69T0J39LNliUVqU/s1600/snow+dog+profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT3uQ7RLNR8QEkjWdq0uhuiYL2Kkn714aImIZ0DW-UWw8xiwy3I8WCj7t4OlRfIFiQ_ML-IfryjFOjlDXj7MfZsSjVU82fl5iuikYhfau3QeJ6rdx04a-Cb2ek6kzx69T0J39LNliUVqU/s320/snow+dog+profile.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow dog</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Often I would find him sleeping on the floor beside Bill napping on the sofa. Funny moments – vacuuming up sawdust from the kitchen floor while Bill constructed my desk; licking up champagne that had overflowed on to the carpet. Happiest when his truck was being used for some important job. Schooner lived life to the full - every moment of his 16 years. He was a true Fergusson. Youthful, exuberant, loving, with an insatiable zest for life.<br />
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The hands of time advance imperceptibly, and the chimes that mark the moments often catch us by surprise. Just too many goodbyes in recent days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmJH_4ZeUzqSI1IdG8X_CKabkt4oN-ulMt7HdFVXW3JxQhc6XnkE7dkzUYcZFH3VFJqGIxWBoAniz1rdGNvxMM1wNnJgmt4RyOGaVMXNfgfsuw9Edp_7x4ZGhZZteZ6Gi4sde7NkodRZF/s1600/Schooner+%26+Dayle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmJH_4ZeUzqSI1IdG8X_CKabkt4oN-ulMt7HdFVXW3JxQhc6XnkE7dkzUYcZFH3VFJqGIxWBoAniz1rdGNvxMM1wNnJgmt4RyOGaVMXNfgfsuw9Edp_7x4ZGhZZteZ6Gi4sde7NkodRZF/s320/Schooner+%26+Dayle.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sprinkling Bill's ashes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Tonight a romantic crescent moon slips below the horizon in another hot August night. From the perfect family of two people, two dogs and two cats, we are now down to one person and one cat. Hanging on by a thread. The champagne cork shoots high into the darkness, and lands with a thud on the deck, bouncing twice. Bill and I declared we would always celebrate life, no matter what. Even in the loss and sadness, the life of those we have loved continues on.<br />
<br />
So here’s to you, Schoon, and To Whatever Comes Next. For all the memories, for all the love and joy and adventures we shared. For all those magic carpet rides. I will miss you, my friend.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa0013CnJ65Snk0beWgVnIvjKbf1x9e1bIjtJrUJfgdDUWfASzXUiKot8A5C4ZnnK8cqrpjuklVgo0W59Jjy217blX9fTmWoL1u65tI5f0ItV6FaiC0KIibmE9TfCU5q-u_-VGC4B4ygc/s1600/Thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa0013CnJ65Snk0beWgVnIvjKbf1x9e1bIjtJrUJfgdDUWfASzXUiKot8A5C4ZnnK8cqrpjuklVgo0W59Jjy217blX9fTmWoL1u65tI5f0ItV6FaiC0KIibmE9TfCU5q-u_-VGC4B4ygc/s320/Thanksgiving.jpg" /></a></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-6150929691540531612010-07-31T08:20:00.000-07:002010-08-02T21:59:22.638-07:00Cooking with Peggy at Madison Creek Farms<table style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; FLOAT: left; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; CLEAR: left; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; cssfloat: left" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQB1e2sWLKmS5NRCOUv9uCUqkwfvq23AMS7_J_q6S1kEUVkyVOUqZSIo2MEPSU8AYxI-oUAF5wBaYJrSUZWE84om-SCXih5rTdAYUH9IYvmCPCuwWjzqO8uhyMTyOPJ0-boHIxtcpkIuQH/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQB1e2sWLKmS5NRCOUv9uCUqkwfvq23AMS7_J_q6S1kEUVkyVOUqZSIo2MEPSU8AYxI-oUAF5wBaYJrSUZWE84om-SCXih5rTdAYUH9IYvmCPCuwWjzqO8uhyMTyOPJ0-boHIxtcpkIuQH/s320/cooking+with+herbs+001.jpg" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Peggy Lynn Marchetti</td></tr></tbody></table>Saturday morning cooking workshops at Madison Creek Farms are so much fun. Peggy Marchetti (Loretta Lynn’s daughter) and her husband Mark run this wonderful organic farm right here in Goodlettsville. Beds of brilliant dahlias, cosmos, sunflowers and zinnias add splashes of color to the dozens of raised beds filled with herbs and vegetables. The little outdoor Pavilion Market showcases Peggy’s fresh homemade blueberry and blackberry pies, home baked bread and a variety of preserves.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; FLOAT: right; MARGIN-LEFT: 1em" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; CLEAR: right; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; cssfloat: right" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SnH5fCWlbUdU0K5IwBZBJi4Jae8DwF4r2-WmHrQhv5dAYyYHlFrz2OJyTAQMCot4OJQV5pJUikaDNBesp5AQ01eoy3NRu-Vqzf6AP0TffEnXISzdqyEhiy_IbYEUzDmpH3P46wK19Qeo/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+030.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SnH5fCWlbUdU0K5IwBZBJi4Jae8DwF4r2-WmHrQhv5dAYyYHlFrz2OJyTAQMCot4OJQV5pJUikaDNBesp5AQ01eoy3NRu-Vqzf6AP0TffEnXISzdqyEhiy_IbYEUzDmpH3P46wK19Qeo/s320/cooking+with+herbs+030.jpg" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Blueberry & Plum Pie</td></tr></tbody></table>During the summer Madison Creek Farms offers a series of cooking workshops in the Farmhouse Kitchen, and last weekend it was Cooking with Herbs. To an eager audience of around 20, Peggy held court in her delightfully spacious kitchen.<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both" class="separator"><a style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; FLOAT: right; MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; CLEAR: right; cssfloat: right" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAY6UcraWVyfYRVQ3p6AV5M86XgJjnCy597LYNtlwGFeqGBWAltZvt_idrXNtvJzVfcignJ9LsckibNLzYepMpvMK1H1bzF2rVsqBcrWL3iK2y5JojA3UsZGTBFLdIy93gIOTr_7RLqGbm/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+005.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAY6UcraWVyfYRVQ3p6AV5M86XgJjnCy597LYNtlwGFeqGBWAltZvt_idrXNtvJzVfcignJ9LsckibNLzYepMpvMK1H1bzF2rVsqBcrWL3iK2y5JojA3UsZGTBFLdIy93gIOTr_7RLqGbm/s200/cooking+with+herbs+005.jpg" width="200" height="183" bx="true" /></a></div>She began with making pesto, and into the blender went bundles of fresh cut basil, several cloves of garlic, toasted walnuts (pine nuts are a more expensive alternative), olive oil, parmesan cheese, and a generous squeeze of lemon. Folk soon lined up at her large wooden kitchen table to spoon the pesto on crackers and sample.<br /><br /><br /><br />Several eggplants were sliced and placed on a baking tray to roast in the oven – destined for panini. While spaghetti boiled on the stove, Peggy sautéed several cloves of garlic and a small diced onion in a big skillet for the beginnings of a very flavorful tomato jam.