tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30364727276976338412024-03-13T00:58:07.667-05:00Bratwurst TimesSadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.comBlogger543125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-66770004124313553932024-01-04T05:53:00.004-06:002024-01-04T05:53:58.215-06:00January Promos!<p> <span style="background-color: white; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">My January promo is</span><a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/mmromancebookfreebies/1dfw3gdq65" style="font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" target="_blank"> Romance Freebies.</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Join some newsletters, get some free reads. My short story is Cocky Lady, a sweet romance that blooms at the dog park.</span></p><br style="animation-name: none !important; background-color: white; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; transition-property: none !important;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNLE7TjifBA4s8UwP3NUtE4cEdnjIA8Mx9npVqHAkoV4tWYbheR0L1H_q51lumtCoEVU242vCXmR4le6q3hxj6dpl8nFw5d-_SAIWdUJLS80w5hGChVR0zLOBoqG5n2H_17OWqXyRqQk7Z_7pmklIimQyetpjaqrmmpXLqCtzJ-sm_661qO9Di2ymvqve/s2000/BookBrushImage-2024-1-2-18-032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNLE7TjifBA4s8UwP3NUtE4cEdnjIA8Mx9npVqHAkoV4tWYbheR0L1H_q51lumtCoEVU242vCXmR4le6q3hxj6dpl8nFw5d-_SAIWdUJLS80w5hGChVR0zLOBoqG5n2H_17OWqXyRqQk7Z_7pmklIimQyetpjaqrmmpXLqCtzJ-sm_661qO9Di2ymvqve/s320/BookBrushImage-2024-1-2-18-032.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>And it's the last week to find those<a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/seriesfirstdecember/ihpuxgf4q4" target="_blank"> Series Starters</a>! Embers and Flame (the first book in the Campfire Stories series) is on sale for $2.99 until January 7. (also available on KU) </span>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-4731053792226957792022-09-17T23:07:00.007-05:002022-09-18T14:51:12.011-05:00September Promos I Have Books In<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEpO6bwCiasg9oPlVvrN9aVaQLii0LZ1g4_gBz90oiZxSIQL30-5pGQLVjZu9ZfD_aovlsideidedFAEL8JzEVHtyTcKtcRkCjzU1HkraVXFuB6Cjjq03VmP_MOcAnrPcqylnbghEjv7kGtRwCI1_QBBsSdekdBGJGNsErUJAsff6oeKZnt8_19TV/s1080/never%20say%20never%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEpO6bwCiasg9oPlVvrN9aVaQLii0LZ1g4_gBz90oiZxSIQL30-5pGQLVjZu9ZfD_aovlsideidedFAEL8JzEVHtyTcKtcRkCjzU1HkraVXFuB6Cjjq03VmP_MOcAnrPcqylnbghEjv7kGtRwCI1_QBBsSdekdBGJGNsErUJAsff6oeKZnt8_19TV/s320/never%20say%20never%203.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/neversaynever/blnyo77fcq" target="_blank">Promo here</a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LPlPflHoqxS-XpqhoWWzhrfGa4bJ06npLhOQWvUeFsjVoMWceremqdACx3YMDfZ0CntCIzYXtO2ZlHE3rC9VtkPSuV2OhXKMNTCnX6-XlIy9qj9vjB5Ag82EkgeM8HDG_CiUTTitwZ8dGNsf6NTgjqb0nNaI2ki8pQXRRXobRb-qlhLe07lzsJsT/s1080/MM%20Series%20Starters_Instagram_2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LPlPflHoqxS-XpqhoWWzhrfGa4bJ06npLhOQWvUeFsjVoMWceremqdACx3YMDfZ0CntCIzYXtO2ZlHE3rC9VtkPSuV2OhXKMNTCnX6-XlIy9qj9vjB5Ag82EkgeM8HDG_CiUTTitwZ8dGNsf6NTgjqb0nNaI2ki8pQXRRXobRb-qlhLe07lzsJsT/s320/MM%20Series%20Starters_Instagram_2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/mmseriesstarters/zf513oibtk" target="_blank">Promo here </a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJK-jYbBaRbrnmf106uD7ksxr3EoDupwBivfj43Vmz17pVnBhiP9x3Tv5Qa6by8qlCXVOhs9YDwFN-RnECOZgEFeN-iYavd10Ko3HMUuwT_3lPz4Vtj6nvnKbAlJD5zy7E3JBrtVqWzvCxqIOUU8QRdcKGvVxOd9W3luu6_hA3is04QFhQWk7hfOQ/s2000/BookBrushImage-2022-9-1-9-847.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJK-jYbBaRbrnmf106uD7ksxr3EoDupwBivfj43Vmz17pVnBhiP9x3Tv5Qa6by8qlCXVOhs9YDwFN-RnECOZgEFeN-iYavd10Ko3HMUuwT_3lPz4Vtj6nvnKbAlJD5zy7E3JBrtVqWzvCxqIOUU8QRdcKGvVxOd9W3luu6_hA3is04QFhQWk7hfOQ/s320/BookBrushImage-2022-9-1-9-847.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/steamyvellaromancereads/rqsci18wn9" target="_blank">Promo here</a> </div><br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-14562542315644118582022-06-05T14:32:00.002-05:002022-06-05T14:32:59.748-05:00A Quick Cut and Paste<p> I keep telling myself I'm going to start posting on this blog again. And I start the posts. I just don't finish them. So, I'm stealing this one from my writing blog!</p><p>This week nearly get the better of me, between taking care of some Farmers Market loose ends and attending a Celebration of Life for a friend who died a couple of weeks ago. But I made it through, and I'm ready to hit this next week with gusto!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9dfP6s4ufZgJl5l80HqWLESlgnqtWm5gRVGubk66nfuL8kcWfEZF5jrEwAv-Oo8JDa5wsCSo3KRrw0gfv55aHFLIa74ng8Vd6zKV7-oJvYUi_SHpByQsJg1gs6Xb7fXsfrfAdE57H0BqNKK3S2NAp1StKEMy_3XMjYCwUMtehLYB2xJa7PqI1psIq4g/s2000/romance%20to%20read.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9dfP6s4ufZgJl5l80HqWLESlgnqtWm5gRVGubk66nfuL8kcWfEZF5jrEwAv-Oo8JDa5wsCSo3KRrw0gfv55aHFLIa74ng8Vd6zKV7-oJvYUi_SHpByQsJg1gs6Xb7fXsfrfAdE57H0BqNKK3S2NAp1StKEMy_3XMjYCwUMtehLYB2xJa7PqI1psIq4g/w400-h400/romance%20to%20read.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My book, <b><i>Smoke and Sparks</i></b>, is available for free this month in the Romance to Read give-away. Find it, along with many other books, <a href="https://books.bookfunnel.com/readsy-deals-readers-giveaway/p6jit54y10" target="_blank">by clicking here</a>. </div><p></p><div> <span style="font-family: verdana;"> [As we kissed], I pictured the starlets of the old black and white films, a dainty foot encased in a pointed stiletto rising as her lover kissed her. It made sense to me as the itch reached my toes and they curled in my Nikes. I fought the mad need to shuffle my feet, to drag them across the ground, seeking relief, and I broke away, drawing in air even as a chuckle escaped, my inner fancies impossible to explain but so amusing to me that I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Daryl looked up at me, his eyes glassy and dazed until he gave a small shake of his head, clearing the fog away, I suppose. “What’s so funny?” he asked, waiting to decide if he should be insulted or not.