<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both" class="separator"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKx5_XmYoe-a2-TXhdlyVFB4Drin9mbNVibpdZ7-3Qp7B4OAN4gr8leh_irQmL702_BfALZpF_9Lx9s_3478u2SEhfFtIfCyjvAtOkntsFMz_kX3y8aySHd8zyKgr3s2ksuHK_GWXCpSZW/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+013.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKx5_XmYoe-a2-TXhdlyVFB4Drin9mbNVibpdZ7-3Qp7B4OAN4gr8leh_irQmL702_BfALZpF_9Lx9s_3478u2SEhfFtIfCyjvAtOkntsFMz_kX3y8aySHd8zyKgr3s2ksuHK_GWXCpSZW/s320/cooking+with+herbs+013.jpg" bx="true" /></a></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both" class="separator"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Heirloom Tomato Jam</span></div>She then added plump Brandywine heirloom tomatoes, jalapeno pepper, brown sugar, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, water, and fresh chopped basil, letting the mixture gradually reduce down to about half.<br /><br /><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; FLOAT: right; MARGIN-LEFT: 1em" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; CLEAR: right; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; cssfloat: right" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R6JNfhyBn5qSVrn9vSobbyklpzYcutnta_qGMF9kYq1qUZBwCu2L0cK8JV7P3XFY5YaEBW3VwER60c-KwIprddDS_jOjfsnfA6juwPQ0lTIw62OWAUwoYsc1aAJ9o5-KCsXv_aPe389l/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+017.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R6JNfhyBn5qSVrn9vSobbyklpzYcutnta_qGMF9kYq1qUZBwCu2L0cK8JV7P3XFY5YaEBW3VwER60c-KwIprddDS_jOjfsnfA6juwPQ0lTIw62OWAUwoYsc1aAJ9o5-KCsXv_aPe389l/s320/cooking+with+herbs+017.jpg" width="263" height="320" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Love that apron!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Once the spaghetti was cooked and drained, Peggy added a generous spoonful of pesto, a drizzle of olive oil and a handful of halved cherry tomatoes – and voila! An absolutely delicious pasta dish.<br /><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; FLOAT: left; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; CLEAR: left; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto; cssfloat: left" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvMJZLxnPcwL3Y9C2TaFlFiM8QPsaE_cvpeQYuLjISIC_Ln-gzuOQYMWQtbPvyJvjq5JM8UC7ishn1pFt_pMXzBgjlOpoxrC8YwYPYm17qcgPhOSGOPNQ-q7jlqp_IGdom__kAqw9e4uO/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+015.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvMJZLxnPcwL3Y9C2TaFlFiM8QPsaE_cvpeQYuLjISIC_Ln-gzuOQYMWQtbPvyJvjq5JM8UC7ishn1pFt_pMXzBgjlOpoxrC8YwYPYm17qcgPhOSGOPNQ-q7jlqp_IGdom__kAqw9e4uO/s320/cooking+with+herbs+015.jpg" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Joel Arnold, Sous Chef for the Day</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br />By this stage everyone’s mouths were watering, and the atmosphere had mellowed to that of friends visiting in a farmhouse kitchen. Exactly how Peggy liked it! This is the true ambiance of Madison Creek Farms. While we were in the kitchen learning how to cook up delectable dishes using their farm produce, Mark was taking care of customers to the farm market who had come to buy preserves, fresh baked bread and pies, organic vegetables and herbs, and pick their own cut flowers from beds flamboyant with color.<br /><br /><br /><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" align="center"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UJXXL1jI2NH5fIhVIDAx_PmsSK8zpNpxtSMX3ynpuLwZGschvJhshSmKFFylcQs3BuZ4YgtHGJmeOjMEMNKj71lrocY6jRuN5P9gcTyuCyBsVGk_utECb2ERf9OZkMLRgNH1O1mXpruP/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+023.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UJXXL1jI2NH5fIhVIDAx_PmsSK8zpNpxtSMX3ynpuLwZGschvJhshSmKFFylcQs3BuZ4YgtHGJmeOjMEMNKj71lrocY6jRuN5P9gcTyuCyBsVGk_utECb2ERf9OZkMLRgNH1O1mXpruP/s320/cooking+with+herbs+023.jpg" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Panini ready to eat</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none">Peggy is quite remarkable in her ability to multi-task and has the energy of a 20-year-old. Her vibrancy rubs off on everyone, and we are all keen to be rubbed in this same genie-juice. She whisks the roasted eggplant out of the oven and spreads the slices on crusty bread brushed with pesto. Adds shredded Italian cheese, a heaped spoonful of tomato jam straight from the skillet, and a handful of fresh arugula. We quickly lined up to sample the spoils of the morning’s gourmet cooking class. We shall definitely return!</div><br /><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" align="center"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx730rxrhtD2UbsgyM8upPNMoEjBROg3C_lVFBLGIdAJzxeTT7fwQGmKeBwEDTM8fZg-QT9j3JmDcaspZ4k4TaZVKGNGnyX-5Os32LwPt3hu1hgYEipmDbDc4coPTs2AMI3QnQyflqb8qo/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+018.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx730rxrhtD2UbsgyM8upPNMoEjBROg3C_lVFBLGIdAJzxeTT7fwQGmKeBwEDTM8fZg-QT9j3JmDcaspZ4k4TaZVKGNGnyX-5Os32LwPt3hu1hgYEipmDbDc4coPTs2AMI3QnQyflqb8qo/s320/cooking+with+herbs+018.jpg" bx="true" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption">Time to sample the spoils!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Peggy’s recipes are listed below. Visit her website at www.madisoncreekfarms.com for more details of this wonderful organic farm, and become a follower of her blog at www.thefemalefarmer.com<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Heirloom Tomato Jam</strong></span><br /><br />2 tbs olive oil<br />1 diced small onion<br />¼ cup balsamic vinegar<br />3 tsp brown sugar<br />4 cups chopped tomatoes<br />2 minced garlic cloves<br />1 chopped jalapeno pepper<br />chopped fresh basil<br />¼ cup water<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Pesto</strong></span><br /><br />1 bunch of fresh basil<br />½ cup toasted walnuts or pine nuts<br />3 cloves garlic<br />½ cup olive oil (approx)<br />¼ cup parmesan cheese<br /><br /><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none"><br /></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><table style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 1em; FLOAT: right; MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; CLEAR: right; cssfloat: right" class="tr-caption-container" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCaKqwXCAyjikb9WVuyPIqSCKUSSBEwLrIh0n0YC8XD1R6ib_eFbR0Lyp5wo7UJ4tiI6LlXqntcbiTTEZEEvW5dlMdOvXjqtbvgAzQSAc3e_8o1jWdj_8gpQtQG-x2aoX1HFKZAM-t2xo/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+014.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="tr-caption"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: auto; MARGIN-RIGHT: auto" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCaKqwXCAyjikb9WVuyPIqSCKUSSBEwLrIh0n0YC8XD1R6ib_eFbR0Lyp5wo7UJ4tiI6LlXqntcbiTTEZEEvW5dlMdOvXjqtbvgAzQSAc3e_8o1jWdj_8gpQtQG-x2aoX1HFKZAM-t2xo/s1600/cooking+with+herbs+014.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img style="WIDTH: 6px; HEIGHT: 6px" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCaKqwXCAyjikb9WVuyPIqSCKUSSBEwLrIh0n0YC8XD1R6ib_eFbR0Lyp5wo7UJ4tiI6LlXqntcbiTTEZEEvW5dlMdOvXjqtbvgAzQSAc3e_8o1jWdj_8gpQtQG-x2aoX1HFKZAM-t2xo/s320/cooking+with+herbs+014.jpg" width="123" height="118" bx="true" /></a> </td></tr></tbody></table></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-49013646885218255692010-07-24T22:25:00.000-07:002010-07-26T08:05:40.022-07:00First Wedding at Ghost Gums!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILw_1XgRH7nYesqu0s5RhVj0Er2ZT5juKLQIL_FqgHOveAZVV9QgMrygXg_KYa2wDldlkwdjF40irYS_m7TqszSm70zG2j-MfzxIl0kxYvGJwUl3fAR2QkJrPcapxnM7eBDaIbzPlBGrz/s1600/Just+married.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILw_1XgRH7nYesqu0s5RhVj0Er2ZT5juKLQIL_FqgHOveAZVV9QgMrygXg_KYa2wDldlkwdjF40irYS_m7TqszSm70zG2j-MfzxIl0kxYvGJwUl3fAR2QkJrPcapxnM7eBDaIbzPlBGrz/s320/Just+married.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="right"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</em></span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>What a thrill to have our very first wedding at Ghost Gums on the Ridge on July 3rd! Skylar - the son of my very special friends Julie & Scott – and his fiancée Suzy, had chosen Ghost Gums as their place of choice for both wedding and reception. It was a busy time getting the place ready before I left for two weeks in Italy, but Skylar and Suzy house-sat while I was gone, completing many of the preparations.<br />
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And then what an eventful week! I returned home from Italy after midnight Sunday, June 27th. On Tuesday night Skylar was admitted to Hendersonville Hospital for an emergency appendectomy! Would the wedding have to be delayed, we wondered? Well, don’t ever underestimate the power of love. This young man was motivated! Nothing was going to stop him from marrying his bride that coming Saturday! He bounced back from that surgery like nothing had happened. <br />
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Very early Wednesday morning a huge 50ft limb broke off a hackberry tree and fell across the driveway at Ghost Gums. The driveway was passable – but it would definitely be in the way for the wedding! An email for help went out, and Thursday evening friends David and son Davey Sandgren came by after a long hard day installing awnings in 100 deg heat – and in no time at all, that tree was cut up, the brush hauled off to the burn pile, and logs piled on the wood heap (that’s an Australian term, for the uninitiated). Wow, those guys were awesome!<br />
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Friday afternoon Ghost Gums was a hive of activity, folk cutting grass, weedeating, pressure washing, setting out tables and chairs and dance floor and lights. Then it was the wedding rehearsal under the spreading walnut tree out in the field. The wedding party and family – in which I was graciously included – in their transformed mode after all the work, gathered at Chef’s Market Café and Take Away in Goodlettsville for a wonderful rehearsal dinner. If you have never eaten at Chef’s you are missing an incredible experience. The Mediterranean atmosphere and fresh food is second to none (www.chefsmarket.com). The restaurant is owned by friends Jim and Cheryl Hagy, and their personal touch, passion, and dedication has set them apart.<br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOdTOvyAaSWaGBwNYlZxH_1K4zfGJdJM12w5ksILFljzx4-MTjUPzy-kkJnTm_6DzEH17cjSm1HFE7sxzSBJBLzMJgYImPIguIFWXGqap6H_iwOe5xC33KKg_xJ_eVZxrUd2Av2-qBLni/s1600/DSC_0117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOdTOvyAaSWaGBwNYlZxH_1K4zfGJdJM12w5ksILFljzx4-MTjUPzy-kkJnTm_6DzEH17cjSm1HFE7sxzSBJBLzMJgYImPIguIFWXGqap6H_iwOe5xC33KKg_xJ_eVZxrUd2Av2-qBLni/s320/DSC_0117.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lfmzalhMua1V04BroNwBuPvRWSs4r7bo1tyBOlyFw8m8mI83cZGaBm416RDFdU48GMe32fpccX3BRITMAOBDsPJCeRQB-fXuPWRgmf-s9Teshe68iiKT3Y74vR8xZOZC4oHp0_wfFGx6/s1600/Guys+wedding+prep+B%26W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lfmzalhMua1V04BroNwBuPvRWSs4r7bo1tyBOlyFw8m8mI83cZGaBm416RDFdU48GMe32fpccX3BRITMAOBDsPJCeRQB-fXuPWRgmf-s9Teshe68iiKT3Y74vR8xZOZC4oHp0_wfFGx6/s320/Guys+wedding+prep+B%26W.jpg" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</span></em></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Saturday July 3rd was the wedding day. Early afternoon Ghost Gums was overflowing with the wedding party, dressed and ready for photographs. Bride, groom, five lovely ladies, five handsome men, the parents and grandparents of the bride and groom. Blue sky and sunshine gave way to some innocent sprinkles that developed rapidly into a tropical downpour. Friends called. It wasn’t raining anywhere else! From 2:30-4:30pm the skies opened up and the rain fell in torrents. No-one panicked. The bride and groom took it in stride. Tennessee is notorious for pop-up thunderstorms. We knew it would pass.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlNc2BeKCY7qWFmqx9Hg-dNDBcqCTuWg_NHKJOJzl_KenoRB0EtKHT_sf44qPqAD39JyRSjg_chPDA3TcKvYRVNVwhKoMcmu-sJk7u3Xacat4Vg-ePCl2ZipA7pAEa6JiLVFJ0Fftt-sVQ/s1600/DSC_0122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlNc2BeKCY7qWFmqx9Hg-dNDBcqCTuWg_NHKJOJzl_KenoRB0EtKHT_sf44qPqAD39JyRSjg_chPDA3TcKvYRVNVwhKoMcmu-sJk7u3Xacat4Vg-ePCl2ZipA7pAEa6JiLVFJ0Fftt-sVQ/s320/DSC_0122.JPG" width="208" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And God was good - as He always is. The rain stopped, and an ethereal mist hovered down the treeline in the back field, adding atmosphere to the wedding photos. We all dried off the tables and chairs, set everything out, and at 7:00pm Skylar and Suzy shared their vows and pledged their troth. <br />