<br /> “Nothing. I was imagining myself as Hedy Lamarr.”</span></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09XN7BCBR/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i2" target="_blank">Smoke and Sparks (Campfire Stories Book 2)</a> Available on Amazon KU</i></b></div><div style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Couch-surfing is fine for the short term, but what Vaughn really needs is a roommate.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Vaughn’s future was mapped out: Attend college in St. Louis. Become a Physical Therapist. Come out to his ultra-religious family-- after he’s financially stable and probably 40-years-old. But that was before he got caught with the pool-boy. Now he has to make new plans, quickly.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A small-town mechanic from Indiana, Daryl has never met anyone like Vaughn. He’s instantly fascinated by the tall college student in the skinny jeans and open-backed shirt. Vaughn is funny, intelligent—and wears silk underwear. Daryl is instantly smitten.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A temporary job offer moves Daryl to the city and solves Vaughn’s roommate problem. But while their former long-distance friendship has the potential to turn into something more, Vaughn fears he’ll end up heartbroken when Daryl moves back to Indiana. The spark between them glows brighter, but will it be smothered before it has a chance to truly ignite? </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="color: #757575; font-size: 15px; text-indent: 0px;">Sign up for my </span><a href="https://www.subscribepage.com/sadiejay" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2196f3; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-decoration-line: none; text-indent: 0px;" target="_blank">newsletter here</a><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #757575; font-size: 15px; text-indent: 0.5in;"> for </span><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #674ea7; font-size: 15px; text-indent: 0.5in;">book updates, recs, and the occasional cookie recipe</span><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #757575; font-size: 15px; text-indent: 0.5in;">!</span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #757575; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">*Rainbow Snippets is a (Facebook) group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers who gather once a week to share snippets from a work of fiction–-a WIP or a finished work or even a book recommendation. If you're interested in following a diverse group of authors,</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/" style="background: transparent; color: #19557f; font-size: small; text-decoration-line: none;"> check it out here</a></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">.</span></span></div></div></div>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-87438710198898524862022-02-23T09:43:00.003-06:002022-02-23T09:43:41.772-06:00Irish Coffee<p> I was digging around in a file, looking for some old notes, and I happened upon this flash fiction I wrote a few years ago for a contest and thought I'd share. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2XNIY3kOejZjorqfJ_zqU0CGxOggq5llXemZL1HmE9q9rYfS1Dmm1JDBrDlunLCXRk3pQGcDUrRq4En9Q7yGAxjUUmbsekoeLmFRbpKDxQOHpiSfUfcPg5sfWZbBeaCYUIv84pUDugJeUh9dwGvk4T8hR7yVkmnVcRR1qNHVng8H3ikAxpwDHBK-jjg=s4659" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3106" data-original-width="4659" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2XNIY3kOejZjorqfJ_zqU0CGxOggq5llXemZL1HmE9q9rYfS1Dmm1JDBrDlunLCXRk3pQGcDUrRq4En9Q7yGAxjUUmbsekoeLmFRbpKDxQOHpiSfUfcPg5sfWZbBeaCYUIv84pUDugJeUh9dwGvk4T8hR7yVkmnVcRR1qNHVng8H3ikAxpwDHBK-jjg=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p> <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The coffee is more Irish than I am. That has to be it, the reason I see Death in the corner. He’s dressed in black, just as you’d expect. Well, except, instead of a robe, Death is wearing a peacoat. And a beanie instead of a hood. But I suppose Death can wear whatever he wants. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Oh, and he has blond curls framing his unbony face. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And a smile formed by plump lips, not clacking teeth. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">That’s unexpected. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Okay, I confess, the drink in my hand is all Irish with no coffee, I’m not Irish in the least, and that probably isn’t Death. And, oh fuck, he’s weaving through the crowd towards me. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But tipsy or not, I’ve spent the day looking for Death, certain he was close. After all, he’s left hints everywhere. The first popped up as I bought breakfast. “That’ll be $6.66,” the perky girl behind the counter said. Then a black dog lurked as I got into my car. Later, there was this strange tick tick tick; surely time counting down. And someone needs to explain the three knocks on my office door where no one stood. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The portents can’t be ignored: Death has been searching for me. Panic numbs my hands: I’m not ready. I have so much yet to do. Paint the living room. Learn to ski. Climb a mountain. Hell, I want to run with the bulls. (Okay, yeah, I really don’t want to do that last one. But I’m making a point here. <i>There are things I still want to do</i>.) Like, maybe…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Fall in love.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I’m 28, for fuck’s sake. I should have fallen in love a dozen times by now. And maybe I thought I had once or twice. But it never stuck. I liked him, he didn’t like me. He liked me but I was still in the closet. I was out of the closet and he was straight. It was always something. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">True, there had been a fling with my college roommate. He’d claimed to be experimenting, but I suspect he’s more bi than curious. He’d invited me to his wedding, which was a nice gesture. The bride was radiant. The groom was dapper. I was horny. (I still feel guilty about the indiscretion in the restroom during the reception, but it’s not my fault he followed me into the stall.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A grin threatens to split my face as I force my eyes to focus. Damn, but Death is cute. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Hey, sexy,” Death says as he stands over me. He has the greenest eyes, reminding me of spring days. “You look lonely. Mind if I sit?” I point to an empty chair and his smile widens. “I’m Dan,” he says. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Jim,” I say as I grasp his warm hand; he’s definitely not Death. We shake a few seconds longer than necessary. Screw dying and mountains and bulls. I think I’ll fall in love first. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;">Just a little self promotion: my writing blog is <a href="https://headphones366.blogspot.com" target="_blank">here</a>. </p>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-65447028686417288242022-01-01T11:27:00.003-06:002022-01-02T06:28:02.339-06:002021 In Pictures<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One thing that has come out of the last two years is discovering the charms of our local Nature Center. I'd taken the kids out there for special events a few times when they were younger, but I'd never spent time there as a way to center my mental health. In many ways, these few acres have helped me keep my sanity through this insane time. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hZl-qBbta5ZX-7g0dp1pDdOY0LBbE5BbMnWyog0G_xB5j8geEwLgRqd-59QgwkynkNzTPzvMOi9DTm6D-nE-wOORgq6bxB1aIQdNUQlmPG7IxjzsLpqCrslqeAUYL3J94Jk8z3Uke_k/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hZl-qBbta5ZX-7g0dp1pDdOY0LBbE5BbMnWyog0G_xB5j8geEwLgRqd-59QgwkynkNzTPzvMOi9DTm6D-nE-wOORgq6bxB1aIQdNUQlmPG7IxjzsLpqCrslqeAUYL3J94Jk8z3Uke_k/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRS6FFTeM4enME6VJCVqkVSIoJe9d7rnuqdKI4lyoj2uSeblwcSFlzWyroRYYcxewLbs7lxOeEX1Coa-OyXmZok5Fy9xov-kIJpisILcUet1i7NU4GNngbAK49-W0amtxeqXLl-5oljHVHgHPBLV6SiXLfahzA-5n2JuUV3VR1pzfJCLwJ592G55z6=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRS6FFTeM4enME6VJCVqkVSIoJe9d7rnuqdKI4lyoj2uSeblwcSFlzWyroRYYcxewLbs7lxOeEX1Coa-OyXmZok5Fy9xov-kIJpisILcUet1i7NU4GNngbAK49-W0amtxeqXLl-5oljHVHgHPBLV6SiXLfahzA-5n2JuUV3VR1pzfJCLwJ592G55z6=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6gvFrPNmfxqPQi8P2BM58yxP9C3jiPYJdFZ6I3QlhdzKlzjH9WK4RzWp_1PRTz0EdpGa3rsfo8-Z6UhbSUBsm9Omgu2gQ_s5l0Ww_JLXBMdVCGoObg5OhcKMAkk9JMLSNakj9nwRW6Qf_yCO0RKhckdAI1-6v-oHho9-iJjtqIJucr5vL12bzkwVw=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6gvFrPNmfxqPQi8P2BM58yxP9C3jiPYJdFZ6I3QlhdzKlzjH9WK4RzWp_1PRTz0EdpGa3rsfo8-Z6UhbSUBsm9Omgu2gQ_s5l0Ww_JLXBMdVCGoObg5OhcKMAkk9JMLSNakj9nwRW6Qf_yCO0RKhckdAI1-6v-oHho9-iJjtqIJucr5vL12bzkwVw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We added Silver to the Jones clowder. She was gifted to us by the local Momma Cat. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN0zeNmr9HXk3X3JmWby-Th4EO75ppCsveTwPeyMTRx_SNwJGBspSQ-2BKkT3NhDpJtmORj0jBsPEebur7A8VY4vc9qGzVkEC7_Zl5molmdyxhbhEm4vQ7TxL9XFSXJgWA25ETdQB6ys/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN0zeNmr9HXk3X3JmWby-Th4EO75ppCsveTwPeyMTRx_SNwJGBspSQ-2BKkT3NhDpJtmORj0jBsPEebur7A8VY4vc9qGzVkEC7_Zl5molmdyxhbhEm4vQ7TxL9XFSXJgWA25ETdQB6ys/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Little Black is another of her kittens from a previous litter that decided to hang around.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh14Rgxqb192e3dZRxPMqIHwDS60tnnFZ1ztRtVtA-CaKyiM5TjpevhWDjdvRtfqzJM-0qbFbDyisRNeGRFd4ORNMmTbO6RTPj3p4EdUwFQp5kwovbmzmpiPG4i5vu7fy9g_G-Z8vkNtv_VxXNXGlnHqvHK0FoLLtT6-rYZ-LNjxpr2dIggxP5_q4zu=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh14Rgxqb192e3dZRxPMqIHwDS60tnnFZ1ztRtVtA-CaKyiM5TjpevhWDjdvRtfqzJM-0qbFbDyisRNeGRFd4ORNMmTbO6RTPj3p4EdUwFQp5kwovbmzmpiPG4i5vu7fy9g_G-Z8vkNtv_VxXNXGlnHqvHK0FoLLtT6-rYZ-LNjxpr2dIggxP5_q4zu=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> There was moon light</span>.</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDQAQpGFGoGE7ZrqmsAM3yTOABNKISety9dFg3LHMljeu3MydOcvOQWY6M0RmKVSssztnJV7HwlYqX-sFo4aW3v72XgzC_HQkaSZ7kS47-kiRQqKhvVhP933zPEgpUXTfH5GuWZi69kKRYLCqDZhvlf7OojN6CNadFJG4uB-eMmF1RMloYNNkUvBnV=s3336" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2502" data-original-width="3336" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDQAQpGFGoGE7ZrqmsAM3yTOABNKISety9dFg3LHMljeu3MydOcvOQWY6M0RmKVSssztnJV7HwlYqX-sFo4aW3v72XgzC_HQkaSZ7kS47-kiRQqKhvVhP933zPEgpUXTfH5GuWZi69kKRYLCqDZhvlf7OojN6CNadFJG4uB-eMmF1RMloYNNkUvBnV=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And the squirrel we rescued and released. Peanut's injuries were worse than we at first thought, and he didn't make it through the summer, but we were able to give him some extra months. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMXZHVS-UGH1SFuu0eERt7IX76_YM-bFe8I-34uYK46Zv7i3n8elMqVfaUACKFKGgqPLgvF-AstXehgXC3hCNg_jkx3t4Qtzm8DgISMrm3ODNVdxCt28ICSffd1q-IWdbYjEMk7VTmBLMaKQxcD5cDsYmwkK6BfLzWqxrM36lX0aH4HpdRVCFRJdOo=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwsWbT1dFy7qLUJvN6wv2SySqXvi2wauEIYzpmAI3wQlPlefqoaz4rbwW53vD7wq4jXADzOmPMcLl0ZvCoF1-FAWHZ4oLfjWqUJTtzdkHrGU7LxbiSEnpd6FQnsvXjuK20ue0zdJVay5KASsipBeWqI3Ugk08Z_sKGbVj2C1AUKRPze418kigRLKN9=s598" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="598" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwsWbT1dFy7qLUJvN6wv2SySqXvi2wauEIYzpmAI3wQlPlefqoaz4rbwW53vD7wq4jXADzOmPMcLl0ZvCoF1-FAWHZ4oLfjWqUJTtzdkHrGU7LxbiSEnpd6FQnsvXjuK20ue0zdJVay5KASsipBeWqI3Ugk08Z_sKGbVj2C1AUKRPze418kigRLKN9=w400-h399" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMXZHVS-UGH1SFuu0eERt7IX76_YM-bFe8I-34uYK46Zv7i3n8elMqVfaUACKFKGgqPLgvF-AstXehgXC3hCNg_jkx3t4Qtzm8DgISMrm3ODNVdxCt28ICSffd1q-IWdbYjEMk7VTmBLMaKQxcD5cDsYmwkK6BfLzWqxrM36lX0aH4HpdRVCFRJdOo=w400-h300" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And my trips to the Nature Center continued throughout the Fall. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggBbFsCEAJMNIr8OUDXPP-OZdciw1XjSEYxXq6L5LyYbmsAT6EVh1NufJ6FoRtdhhn3WFxyx1dC9J81DA6daMPLclu7ckkBjOUy5D74KKNpR9wvv1aHkp4_7udR_TmXcpEH4G_kCjt1yEWjrRhOg07XjIX9s3GQKBLZcA20NdvK4MJA9DAeWR2Y6es=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggBbFsCEAJMNIr8OUDXPP-OZdciw1XjSEYxXq6L5LyYbmsAT6EVh1NufJ6FoRtdhhn3WFxyx1dC9J81DA6daMPLclu7ckkBjOUy5D74KKNpR9wvv1aHkp4_7udR_TmXcpEH4G_kCjt1yEWjrRhOg07XjIX9s3GQKBLZcA20NdvK4MJA9DAeWR2Y6es=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQFadOy58OKwWGHDFXE44RHjk_e3EYGBn7NZK629DlbFQW0HNF7cHae55ZOCs9LXsny7pniz_O15CW1o9uc9jhzrH8wo6EqFucDbN0k2Iw7XHy4a59Z4NCZfJ4Bp3X8GOwnooMzsA9Z6NB_ivJCNH8xCYs14viOum9CsFebvCzGuPAmJg33BI7_ixs=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQFadOy58OKwWGHDFXE44RHjk_e3EYGBn7NZK629DlbFQW0HNF7cHae55ZOCs9LXsny7pniz_O15CW1o9uc9jhzrH8wo6EqFucDbN0k2Iw7XHy4a59Z4NCZfJ4Bp3X8GOwnooMzsA9Z6NB_ivJCNH8xCYs14viOum9CsFebvCzGuPAmJg33BI7_ixs=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMDp_mMvJtUfua_C8Hkd_pTMNEe9a1lkUCgP7RYMQGRS9c9a5htcLzNZTBP-U-wZEzyOwWWAQ4-A3VezWXxRZreHI-QD2w6zyz1ExEyioj6a8MBzbzG__QxZXOwShDc_H0AWy2-KHQREnVF7yFgz82AtQrC2OELipEL5lJvn2kNkulJ8cvvlcaWZ5_=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMDp_mMvJtUfua_C8Hkd_pTMNEe9a1lkUCgP7RYMQGRS9c9a5htcLzNZTBP-U-wZEzyOwWWAQ4-A3VezWXxRZreHI-QD2w6zyz1ExEyioj6a8MBzbzG__QxZXOwShDc_H0AWy2-KHQREnVF7yFgz82AtQrC2OELipEL5lJvn2kNkulJ8cvvlcaWZ5_=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGoapFCryLBsRVgxO5SCc-SKd-rhsGu21lZgxNQtCGgxA8S96ZzySDbAzDe5jMQ2ja90F9UiBP4g7_ql0VugNosGlWLB_pFTmnRs34S68qP3OisqzH3lqavnSpaYj4-o84iKWZbaF98oeHKyuQFwUWxAGdQPuiSCPG2mZp01q8Z4BtX3kRotshrR_W=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGoapFCryLBsRVgxO5SCc-SKd-rhsGu21lZgxNQtCGgxA8S96ZzySDbAzDe5jMQ2ja90F9UiBP4g7_ql0VugNosGlWLB_pFTmnRs34S68qP3OisqzH3lqavnSpaYj4-o84iKWZbaF98oeHKyuQFwUWxAGdQPuiSCPG2mZp01q8Z4BtX3kRotshrR_W=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And we ended the year with a visit from my daughter, who wasn't able to come home last year because of the pandemic. Having her here was the best present. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-VeclGX2HcX2BldE7f5MZdgFzOqj_7x1bWVEYXctcmpiSZpbTYxl9m956sdLXBC5CKcGatFCKxiD36JbzACrRSy8faaH9VmfrQ7I78_1YNqAyqVk6lz3J3MYKSQO4UpS50eiEEeWzFdlDudRQ6bPKpDlEsf5vLvmLuQh_r-9nA-9KhTZWoW_A6GWd=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-VeclGX2HcX2BldE7f5MZdgFzOqj_7x1bWVEYXctcmpiSZpbTYxl9m956sdLXBC5CKcGatFCKxiD36JbzACrRSy8faaH9VmfrQ7I78_1YNqAyqVk6lz3J3MYKSQO4UpS50eiEEeWzFdlDudRQ6bPKpDlEsf5vLvmLuQh_r-9nA-9KhTZWoW_A6GWd=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-50197067670436910402021-01-21T13:44:00.003-06:002021-01-21T13:45:15.692-06:00A Moment Caught on Camera <p style="text-align: justify;"> There are so many wonderful pictures from yesterday, so many that make my heart sing, but I really think this one with President Obama and Vice-President Harris is my number one favorite. Who says you can't read a person's face if it's covered with a mask? That is 100% unadulterated joy and happiness. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdMPjDNunHUtHIdDUY4OmnMxs_T99wiaI9R8-Ii-59hpoCZZ2Kl9fxfjQSXFsZkk4LR6pEhEHu21zuxGRTNKgGvasOUEdC1XHLd1ak9r3OSmbBTo-gkIeLRXrQfl0oWFnVhZpX4ZY8sk/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdMPjDNunHUtHIdDUY4OmnMxs_T99wiaI9R8-Ii-59hpoCZZ2Kl9fxfjQSXFsZkk4LR6pEhEHu21zuxGRTNKgGvasOUEdC1XHLd1ak9r3OSmbBTo-gkIeLRXrQfl0oWFnVhZpX4ZY8sk/w400-h268/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-39381235682587437382020-12-30T17:09:00.001-06:002020-12-30T17:09:53.201-06:00Looking Back, Looking Forward-- Oh Hell, Let's Just Get On With It!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9DHSITH6d954PhzwhFWfreKQVAaxDiASuisurZGKtBtEXeg3ALTN4N4l10hGSvoBzDLaH2UPHl1fM2JemPKsoje3pohjp5QSUlsJqD5vvw76sdmt8uzuvKWKI-A8l-c8ySM7LokiNQs/s2048/Pip+02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9DHSITH6d954PhzwhFWfreKQVAaxDiASuisurZGKtBtEXeg3ALTN4N4l10hGSvoBzDLaH2UPHl1fM2JemPKsoje3pohjp5QSUlsJqD5vvw76sdmt8uzuvKWKI-A8l-c8ySM7LokiNQs/w400-h300/Pip+02.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>It's that time of year again. We list our "best of"s, or reflect on our accomplishments, or make goals for the coming year. </p><p>But what can we say about 2020? Maybe "I survived!" is enough. </p><p>It's a year that will probably be looked at by the next generations as something the old folks talk about ad nauseum. The Spanish Flu was followed by The Roaring 20s. Will we get our own version? Because I think we deserve it!