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They would have danced all night if they could -see Skylar and Suzy in stunning action below!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXi_mC4xBSw-U4LMjOhnrqsCP0Ebf4JbbPz1g2Pk3U9CiPxse5HBxBDJDaL7whcsFjpjXAhQoyxa0cV9zUTV6Rt67z49Q0YwUP6oqTCUEBcn18ZkdMeWVHzRxfxKT7ZsD0wK9EW0hyphenhyphen6-m/s1600/DSC_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXi_mC4xBSw-U4LMjOhnrqsCP0Ebf4JbbPz1g2Pk3U9CiPxse5HBxBDJDaL7whcsFjpjXAhQoyxa0cV9zUTV6Rt67z49Q0YwUP6oqTCUEBcn18ZkdMeWVHzRxfxKT7ZsD0wK9EW0hyphenhyphen6-m/s320/DSC_0139.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXp2bYRNSIcLxoDyKVUqlGeSGYSVEgSUD_AkVTbjnAnI_GoTniTXoCz_M-s2SGY8XHDujRKq6q3v8gDrhj8xrQJuQYYkMtlBWgo5PRLzSMuOtfYrdWIoxltGkZhOdiVDgZUCeQiX4l4Ryy/s1600/DSC_0155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXp2bYRNSIcLxoDyKVUqlGeSGYSVEgSUD_AkVTbjnAnI_GoTniTXoCz_M-s2SGY8XHDujRKq6q3v8gDrhj8xrQJuQYYkMtlBWgo5PRLzSMuOtfYrdWIoxltGkZhOdiVDgZUCeQiX4l4Ryy/s320/DSC_0155.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc1IdcxHqETL-k5bW_9RfaPr_oCWlkV1HijMBqozpMoBxVmMoLu2FbP7BBeoEeGR8-TY7g1V6hJDQEMDwzjSL0gmZwOoEZDpEg3MOyVzzlITjuRJjgIaZDHv-znEmJPPaESL2Gsoa6Pg0/s1600/DSC_0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc1IdcxHqETL-k5bW_9RfaPr_oCWlkV1HijMBqozpMoBxVmMoLu2FbP7BBeoEeGR8-TY7g1V6hJDQEMDwzjSL0gmZwOoEZDpEg3MOyVzzlITjuRJjgIaZDHv-znEmJPPaESL2Gsoa6Pg0/s320/DSC_0163.JPG" /></a>Let the photos tell the rest of the story. <br />
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credits to Rick Banning, Dayle Fergusson & Don Wright (</span></em><a href="http://www.donwrightdesigns.com/"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">www.donwrightdesigns.com</span></em></a><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">)</span></em></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oEBqC0Vz2RAixhG7olUHh03hQ90a1uKFqueUa-Z4Qeurhev-SAuVtQyUUEtpvnh4YgwMwW5uoRcd93-6TIxMKXqzLIBfhnMnlmPyxJLal8t89gsLQpnWtzX4TXNnAfto5_OlqXiTQuVr/s320/Suzy+and+parents.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="left"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo: DonWrightDesigns.com</em></span></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Ea_W4y_0ZG9jEwaXQYLQpKeraqUBVrrr1Jet-7-pp_HVzgknQXL6W9-xau1bWDQFOnFN6tJp2azxESZhu6FMCOdVdUViLprZrh4LNgC60BosQ1jxZhxQK_jHz9dPpWcyt1jCHNlYfwqL/s1600/Julie+%26+son.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Ea_W4y_0ZG9jEwaXQYLQpKeraqUBVrrr1Jet-7-pp_HVzgknQXL6W9-xau1bWDQFOnFN6tJp2azxESZhu6FMCOdVdUViLprZrh4LNgC60BosQ1jxZhxQK_jHz9dPpWcyt1jCHNlYfwqL/s320/Julie+%26+son.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="right"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</span></em></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oEBqC0Vz2RAixhG7olUHh03hQ90a1uKFqueUa-Z4Qeurhev-SAuVtQyUUEtpvnh4YgwMwW5uoRcd93-6TIxMKXqzLIBfhnMnlmPyxJLal8t89gsLQpnWtzX4TXNnAfto5_OlqXiTQuVr/s1600/Suzy+and+parents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Ea_W4y_0ZG9jEwaXQYLQpKeraqUBVrrr1Jet-7-pp_HVzgknQXL6W9-xau1bWDQFOnFN6tJp2azxESZhu6FMCOdVdUViLprZrh4LNgC60BosQ1jxZhxQK_jHz9dPpWcyt1jCHNlYfwqL/s1600/Julie+%26+son.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em></em></span></a><em style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSFzfK7Byni-WEfRmCvD7WRTjIIblCRCfqSg6oKaKVI80U219PA_RMjfxecmlEKSxxL0rFY9ea8v_gPOdA50GgGfcbw0Qm8YUa2RdkXP61PhX5IDIz6noXiU7Fgx0Agvv74onNhuQ1JnF/s1600/Mr+%26+Mrs+Skylar+DeVos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSFzfK7Byni-WEfRmCvD7WRTjIIblCRCfqSg6oKaKVI80U219PA_RMjfxecmlEKSxxL0rFY9ea8v_gPOdA50GgGfcbw0Qm8YUa2RdkXP61PhX5IDIz6noXiU7Fgx0Agvv74onNhuQ1JnF/s320/Mr+%26+Mrs+Skylar+DeVos.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</span></em></div></td></tr>
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The poem Skylar and Suzy printed on their wedding order of service captures the love they share. </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEuTTFjyzgSXGQYM_EmCdFXG5nyqqxZG-POs8UhWd_X_XpmrbJRpv4lpz0qzlhgLuVVUBEtIu1_3CsrZVmwcwSm8KJioBDLU5TVfRLeODgU3zo9i0Lv7_A-60jeRlI36A2oCxa9Zc6v8Op/s1600/Dancing+the+night+away.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEuTTFjyzgSXGQYM_EmCdFXG5nyqqxZG-POs8UhWd_X_XpmrbJRpv4lpz0qzlhgLuVVUBEtIu1_3CsrZVmwcwSm8KJioBDLU5TVfRLeODgU3zo9i0Lv7_A-60jeRlI36A2oCxa9Zc6v8Op/s400/Dancing+the+night+away.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="right"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</em></span></div></td></tr>
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMOB1pi_me2EExVlHCtYuAQGItfB-I3i5nAFhb7yW_ZhYI_bCf1kSKhA30eFkOs_KorxkQtVXQ8QvhRi4ycCXrnJQyQ0zQNaF32XUfRW6Ne6oAbFZry-ih0CyJTE5R8hNUclmvn6MZL7Q/s1600/Beautiful+bride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMOB1pi_me2EExVlHCtYuAQGItfB-I3i5nAFhb7yW_ZhYI_bCf1kSKhA30eFkOs_KorxkQtVXQ8QvhRi4ycCXrnJQyQ0zQNaF32XUfRW6Ne6oAbFZry-ih0CyJTE5R8hNUclmvn6MZL7Q/s200/Beautiful+bride.jpg" width="133" /></a><em>You and I</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Have so much love, </em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>That it</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Burns like a fire,</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>In which we bake a lump of clay</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Molded into a figure of you</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>And a figure of me.</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Then we take both of them,</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>And break them into pieces,</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>And mix the pieces with water,</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>And mold again a figure of you,</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>And a figure of me.</em></div><em>I am in your clay.</em><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>You are in my clay.</em></div><em>In life we share a single quilt.</em><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>In death we will share one coffin.</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><br />
</em></div><em>- Kuan Tao-sheng </em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgfXeVbImAO4y7Nr-adptj6nF3SkDBZdmkvLqdEr4F1lJTb7EWBWIIFc0Hv5MjJPU2Bb7NLBmZJSMJLM8NPyq-iICzW0dZuSvbK41SLcPYS9yO7HmDUMpUx3IM5g52yohS_crBdsyT-3H/s1600/Delicious+wedding+kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgfXeVbImAO4y7Nr-adptj6nF3SkDBZdmkvLqdEr4F1lJTb7EWBWIIFc0Hv5MjJPU2Bb7NLBmZJSMJLM8NPyq-iICzW0dZuSvbK41SLcPYS9yO7HmDUMpUx3IM5g52yohS_crBdsyT-3H/s320/Delicious+wedding+kiss.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo:DonWrightDesigns.com</span></em></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Blessings on the newly married couple as they begin a new life in Colorado. We raise our glass in Bill’s inimitable toast -To Whatever Comes Next! And indeed it will be good.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-49030930398070124232010-07-23T22:47:00.000-07:002010-07-24T23:02:19.564-07:00Mystery of LifeApproaching a full moon, and once again there is magic to be found in these evenings. The frustrations are forgotten and in their place a curious peace wrapped me in its embrace last night as I sat in the gazebo enjoying the night chorus of tree frogs. A quiet peacefulness <em>inside </em>my head, as though I was floating on a breeze, weightless, so totally relaxed. No earthly idea where such a peace had mysteriously come from. But it was delicious, and I savored it, for the first time in my life appreciating such a state of calm. Perhaps someone had offered up a prayer for me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtm0rB5LAUNUID9I8VtmmI4DG67hT0UBdqXKoALJd99_PjgZl-g8TaQ5Uk3oMj6AETW5zZUrTSlS2Kp1_BnxcgKrMZxRj-b0T_FuK7CGCk_qhWfgvWCyMZiSvbx7mJenEcYpCtw261Psr_/s1600/cicada+emerging+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtm0rB5LAUNUID9I8VtmmI4DG67hT0UBdqXKoALJd99_PjgZl-g8TaQ5Uk3oMj6AETW5zZUrTSlS2Kp1_BnxcgKrMZxRj-b0T_FuK7CGCk_qhWfgvWCyMZiSvbx7mJenEcYpCtw261Psr_/s200/cicada+emerging+001.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhGINr-aJEl3ky7syGit6zG3vqhlrp4wYi34DoQ0tkRLrH-nmLBA0WC7dOWpr5hACg1bWwIj-PFD7XMcACFF2BuMTxWUaKD7GxKWosIlFRTXspsr1iqiNIN23m0DOlzCQRe_h8x1SqMxM/s1600/cicada+emerging+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhGINr-aJEl3ky7syGit6zG3vqhlrp4wYi34DoQ0tkRLrH-nmLBA0WC7dOWpr5hACg1bWwIj-PFD7XMcACFF2BuMTxWUaKD7GxKWosIlFRTXspsr1iqiNIN23m0DOlzCQRe_h8x1SqMxM/s200/cicada+emerging+005.jpg" width="186" /></a>And then the discovery. Something soft as I brushed past the post holding one of the deck lamps. I retrieved a flashlight to see what I had touched, and beheld the wonder of a cicada emerging from its crispy brown shell. Suspended in half life. Was it alive? A slight movement of a tiny, fragile leg. I watched, mesmerized. Another quiver. I held my breath, caught in the mystery of life unfolding, transforming.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7a-OhagSivLgdZg97g_9OAetf5T6Y2g1nsIn8n_bbc4odT_FyE9kfPWvq3x2emxKuVkYhFqBHUpvERnq1C2BTU2xOmDuONBhU5rva-S39ARXYGkjhjZP1yb5hlIRT7CIc54uggkDz1zwb/s1600/cicada+emerging+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7a-OhagSivLgdZg97g_9OAetf5T6Y2g1nsIn8n_bbc4odT_FyE9kfPWvq3x2emxKuVkYhFqBHUpvERnq1C2BTU2xOmDuONBhU5rva-S39ARXYGkjhjZP1yb5hlIRT7CIc54uggkDz1zwb/s320/cicada+emerging+009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Gradually, an invisible life force silently pulsed energy into this new creation. Minutes stretched unhurried. A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Almost imperceptibly the creature pushed its soft body out of the shell, soft wrinkled wings unfolding tentatively, hanging limp. Claws clasped the neck of the dry shell, while it straddled its former home, pausing to allow the warm night air to harden its vulnerable new body.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8U7RnnKn7kx0i00SzWCHd873waVirD9Onm0pj8ag1abIaET8XT2YQT4TPVwHBQTAfT-bXDYBzYrW5OYP1hEBi-k8BFgFltnW8HR56aO0_1jyMQlYcuMsT_lnqHuc7kJu5mZBpMLKPn-B/s1600/cicada+emerging+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8U7RnnKn7kx0i00SzWCHd873waVirD9Onm0pj8ag1abIaET8XT2YQT4TPVwHBQTAfT-bXDYBzYrW5OYP1hEBi-k8BFgFltnW8HR56aO0_1jyMQlYcuMsT_lnqHuc7kJu5mZBpMLKPn-B/s320/cicada+emerging+013.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4HeE4zyGbid5SfUWPQZYUNqfQRUWK05u4qVCGOXbNxv9tIsP8j9FLO-Z-tlvo4U66U2nNDBPxruoqVQwsXVd01aR4iI0bWOO7ESKDyspiuIwEZE7O5KEZixBcWQrMdZude1mME32wXSa/s1600/cicada+emerging+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4HeE4zyGbid5SfUWPQZYUNqfQRUWK05u4qVCGOXbNxv9tIsP8j9FLO-Z-tlvo4U66U2nNDBPxruoqVQwsXVd01aR4iI0bWOO7ESKDyspiuIwEZE7O5KEZixBcWQrMdZude1mME32wXSa/s320/cicada+emerging+014.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Instinctively the cicada turned its wings in slow motion, strengthened from the struggle, now air drying and growing rigid, delicate filigreed lacewings. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_H5qVLnccQifsjIlGVo6ntMxKk25vqGozUluS2fYBdzGiXvXu2xzNIknkVy-TBuSsidtGWU-gp6La1Bd0HhyzAEm2JwEFS5LvLTWmoH6dUOKm2fXf_9CV1H1I3Shy-wjzIpDdjeV1DA_N/s1600/cicada+emerging+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_H5qVLnccQifsjIlGVo6ntMxKk25vqGozUluS2fYBdzGiXvXu2xzNIknkVy-TBuSsidtGWU-gp6La1Bd0HhyzAEm2JwEFS5LvLTWmoH6dUOKm2fXf_9CV1H1I3Shy-wjzIpDdjeV1DA_N/s200/cicada+emerging+032.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I wondered at the bravery I was witnessing. Pushing onward into an unknown world, leaving the security of its protective shell that had kept it hidden safe underground for several years. Tux lay sprawled on a nearby chair. Didn’t the innocent creature hanging on the post know this cat had crunched cicadas in his feline jaws for many a summer evening’s snack? Did it know that soon it would enter a dimension unimaginable in its freedom? That after years of solitary silence it would sing joyously in a loud chorus of hundreds? It had been given wings. It could fly!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5zYglHG9YxOt85YjqBL8X5K8KHhcS-3Y0TRw0QtdYu42CJfXzq_3EoUpTPR9bVvAUblIyFIhyKFzwMB0JaI9XTlSZUWmT5NUpX_HvNXugiW2GMO-2JiSaXBAFCS2WcL0H181tpuiO5M-/s1600/cicada+emerging+049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5zYglHG9YxOt85YjqBL8X5K8KHhcS-3Y0TRw0QtdYu42CJfXzq_3EoUpTPR9bVvAUblIyFIhyKFzwMB0JaI9XTlSZUWmT5NUpX_HvNXugiW2GMO-2JiSaXBAFCS2WcL0H181tpuiO5M-/s400/cicada+emerging+049.jpg" width="370" /></a></div><br />
Entranced, I marveled at God’s intricate design of all His creation. The night had come bearing gifts.Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-50473087177875738582010-07-19T20:30:00.000-07:002010-07-19T20:34:23.374-07:00Silver Linings<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVai8OK7qxms4a7DEfSMV4KGA75-ioQJOAmVu2XDpvy_3DArOi6aI1N-OD7IcCd_zlW5xrtkIax2d2mFNco_mtEkIguLKhd9e6DV3CwRNUalZNbd8MaYOrf4HJHK6CxQQyIb0OO4-Jalb/s1600/July+sky+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVai8OK7qxms4a7DEfSMV4KGA75-ioQJOAmVu2XDpvy_3DArOi6aI1N-OD7IcCd_zlW5xrtkIax2d2mFNco_mtEkIguLKhd9e6DV3CwRNUalZNbd8MaYOrf4HJHK6CxQQyIb0OO4-Jalb/s320/July+sky+003.jpg" width="320" /></a>There are days when you kick against the obstacles and frustrations. It's hot and steamy, after a long day's work; the hose keeps jumping out of the bucket, as you water your parched dry garden; the dog insists on lying right in front of the back door, and the mosquitoes are biting your bare arms. The replacement pump you just bought for the tiny fountain is too powerful - another trip to Lowes! The weedeater that's taken several days to try and fix still doesn't work, and then you snap the fine plastic tubing for the fuel line and you're screwed for one more day (or two). My cool has gone, and I kick the weedeater with a few choice words, now suddenly angry that Bill dared to leave me to manage all this chaos on my own. It's a good thing no-one is here to witness this tantrum. And then, in one brief turn of my head, God captures my gaze heavenward, and the frustration snap freezes and slides off like melting ice.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