</p><p>I'm not going to rehash any of it-- hell, we've all lived through it, even if groups of us were looking at it through different colored lenses. There are going to be lasting effects on our psyches, certainly. </p><p>I've become more introverted. </p><p>I'm not the eternal optimist I used to be. </p><p>I fear I'll have a hard time breathing any time I get caught in a crowd. </p><p>Some of my relationships have been irreparably damaged.</p><p>And yet there has been some positives. I've grown closer with my husband and son. I've made use of our local nature center, which is good for both my cardio health and my mental health. I've built my baking business. And I've made some strides in my writing. </p><p>It's not over, yet. I'm afraid 2021 is still going to be rough. But I'm hopeful. </p><p>Knock on wood. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-44559927467365963122020-11-08T08:25:00.002-06:002020-11-08T08:25:41.386-06:00Hallelujah!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5182hOnQF4dF2IAkgNKoa6jj9zrU_cTgz0zQEU8D7EeWpWdoenu_b8mOfOzPYyDKLXNgqNZJj2JBv-jB6hBE_a94E2q94c_KA0gDXmao11A3i3TSFzXetUp-FOaVx3BuwwliwELgcPk/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5182hOnQF4dF2IAkgNKoa6jj9zrU_cTgz0zQEU8D7EeWpWdoenu_b8mOfOzPYyDKLXNgqNZJj2JBv-jB6hBE_a94E2q94c_KA0gDXmao11A3i3TSFzXetUp-FOaVx3BuwwliwELgcPk/s320/rainbow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank the goddess, I get to replace my #resist header! I know it's not over and we still have approximately 11 weeks before President Biden and VP Harris are actually in the White House. I imagine the next few weeks will be messy, but maybe I'm wrong, and instead of getting violent, the Magats will slink away and do nothing more than pout. Fingers crossed. </div><br /><p></p>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-15870175346837994142020-10-19T17:09:00.000-05:002020-10-19T17:09:05.144-05:00Six Month Check-In (Or is it the Seventh...or Eighth? Hell, I Don't Even Know Anymore)<p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><p>This week The New
York Times published an article about Pandemic Fatigue. It was interesting, and
definitely something I’ve witnessed in the population around me. The article
discusses the replacing of the fear that many people felt in the Spring with the
fatigue that results from living with continual upheaval. I live in a corner of
the country where much of the population has decided they’re done with it, and
they are ignoring the recommendations. No masks or social distancing for them!</p><p></p></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">What I think we’ll
see in the coming years will be various forms of PTSD. Some will continue to be
introverts that are never comfortable in crowds or groups. People that were
border-line hypochondriacs will continue to worry about every cough, every
fever.</div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">And then there will
be the hoarders. </div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My grandparents
were adults during the Great Depression with a passel of kids to feed and
clothe, and as a result, my grandmother became a bit of a hoarder. She stuffed
the toys she crocheted with old hose and bread bags. She saved every butter
dish and every scrap of material. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNt-5yoh2268DEFwPfTRv5SQCRyB5IifQJGtS4OmyWnVFteYCzKFkv2ZgGNNV2zLrHFTDaV8TYSIheMuvr8jwRLpP7qm-Blu500ynACp3iKDQn2Sg8ptszLT7WuPFUY7QS7mwez1bfxc/s2048/Oct+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNt-5yoh2268DEFwPfTRv5SQCRyB5IifQJGtS4OmyWnVFteYCzKFkv2ZgGNNV2zLrHFTDaV8TYSIheMuvr8jwRLpP7qm-Blu500ynACp3iKDQn2Sg8ptszLT7WuPFUY7QS7mwez1bfxc/s320/Oct+003.jpg" /></a></div></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I see that in
myself, only with food. I keep buying things that we normally don’t use– fruit
cups and juice drinks, canned meat, dry milk– all because I fear fresh fruit
and juice, meat and milk, will become scarce. And my freezer is full. It’s
enough food to feed the three of us for two months or more, and yet I still
keep buying. I’m running out of room. </div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I know it’s
because I work in a grocery store and I see each week what we aren’t getting
and the rumors of what we might not get in the next few months. But there comes
a point when I need to stop. And still, I buy. </div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I want to believe,
a year from now, this will be behind us and we can get back to normal. But I
have to wonder how many of us won’t be able to. </div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">
</div>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-76068254959389660542020-07-15T15:01:00.001-05:002020-07-15T15:01:48.838-05:00Around the House #4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsxTZ42vjpN7er3MFdJq7fN7oyFyDcxvYHsbrO4EjHK1SyeOKSRtuyxVCy8Kc3hKU_BCjFqD54HWNLn8pAOPJUKBNIRdcg0DQu-pw00DQmrk_9v48pdm8j6oBQAGmoAeMK38l6BC9Xgc/s1600/around+the+house.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="109" data-original-width="174" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsxTZ42vjpN7er3MFdJq7fN7oyFyDcxvYHsbrO4EjHK1SyeOKSRtuyxVCy8Kc3hKU_BCjFqD54HWNLn8pAOPJUKBNIRdcg0DQu-pw00DQmrk_9v48pdm8j6oBQAGmoAeMK38l6BC9Xgc/s320/around+the+house.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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Not all of my favorite things are in my house. Some of them are outside. </div>