Wow! Wispy cirrus clouds paint the sky in feathered brush strokes, and jets blaze silver trails, straight as an arrow, wings glinting in the sun. I stand in awe at this spectacular sky, feet planted in the open field, reminded instantly of all the reasons I wanted to fly. Silently thanking Bill for opening up this world to me, where we chased the clouds and soared with eagles, and watched the earth and sky turn as we played in unrestrained abandon in our sleek fiberglass sailplanes. I am no longer earthbound. One glance, and I'm up there, free as a bird.Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183215254892403512.post-74226952776647050092010-06-28T00:55:00.000-07:002010-07-14T21:10:10.296-07:00An Italian Affair...Food for the Writer's Soul<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8lhEEwm3AAeEQ-vH8nqVNfK7gRW87cX_RgLI8fh6QYq3jinDwKT0_0pjnF_-VSFYCl0gD9vqPkkkGv3i3uIWs43Jaj7nmWbrcRkkZT4Qhv1J8Uxx3ZsbmAwAVsCZbFGEn9pduPkBBOFK/s1600/DSC_0166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8lhEEwm3AAeEQ-vH8nqVNfK7gRW87cX_RgLI8fh6QYq3jinDwKT0_0pjnF_-VSFYCl0gD9vqPkkkGv3i3uIWs43Jaj7nmWbrcRkkZT4Qhv1J8Uxx3ZsbmAwAVsCZbFGEn9pduPkBBOFK/s320/DSC_0166.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The story begins two weeks ago...</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We are enjoying the rare experience of a writer’s workshop in the hill country 90 miles east of Rome - aptly titled <em>Italy in Other Words.</em> Liz and I have joined a group of six other writers, led by two wonderful educators and published authors from San Francisco and Washington D.C.. Kathryn leads the daily workshop. Helen has family roots in Abruzzo, and a passion to share the richness of this colorful region of Italy.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGKo4OtrXV-IaujxgaMaSGbwQBsdbUuuJW075I03dtRWp9VKVi5oZpunfNfuxRwOVBJ-z_KVUf88FC64D2j3gNUYkGtlNjMOZ3A4Ede1-D4TKgFDaxi-8tsJW411HihxbXYzHWCtgQupS/s1600/DSC_0353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGKo4OtrXV-IaujxgaMaSGbwQBsdbUuuJW075I03dtRWp9VKVi5oZpunfNfuxRwOVBJ-z_KVUf88FC64D2j3gNUYkGtlNjMOZ3A4Ede1-D4TKgFDaxi-8tsJW411HihxbXYzHWCtgQupS/s200/DSC_0353.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The medieval fortified hill town of Santo Stefano di Sessanio is an intriguing maze of stone archways, tiny balconies overlooking secluded courtyards, steep cobblestone pathways, and terracotta planters overflowing with a tumble of red and pink geraniums.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26D5SLaHYursqIu4H-cvE8pDwIqBdIlv3IoL-QYcDlxew9DwPxxi750tGzJNU_XvyLZ-2E5xxgLedHT_L2PAnFFjjsU8R1uu3MnvCISbaHL4PDAMSirkJffSI-69YNVMjpoZkgpU596ew/s1600/DSC_0410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26D5SLaHYursqIu4H-cvE8pDwIqBdIlv3IoL-QYcDlxew9DwPxxi750tGzJNU_XvyLZ-2E5xxgLedHT_L2PAnFFjjsU8R1uu3MnvCISbaHL4PDAMSirkJffSI-69YNVMjpoZkgpU596ew/s200/DSC_0410.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbUxeMfpWqq6aI-Cxjt-z_Rx-n2G1i3TVi0ocEXAuvIONu3t3Q1M9VFhFG2LcKUs4z1n6TBEvuNvXYm5PUioPRimoWwU3yewapmwsEJUtYT1yryS4Fh1VQIVidAMjA9dtDJSP_Nujo8bE/s1600/DSC_0223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbUxeMfpWqq6aI-Cxjt-z_Rx-n2G1i3TVi0ocEXAuvIONu3t3Q1M9VFhFG2LcKUs4z1n6TBEvuNvXYm5PUioPRimoWwU3yewapmwsEJUtYT1yryS4Fh1VQIVidAMjA9dtDJSP_Nujo8bE/s200/DSC_0223.JPG" width="141" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Ancient doors stand closed at every turn, daring me to open them and explore inside. Every house in this charming village is a cave of mystery, lit with candlelight flickering against walls stained with age and smoke.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOgzJGgNXsJ2QTY_jeHlbK9n7c55l4oE26Bph6T0KG5dTA3HD_Exw6VfVMvmRTOQT2wbp8E1S3yAQEHNaZK3aRf_MUOsrfRdokKrDe7lR5HkE_07D6WQ1qywXJOrfKvhovq7OFC_0Jqm6/s1600/DSC_0167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOgzJGgNXsJ2QTY_jeHlbK9n7c55l4oE26Bph6T0KG5dTA3HD_Exw6VfVMvmRTOQT2wbp8E1S3yAQEHNaZK3aRf_MUOsrfRdokKrDe7lR5HkE_07D6WQ1qywXJOrfKvhovq7OFC_0Jqm6/s200/DSC_0167.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Books filled with yellowing pages of indecipherable Italian script lean against each other for support, their bindings aged and cracked. Pigeons roost on weathered terracotta tile roofs, while swallows dart for tiny gnats in the deep blue summer sky. Old men sit in the piazza, sharing observations of life in their lilting Italian tongue.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVW8Eb9DC47tpfxgYGBNHBRsrUtpHEe4omre7TgMHBpYI2LpX2i3UX3LCMYsj5QNTKL_SZAXRjCz2kk1MGKbOdR2s7OTgH7WF0KeFPzxVKmEj1tbBfFBRULGUzUrx1rRg9ouiKBqWotrRP/s1600/DSC_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVW8Eb9DC47tpfxgYGBNHBRsrUtpHEe4omre7TgMHBpYI2LpX2i3UX3LCMYsj5QNTKL_SZAXRjCz2kk1MGKbOdR2s7OTgH7WF0KeFPzxVKmEj1tbBfFBRULGUzUrx1rRg9ouiKBqWotrRP/s320/DSC_0088.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I sip on a late afternoon cappuccino, relaxing after several hours of writing. The poppy I picked yesterday from the field down in the valley is pressed blood-red between the pages of my journal, full of the passion of these villages perched on hillsides throughout this beautiful Abruzzo region.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Santo Stefano dates back to the 13th century, a time when feudal barons ruled a dozen villages and shepherds grazed sheep on the rocky slopes of these Apennine Mountains. At night they would corral them within the security of stone-walled sheepfolds.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-I3SK0SRQAktVWPFsm9FloKztuKB8oJXPcZj6FsYRBYSZXiP1Sgapo4jq03by45q1CBhQmWJQlRw2FtNmDmNhfR24BgSXVx_BR4qGKm6JfxCtuMBiIpfPR3OgVpUu1L3TGxlkW6U0zWF/s1600/Santa+Stefano+Day+2+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-I3SK0SRQAktVWPFsm9FloKztuKB8oJXPcZj6FsYRBYSZXiP1Sgapo4jq03by45q1CBhQmWJQlRw2FtNmDmNhfR24BgSXVx_BR4qGKm6JfxCtuMBiIpfPR3OgVpUu1L3TGxlkW6U0zWF/s320/Santa+Stefano+Day+2+029.