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When we bought our house 21 years ago, there were no trees in the yard. Apparently, the previous owners didn't like to rake? Or didn't like shade? Who knows. So I went a bit crazy and planted a half-dozen, thinking that some of them I'd bought were "smaller" trees. </div>
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I was wrong.</div>
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They've turned into big trees, all. But my favorite is this Mimosa that I actually brought from our old house. It was nothing more than a twig when I dug it up and now it reaches over our two-story. It's in full bloom right now and it smells like a perfume factory--almost overbearingly so. But it attracts hummingbirds and there are violets growing in the cleft where the trunk divides. Which is why it's one of my favorite things!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zZKotrhJqTx7lEEdYXScpFzBTTvxpfyCsJgokGgxGkNtDWH7CPSSvN52nwKLR0mB7tiQEtRJBAKERIl8cuzMVEnsULTtvMDkYSS8goxDsWX92RnvuO32Ba98qBLSgoysiDswNCDyPjQ/s1600/trees+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zZKotrhJqTx7lEEdYXScpFzBTTvxpfyCsJgokGgxGkNtDWH7CPSSvN52nwKLR0mB7tiQEtRJBAKERIl8cuzMVEnsULTtvMDkYSS8goxDsWX92RnvuO32Ba98qBLSgoysiDswNCDyPjQ/s400/trees+002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Pnew2hwfWPQg6NDBTihVEpRkQ-eZV9fcxvbZt2XPoGGXfPA2VAX6-1MJZOb4twxeEF6NvYMrzbV4qPIG3e_x3KkvV1GO4zSE5MioQsh-obbGqCdk_bBwvMFGX4OgdjLa0iugYUBmCyA/s1600/violets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Pnew2hwfWPQg6NDBTihVEpRkQ-eZV9fcxvbZt2XPoGGXfPA2VAX6-1MJZOb4twxeEF6NvYMrzbV4qPIG3e_x3KkvV1GO4zSE5MioQsh-obbGqCdk_bBwvMFGX4OgdjLa0iugYUBmCyA/s320/violets.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-26934495063362864962020-07-06T12:21:00.000-05:002020-07-06T13:14:25.711-05:00Cats on a Shelf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We have a fence around our back yard, partly because of the neighbors, and partly because we have a pool. But we weren't thinking when we put it up-- my garden is on the other side. Which meant I had to walk all of the way around to get to the garden. Yup, poor planning on our part. Anyway, my husband put in a gate last summer and built a little shelf on it. I didn't even notice, which shows how observent I am. But the cats did. We have a bit of a cat problem in our neighborhood-- namely a Momma Cat that is very prolific. (I really should dig up some money and take her for a little trip) </div>
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Needless to say, this a daily occurance. The particular cats just change from time to time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZrugPlUQ2zHodE-vEu4FxYB8pVyLJfmYJeqWhlxKMcaEVnAhZlu8Ihg1I5GPkvb7gAZv_PIPNotQ2a-Rto1bVafXZKPlsLupuIGVbsl7sGeme4ycM_ogw1C33UL3XL1QfzxRWnjCZCU/s1600/RW+%2526+B+006_cr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="1600" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZrugPlUQ2zHodE-vEu4FxYB8pVyLJfmYJeqWhlxKMcaEVnAhZlu8Ihg1I5GPkvb7gAZv_PIPNotQ2a-Rto1bVafXZKPlsLupuIGVbsl7sGeme4ycM_ogw1C33UL3XL1QfzxRWnjCZCU/s400/RW+%2526+B+006_cr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-66785148955378396952020-06-11T09:28:00.002-05:002020-06-11T15:28:00.367-05:00Gnarly! Like, Fer Sure!<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Raybeard wrote a
post about the removal of <i>Gone with the
Wind</i> from HBO Max. I’m not going to repeat what he wrote. <a href="https://raybeard.blogspot.com/2020/06/has-gone-with-wind-now-gone-with-wind.html" target="_blank">Here’s the link if you would like to read it</a>. I’m not even going to comment on the movie
because honestly, I’ve never watched it. Nor have I read the book. I have no
interest in them. But it did get me to thinking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
For context: I hit
my teens in the late 70s. I grew up in an all-white area in the USA mid-west Bible Belt. I was
a typical kid. I drank a little, I smoked occasionally, I had a great group of
friends. We “cruised” on Friday and Saturday nights, bowled, played arcade
games, and went to the movie theater. Although I considered myself to be the "hippy" of the group, interested in the women's movement and civil rights, I'm not sure my awareness of the wider world came until college. (I'm pretty sure it wasn't until college that I added gay rights to that list, simply because I didn't know.) </div>
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Fast forward to
2020. About two and a half months ago we fired up the VHS player and started
rewatching some old Dr. Who we had. And then we dug through our collection and
continued watching these old movies that we thought were brilliant back in the 80s and 90s. <i>Alien</i> and <i>The Thing </i>and <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><i>Jurassic</i></st1:placename><i> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></i></st1:place>.
And two weeks ago, we dug out some teen movies from the 80s. <i>Valley Girl, Sweet Sixteen</i>, and <i>Fast Times at Ridgemont High</i>. There were
parts I still thought were funny, but oh, my, have they not aged well. <br />
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<img alt="Fast Times At Ridgemont High (1982) - Rotten Tomatoes" height="200" src="https://resizing.flixster.com/x3QWv07F3Q1lj-n-xMjMLtkaF7E=/206x305/v1.bTsxMTE5MDExNDtqOzE4NTM0OzEyMDA7ODAwOzEyMDA" width="135" /></div>
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Would I recommend
them to a young person today? Not unless they asked specifically for an example
of something problematic. But I think they’re important for that very reason.