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEJJr7QnSYZmqBzd5y1GBVfMkGDSFikEBmiXVPBLppJ72IysA2dqgV4QYDj6ijuhMA0C8ITyFavN4EiBz2WJdZ8rOKxpIqHYZ_-s5TN0RXy5cDjrqCH34tPPy_s_oAlJO9eDUagfPaJo8/s1600/Santa+Stefano+Day+2+057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEJJr7QnSYZmqBzd5y1GBVfMkGDSFikEBmiXVPBLppJ72IysA2dqgV4QYDj6ijuhMA0C8ITyFavN4EiBz2WJdZ8rOKxpIqHYZ_-s5TN0RXy5cDjrqCH34tPPy_s_oAlJO9eDUagfPaJo8/s200/Santa+Stefano+Day+2+057.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The crumbling remains of Rocca di Calascio, the medieval, 12th century fortress, presides from its lofty peak 4500 ft above broad, fertile valleys and surrounding hill towns. Wildflowers grow among the ruins of its ancient walls and Rapunzel towers.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKH4aG3FZV20RpcPpbcYvTUeAwYWkdHxoP6Xvn0XR2pnackOtH5lTnQp9FZsIDAbczwg9nGeKaJ96BcAgt2NpRUtrHwyvoVkBUc23fU0ZLWHPOPBYX64aLyyC-6Jmn46sHimsx6_OQf__s/s1600/Santa+Stefano+Day+1+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKH4aG3FZV20RpcPpbcYvTUeAwYWkdHxoP6Xvn0XR2pnackOtH5lTnQp9FZsIDAbczwg9nGeKaJ96BcAgt2NpRUtrHwyvoVkBUc23fU0ZLWHPOPBYX64aLyyC-6Jmn46sHimsx6_OQf__s/s320/Santa+Stefano+Day+1+032.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sextantia Albergo Diffuso is our hotel and the rooms are actually houses scattered throughout the village of Santo Stefano. It is akin to sleeping in a cave, except for the luxuries that have subtly been incorporated into the medieval simplicity of each restored room. Yesterday I soaked in my big white tub fragrant with lavender oil, enjoying the tallow candles casting a soft glow on rough stone walls and ceiling. The bed is covered in blankets woven from the wool of local sheep, and on the dresser sits a bottle of locally-made cherry liqueur.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Each morning we wander into the Cantinone for breakfast – a delicious spread of fresh-baked pastries and pies, bowl of fresh fruit, yoghurt, cereal, and three choices of pureed fruit a long wooden table. The room is mellow and inviting, and we sit at rough hewn tables on long wooden benches. One of the two ladies offers to cook us eggs or frittata. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFxGmG4zfgmioOXJC8PcryNVyyD_8PRL_SLxE5vbFwli4RsUye4rBqspDx3XqXC72x3x2QpH4b53jyGCG2SOM4xjSBNovQvh2CG1qvRJW0xaJ6-i3jTlQ1P4do282gYG6vP1MCtqzot0c/s1600/DSC_0438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFxGmG4zfgmioOXJC8PcryNVyyD_8PRL_SLxE5vbFwli4RsUye4rBqspDx3XqXC72x3x2QpH4b53jyGCG2SOM4xjSBNovQvh2CG1qvRJW0xaJ6-i3jTlQ1P4do282gYG6vP1MCtqzot0c/s200/DSC_0438.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAfJrn8S5qfEgirWFLLvnnu3iajEiZpV_nFTgUFU1ko4sYVaH6sZBAf-HfsI_Fd5_T1XEPNgqVQPm0F3LubNLJpPvxcEzIpH30pN6zaRoEToMYwWCBh7PlEirODZMMsYNgoH_bRi04T3M/s1600/DSC_0440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAfJrn8S5qfEgirWFLLvnnu3iajEiZpV_nFTgUFU1ko4sYVaH6sZBAf-HfsI_Fd5_T1XEPNgqVQPm0F3LubNLJpPvxcEzIpH30pN6zaRoEToMYwWCBh7PlEirODZMMsYNgoH_bRi04T3M/s200/DSC_0440.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Our daily workshop runs from 9am – 12 noon, with the mandatory break for cappuccinos at a nearby store in the little piazza. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqJQZBgifwvc3pytP9gYrjbPXnffxO8AocGROcKA9vLBiGefxv8nGzCfhKNJ8MIEAwLkK4LQIERi9leOuXAWJ2hd7IdTAtfxydMvXxOlWv2bX-BEnj_SkZ_LUk4CDP_DS0kDl9GWWC9bo/s1600/DSC_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqJQZBgifwvc3pytP9gYrjbPXnffxO8AocGROcKA9vLBiGefxv8nGzCfhKNJ8MIEAwLkK4LQIERi9leOuXAWJ2hd7IdTAtfxydMvXxOlWv2bX-BEnj_SkZ_LUk4CDP_DS0kDl9GWWC9bo/s320/DSC_0111.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Our group has bonded quickly, and we have surprised ourselves with the vulnerabilities we’ve shared. The focus has been on a combination of travel writing, food writing and memoir writing, critiquing well-written pieces and studying what makes them work so well and why. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The writing activities have been interspersed with tours to local sites (and some further away than anticipated!), including an olive oil factory, a hike to the remains of Rocca di Calascio in the Gran Sasso National Park, and learning about cheese making near the town of Castel del Monte. We saw the sheep being milked, then watched while the milk was churned into mozzarella cheese. After visiting their cheese shop in the nearby village and relaxing with a cappuccino (of course!), we returned to the cheese factory for some tasting of the final product – fresh from the vat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-COM7rOMUUkR2fewPVjBExCv6_FBzSY40jIvbDid-nmDIFv47ktKhp1vFOjK9yaLfSReSi6MaALz2clVCpAIqkcjsoD_K9wm03IwJzgzKPfUsXX18kYbaCsnuv587N_NRiiqOhc6FnAN/s1600/DSC_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-COM7rOMUUkR2fewPVjBExCv6_FBzSY40jIvbDid-nmDIFv47ktKhp1vFOjK9yaLfSReSi6MaALz2clVCpAIqkcjsoD_K9wm03IwJzgzKPfUsXX18kYbaCsnuv587N_NRiiqOhc6FnAN/s320/DSC_0312.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdD2dHrC_c6nxpqvh8LMjDkG_2Sm7w2rIiTiHF1Out3BPLqKDFsRoiFB6dCmGHz1FgCA7NGKmU4w17auGkxIa5xsn0QBJZU4SzlEil2RA83k43PRluv7VKhUDwUfMq12el6o7s3I9zysa/s1600/DSC_0333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdD2dHrC_c6nxpqvh8LMjDkG_2Sm7w2rIiTiHF1Out3BPLqKDFsRoiFB6dCmGHz1FgCA7NGKmU4w17auGkxIa5xsn0QBJZU4SzlEil2RA83k43PRluv7VKhUDwUfMq12el6o7s3I9zysa/s200/DSC_0333.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMa2EsdcMMPEqPBaIRL1XDYHqcV4xlngTuHWvKKfM9xDXSacnlDBSrjv43Qss4Q7ZDCtZunyFJQnizOx7GMrPUNXfJWcv1jcWPppXnmX3ag3JOn5pZXdSod3X-gUo65OU1sgqN_D1WAyHm/s1600/DSC_0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMa2EsdcMMPEqPBaIRL1XDYHqcV4xlngTuHWvKKfM9xDXSacnlDBSrjv43Qss4Q7ZDCtZunyFJQnizOx7GMrPUNXfJWcv1jcWPppXnmX3ag3JOn5pZXdSod3X-gUo65OU1sgqN_D1WAyHm/s200/DSC_0108.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To support local businesses in the village, we ate at different restaurants each day. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lunch one day was at a little restaurant up in the mountains of Campo Imperiale (Little Tibet) in the Gran Sasso National Park. The drive wound up into the high pasture land where we encountered a herd of longhorn cattle, all wearing jangling cow bells that echoed across the hills. Unconcerned at our intrusion to their peaceful existence, they wandered across the road in front of the car, staring at us curiously.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cwtVkiauxHsm7J0RiAOAmR2fbIgvw9trbnWEMWiMIABNcJTRluLamTuwTtlwPTDpH2Kp8hjuQhtxac-QRqSpPADCYGke05snoiii-asaggWLaWTp0h_Q7o8B2f5z6wANwcXXZqtXQTOf/s1600/DSC_0134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cwtVkiauxHsm7J0RiAOAmR2fbIgvw9trbnWEMWiMIABNcJTRluLamTuwTtlwPTDpH2Kp8hjuQhtxac-QRqSpPADCYGke05snoiii-asaggWLaWTp0h_Q7o8B2f5z6wANwcXXZqtXQTOf/s320/DSC_0134.