The things I didn’t notice when I was 20 that jump out at me now show me that I’ve
grown, that I’ve paid attention and become a better person. And some movies,
like Gone with the Wind, show a snapshot of our history. We need to have that,
something tangible that we can judge ourselves on. It’s one thing for me to
tell my kids and the young people I work with “this is how it was when I was
your age” but it’s another for them to see it, to hopefully learn something about my generation from
it. If nothing else, it’s a place to start a discussion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
One thing that
surprised me as we’ve been doing our nostalgia viewing—<i>WKRP in <st1:city w:st="on">Cincinnati</st1:city></i> actually held
up pretty well. There are a few episodes that weren’t so great, but it’s
amazing how many issues that were featured on that show are relevant once
again. If anyone doesn’t believe the current administration hasn’t pushed us
back decades, I think the proof is in the viewing!</div>
Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-78799857569232316162020-06-04T11:00:00.000-05:002020-06-04T11:00:41.607-05:00While The World Burns...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgIvYSzS3y95kB2qOYtt4C80dAdjAJM9CmJ78s-OTo2jPn5jokmKWndnA9KvifFkofJB6ts6Cj_fV7lPLEJIrF8-79_YKCh4GniDFppmmKc45MRIbf2u5lzCzfyyLd-SwMGDLvFZ8iJc/s1600/blog+004_cr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgIvYSzS3y95kB2qOYtt4C80dAdjAJM9CmJ78s-OTo2jPn5jokmKWndnA9KvifFkofJB6ts6Cj_fV7lPLEJIrF8-79_YKCh4GniDFppmmKc45MRIbf2u5lzCzfyyLd-SwMGDLvFZ8iJc/s400/blog+004_cr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I went for a walk yesterday because I realized I hadn't taken so much as a step ouside our yard in a week--haven't even wanted to. If I didn't occasionally need to go to the store or the bank, I could happily never leave the property. I hope this fades, especially when the time comes for me to go back to work. Except, there's this little voice that keeps whispering "<b><i>if</i></b> you go back to work". Which, unless some rich relative I don't know about dies and leaves me money, isn't possible. This leave-of-absence really is meant to be a temporary thing. Last week I went into the grocery store where I've worked for 22 years and was surprised by how much I missed it. And for about ten minutes I considered going back part time. But... I have no filter. The boss would have to fire me within the first week. So, I guess I'll stay home a tad longer and watch my roses bloom. </div>
<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-61459292726079113472020-05-12T18:05:00.003-05:002020-05-13T07:41:52.951-05:00Life in a Bubble<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Image may contain: possible text that says 'hate when people ask me what did yesterday. don't know, I breathed a lot. Probably got mad at something... Sighed heavily. The list goes on.'" height="298" src="https://scontent-ort2-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/95957516_3146059172158947_3569997067206000640_n.jpg?_nc_cat=111&_nc_sid=8024bb&_nc_ohc=15VejtpGj6QAX---7fH&_nc_ht=scontent-ort2-2.xx&oh=0dc8de017c38ab7e293cfd107c6aa9f5&oe=5EDFFEE3" width="400" /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
This feels pretty spot-on. I started my "leave of absence" full of energy. For the first three weeks, I caught up on some cleaning that really needed doing. And there was plenty of writing and editing work to keep me occupied. Plus, there was the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086XL4G8M" target="_blank"><i>Working Stiffs</i></a> release that I was devoting time to.</div>
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But...</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
It got cold again. And Facebook is full of scared, confused people. But it's my lifeline to people I care about, so I can't not get on it. And the world started to feel heavy. And I've found out I really need my days to be scheduled. I'm almost amazed that a part of me misses work. I miss my friends. I halfway entertained going back--at least a few hours a day. But I know if I do I'll end up right back where I was at the end of March. Chest pains and anxiety. Physically, I'm so much better now. Mentally, I'm struggling. And I know this will pass. </div>
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IT WILL GET BETTER.</div>
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Or so I keep telling myself. </div>
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Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-22195338008765305122020-05-05T18:35:00.000-05:002020-05-05T18:35:41.917-05:00Around the House 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNK-fymYybvC3o5nsML5c8bfzNQM_-Gpfy9kQFB1muqBtLoNsraZmnW7b7iyK6ADzZ8AJxqKCBMgtStS4mGsaxOcfp6PH9k3a-ELqogWkgbghG5cijUPJs1x4i3F3vlyvNgwFmP-Do8M/s1600/around+the+house.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="109" data-original-width="174" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNK-fymYybvC3o5nsML5c8bfzNQM_-Gpfy9kQFB1muqBtLoNsraZmnW7b7iyK6ADzZ8AJxqKCBMgtStS4mGsaxOcfp6PH9k3a-ELqogWkgbghG5cijUPJs1x4i3F3vlyvNgwFmP-Do8M/s400/around+the+house.bmp" width="400" /></a></div>
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I'm used to being on my feet for most of the day. But now that I'm home, that isn't happening and I'm afraid I'll really be hurting when I go back to work. The husband and I have taken a few walks, but the weather has been cool and wet and it's been hit and miss. So I set up a corner with the treadmill that I always meant to use but rarely did (because I was on my feet all day). We don't have cable so I've hooked up an old DVD player to on old 13" television and pulled out the DVDs I haven't watched in years. It was Waterfalls last week, this week is going to be season 1 of Buffy. And ya know, it's been kind of fun!</div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-58792412250409521712020-04-27T15:02:00.001-05:002020-04-27T15:02:51.014-05:00Afternoon Excitement!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Before and after pictures. I was pulling out of my drive, heading out to Mom's to take her some stuff, and I saw smoke billowing on the next block over. At first I thought it was the store where I work, but it was a garage on the block between us. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7fr8MJS2oBKSbmneK0ySQXzbduQ-zvng6lttqgvAjiJLiMIVhbzO8z3yEeMS6-Ifa-YYYC7AYK6ZOxyNzWBeRgRWn2lbtXLWbAqflCeq-YkiA6P7yRnYfjnJ8Nvv4xzqOkvRmQkdnow/s1600/April+fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7fr8MJS2oBKSbmneK0ySQXzbduQ-zvng6lttqgvAjiJLiMIVhbzO8z3yEeMS6-Ifa-YYYC7AYK6ZOxyNzWBeRgRWn2lbtXLWbAqflCeq-YkiA6P7yRnYfjnJ8Nvv4xzqOkvRmQkdnow/s640/April+fire.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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I had to keep driving or get parked in (by people that were definitely not social distancing!), so I kept going. The fire trucks were just leaving when I got back to town. It looks like the house is okay, maybe a little roof-singe, but since they weren't attached, they were lucky. Their new "plastic" fence didn't fare so well, though. Which just shows how hot it was. The family (and their two dogs) are all okay, although the dad had to go to the hospital for a burn on his ankle.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_A8UGZwQsGItIYwIhSwk2BL6-W4c33lwvgwS1ArgmQfBNC7iHYOUFo_hFdhFjkNid7LxRFcpg2SfQWB5bsOLXY_tMpHZhS-NHpsO4AQ6C7SbqZT-_r8SyIwdPMogjBqSoGMbsTpENGhM/s1600/April+034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_A8UGZwQsGItIYwIhSwk2BL6-W4c33lwvgwS1ArgmQfBNC7iHYOUFo_hFdhFjkNid7LxRFcpg2SfQWB5bsOLXY_tMpHZhS-NHpsO4AQ6C7SbqZT-_r8SyIwdPMogjBqSoGMbsTpENGhM/s400/April+034.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I guess that broke up the tedium for a few people.</div>