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9q9-tmmINkgCNB7p2LZo2DSDW-SUzPAkHRW2jagdABeTEn7lxeEwsEJ5s-wc8Wrtpsg3zM_TBlbjKesRwHcf6Rpz3R-kKZEYvLSEjY8Ft0CA-UtuFJ_LnaloJcuxHyWqJLVjXfvW-ldo/s1600/DSC_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9q9-tmmINkgCNB7p2LZo2DSDW-SUzPAkHRW2jagdABeTEn7lxeEwsEJ5s-wc8Wrtpsg3zM_TBlbjKesRwHcf6Rpz3R-kKZEYvLSEjY8Ft0CA-UtuFJ_LnaloJcuxHyWqJLVjXfvW-ldo/s320/DSC_0139.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFufKV4ZiVXD0FjqJxPG0xF4iJneWgHIs_pFqLnoVkmLSZQ1f4aK9aqlGUxW1PVK-bUGKuqtO-kwi7Z3cca6tIBuA_TMr1fN7XylsXMLgyhJ3F8h581DRZZsbuFGFz4CsbLGpqWIb9Lg3Q/s1600/DSC_0194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFufKV4ZiVXD0FjqJxPG0xF4iJneWgHIs_pFqLnoVkmLSZQ1f4aK9aqlGUxW1PVK-bUGKuqtO-kwi7Z3cca6tIBuA_TMr1fN7XylsXMLgyhJ3F8h581DRZZsbuFGFz4CsbLGpqWIb9Lg3Q/s320/DSC_0194.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The hotel’s own restaurant – Locanda Sotto gli Archi - was a five star affair, where Massimo, the maitre d’, treated us like royalty in his charming Italian style. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSO29SHaTdyEuNJm3_ktStE2rt5tKmB0K5ZNWEiWH9m2_fAUECnfSZSnTnN75iON9bjvLS62Av01cJMx61FG2HhPl0IF_0wiwKeoJ6IZCxm4go-Y7ND6Ka_5oQjGKsjOBF39VJkREW0Fx/s1600/DSC_0204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSO29SHaTdyEuNJm3_ktStE2rt5tKmB0K5ZNWEiWH9m2_fAUECnfSZSnTnN75iON9bjvLS62Av01cJMx61FG2HhPl0IF_0wiwKeoJ6IZCxm4go-Y7ND6Ka_5oQjGKsjOBF39VJkREW0Fx/s200/DSC_0204.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXG5OLBJaEChoJb9haMHxZ0iNU5e5VFGB6FmslGH2-0A7eyELvKFgBp5rrmRVEBGHFrzq45C-NMdafsxRQsNWCy57sUwetEWBCdjnCIpt3YtZZSJziNbKca2qQCK9AQcjXOH9pdJMOhJJ/s1600/DSC_0177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXG5OLBJaEChoJb9haMHxZ0iNU5e5VFGB6FmslGH2-0A7eyELvKFgBp5rrmRVEBGHFrzq45C-NMdafsxRQsNWCy57sUwetEWBCdjnCIpt3YtZZSJziNbKca2qQCK9AQcjXOH9pdJMOhJJ/s200/DSC_0177.JPG" width="146" /></a> <br />
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Five or six courses are the norm in Italy, and each one brought new surprises. Liqueurs made locally were the finishing touch to our evenings of good conversation and laughter. Two of our writers had birthdays this very week, and we celebrated in style at Sextantio’s Locanda Sotto gli Archi for Gina, and gave Kathleen a surprise at the delightful Agriturismo Al Borgo by the lake.</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrQZ6eOqjNfdysaASZJ2iEYAyA8TyKLX8oAsYK1MQonZCNmlWq0FkaR5jQw9jMYqPZ12jHcIASjfed93OnVeOeB96b0_h7280rTTHAnobYxce2dNxLB7SpeuYceuUS4uDeJJKQG9EGd3Z/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrQZ6eOqjNfdysaASZJ2iEYAyA8TyKLX8oAsYK1MQonZCNmlWq0FkaR5jQw9jMYqPZ12jHcIASjfed93OnVeOeB96b0_h7280rTTHAnobYxce2dNxLB7SpeuYceuUS4uDeJJKQG9EGd3Z/s200/DSC_0257.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujw_YTZAknW3Y2fs3-RxNcsboReIfEmYv6LAWCHuIOMO5ezjbewRznBMl-YatzMQt7O_7QSgIHnXbDw97sWnxeba0zGliEx2jJLuXl0sNyKknIDUzuPj0US-uICO4F8I1k7ccPt6zpMVD/s1600/DSC_0387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujw_YTZAknW3Y2fs3-RxNcsboReIfEmYv6LAWCHuIOMO5ezjbewRznBMl-YatzMQt7O_7QSgIHnXbDw97sWnxeba0zGliEx2jJLuXl0sNyKknIDUzuPj0US-uICO4F8I1k7ccPt6zpMVD/s200/DSC_0387.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpRI01ZOlMiLzUWEP5ztdUd7FWMp5bldFT4mQo-D-q8zAcx30zqxL_OPKVBhpPR5lmrkFXzc9mykwVjE3rS6ZjKMBrRB95j18wC808FkutLn27P8RM_oFyeqovbCrg8hlyVZM7ALyxFMQ/s1600/DSC_0262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpRI01ZOlMiLzUWEP5ztdUd7FWMp5bldFT4mQo-D-q8zAcx30zqxL_OPKVBhpPR5lmrkFXzc9mykwVjE3rS6ZjKMBrRB95j18wC808FkutLn27P8RM_oFyeqovbCrg8hlyVZM7ALyxFMQ/s200/DSC_0262.JPG" width="200" /></a>The village was a perfect retreat for writers, stimulating the imagination with the mystery of the past, settling the mind and spirit with its peacefulness and beauty. Several of us stayed back from some of the excursions to write, or sat up late into the night in our cave-like rooms, and those times of seclusion helped us tap into the wells of our deeper self. </div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WWGnHbCVRkUtif0r2_5_svR4NchEajunesR0xVP2Iw-99LWtM8nZFzAR6Wxj48_WH21xIpvoT2gKKBUnft3r9gH13uy_81Q_FviFYWCymS0ipQdJXps9j9aphXKu9LqECkxv591WZvym/s1600/DSC_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WWGnHbCVRkUtif0r2_5_svR4NchEajunesR0xVP2Iw-99LWtM8nZFzAR6Wxj48_WH21xIpvoT2gKKBUnft3r9gH13uy_81Q_FviFYWCymS0ipQdJXps9j9aphXKu9LqECkxv591WZvym/s320/DSC_0366.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKALYK1quXHn-zoWJeJZ6IQB5ATKXC1TsHMVFjAGWZjV6iBC_meS1vvRsC5_2cYXh4qc99_WkcUJYW1XIdQDYD3fDNBDEFi2kr8v64VirEMhoBtjJ40zYiPcziapNyNG3t64Gq8jsizP3c/s1600/DSC_0345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKALYK1quXHn-zoWJeJZ6IQB5ATKXC1TsHMVFjAGWZjV6iBC_meS1vvRsC5_2cYXh4qc99_WkcUJYW1XIdQDYD3fDNBDEFi2kr8v64VirEMhoBtjJ40zYiPcziapNyNG3t64Gq8jsizP3c/s200/DSC_0345.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVX1COen-krvNNY_xOVcpsIL8jdNagPf9owd2_rH6HbSiH1ryZfJBHF2fT_l1s9m4eZVxrsT7NzmC6HJruP-aiQdDzs44QE_gFmjbshoe4XINV5R432BBwUepNVkhue4Ol483i-v_L7eKs/s1600/DSC_0370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVX1COen-krvNNY_xOVcpsIL8jdNagPf9owd2_rH6HbSiH1ryZfJBHF2fT_l1s9m4eZVxrsT7NzmC6HJruP-aiQdDzs44QE_gFmjbshoe4XINV5R432BBwUepNVkhue4Ol483i-v_L7eKs/s200/DSC_0370.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Kathryn gave each of us a 1:1 consultation and critique, and I shared for the first time the opening chapter to my book in process. She encouraged me to change from 3rd person novelist’s view to a 1st person memoir. In the rewrite I discovered the sharp pain of reliving the experience and making it my personal memoir –but when I read it to the group next day, their warmly encouraging comments let me know the story is both emotive and compelling. So stay tuned – the author is inspired to continue with Whatever Comes Next!</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLo3Tz3_7cVss76M_kT5knEuhyrvqT7HQfQ4ZHHoGPmB7b4cF0KZX_OgMncbBY2ORYdn0kXSxnfY3hdbjsFuZQ2Z_P32ITaOmpWMmUvDsElOPmRYtHYYafflAOD8p5qYWKcSv1IIgsZD7m/s1600/Santa+Stefano+Day+1a+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLo3Tz3_7cVss76M_kT5knEuhyrvqT7HQfQ4ZHHoGPmB7b4cF0KZX_OgMncbBY2ORYdn0kXSxnfY3hdbjsFuZQ2Z_P32ITaOmpWMmUvDsElOPmRYtHYYafflAOD8p5qYWKcSv1IIgsZD7m/s320/Santa+Stefano+Day+1a+013.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Dayle Fergussonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00772748114636420108noreply@blogger.com4