<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-78959538514365971612020-04-19T14:00:00.001-05:002020-04-19T14:01:27.723-05:00Around the House 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9vgb049FT8Lkbjb9ThK_bKa8RJqAOXJLiwj_ybk7MD7z4Na2V3kTk_DBYIG8V4s_yqkULDsOLZerpAxGjM4VNK_8s17up6_AxELN8p6QVIAM0_xrcEIqFlTorCijxKsKnuAI7853QQM/s1600/around+the+house.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="109" data-original-width="174" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9vgb049FT8Lkbjb9ThK_bKa8RJqAOXJLiwj_ybk7MD7z4Na2V3kTk_DBYIG8V4s_yqkULDsOLZerpAxGjM4VNK_8s17up6_AxELN8p6QVIAM0_xrcEIqFlTorCijxKsKnuAI7853QQM/s320/around+the+house.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of my favorite things-- my Unicorn Hex sign. I should have tried to take a picture that actually shows how large it is. (1 yard wide). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm19Fl_xS4SY2uEYsFoydJGs4vSWNniuIuua2zOXj2Lmh0IMZA3vjGBqT3sRYl-sNaoUhcReLwHaruLqyslHEyqt11o-GGCcb1nm8sL8pmd9aX8NwlTs-dd6k57fEexsib8-boNuucyY/s1600/april+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm19Fl_xS4SY2uEYsFoydJGs4vSWNniuIuua2zOXj2Lmh0IMZA3vjGBqT3sRYl-sNaoUhcReLwHaruLqyslHEyqt11o-GGCcb1nm8sL8pmd9aX8NwlTs-dd6k57fEexsib8-boNuucyY/s400/april+020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My first job, the kind where taxes were actually deducted, was waitressing at a local restaurant. It started out as a Dutch Pantry, but by the time I worked there, it was just The Pantry. I worked there during my Junior and Senior years. And then I worked summers and holidays through college. </div>
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When the owner remodeled, he took down all of the hex signs and I grabbed onto this one. I collected Unicorns back then and this was the ultimate prize. It's hung on a wall in every house I've lived in ever since.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC_KXlZzIT7a39shCDLIA0IV_NOa3b7JqVSkb6gqsa1DErMZSfD8NpMJ5fNMa7n0dLnCsmDL6lzVpbjuEunt0k2cYoBWuxUS2meyiqAOSqPmo_Wb2FIL2pxEEg-5sfdog-YFEdR0JlEs/s1600/Pantry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="944" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC_KXlZzIT7a39shCDLIA0IV_NOa3b7JqVSkb6gqsa1DErMZSfD8NpMJ5fNMa7n0dLnCsmDL6lzVpbjuEunt0k2cYoBWuxUS2meyiqAOSqPmo_Wb2FIL2pxEEg-5sfdog-YFEdR0JlEs/s400/Pantry.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(I wish I had a better picture, but back in the stone age, before digital, you never knew what you were going to get until it was too late!)</div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-46991037228983424412020-04-15T10:29:00.001-05:002020-04-18T18:42:19.903-05:00I Can Finally Call Myself an Author!Started in 1981 as something to do during study hall, Headphones and the occupants of The House became companions that lived in my head, their stories growing and evolving over the years. In 2013 I decided to give them new life and prove to myself that I could finish something. The result was an online serial that ran from January 1, 2015, to January 1, 2016. To call it a vanity project is probably generous. But by the end of the year, I was getting 100 hits a day from readers around the world. For someone who grew up without the internet and social media, it was exciting. Early last year I decided to rewrite it into a publishable book. The problem was, it was too long for one book. My solution? Make it into a trilogy! So I introduce, nearly 40 years in the making, <i><b>Headphones</b></i>!<br />
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Book one: </div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086V68YS5/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1" style="background: transparent; color: #2196f3; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><i><b>In from the Cold</b></i></a> introduces Headphones and a group of friends who are going about their lives while not truly living them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPs_NdxL2KS-zv3Y_LAHypCCYuEUcBh3U_yKv1cns_qOo5qFWa-uCpJ23_XqyH8RtLMShQEc_1umfANEV92ULtcWPDnZMLh-7x5nYMSFkxtTB6-xL9oZ-C3-jJzpcFG6fd5lqEEKU56Qs/s1600/InFromTheCold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPs_NdxL2KS-zv3Y_LAHypCCYuEUcBh3U_yKv1cns_qOo5qFWa-uCpJ23_XqyH8RtLMShQEc_1umfANEV92ULtcWPDnZMLh-7x5nYMSFkxtTB6-xL9oZ-C3-jJzpcFG6fd5lqEEKU56Qs/s320/InFromTheCold.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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Book two:</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086VPF6Z6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3" style="background: transparent; color: #2196f3; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><i><b>Sunshine Smile</b></i></a> is heat and healing–new love blossoms, a new enemy schemes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvutmzKgfUQAHSbepulzfjouwj99IzBm-Vx_NRWn5ys7iuC8njW7fRfwsv8Wq9RyPWGQtiw-k-mIle4MAViOsZ9ESxo3KeVITA2-unPhDLdq6m2W646w3xjGIUZVW9F2cj9yJ7F0TTn8/s1600/SunshineSmile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvutmzKgfUQAHSbepulzfjouwj99IzBm-Vx_NRWn5ys7iuC8njW7fRfwsv8Wq9RyPWGQtiw-k-mIle4MAViOsZ9ESxo3KeVITA2-unPhDLdq6m2W646w3xjGIUZVW9F2cj9yJ7F0TTn8/s320/SunshineSmile.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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Book three:</div>
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<b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086WK3WG5/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i2" style="background: transparent; color: #2196f3; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Fall Out </a></i></b>will break your heart, but only for a moment. </div>
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Shared from my<a href="https://headphones366.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Author Blog. </a></div>
Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-22149364384247185052020-04-09T07:34:00.000-05:002020-04-09T07:34:26.985-05:00Around the House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-vyYzyqdFWFbv6YWaalZE88BWTVzjomQ9sRNvjVOGiLxFWj4LcO26DEHhSLsoj2T5S6hT9RgYhAU0qfq1y-N6pxMyQUWCyPmuvM6PVigT4gNzk3xDNBmFH8RyxqwxiTqS15g_clMH-Y/s1600/around+the+house.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="109" data-original-width="174" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-vyYzyqdFWFbv6YWaalZE88BWTVzjomQ9sRNvjVOGiLxFWj4LcO26DEHhSLsoj2T5S6hT9RgYhAU0qfq1y-N6pxMyQUWCyPmuvM6PVigT4gNzk3xDNBmFH8RyxqwxiTqS15g_clMH-Y/s320/around+the+house.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://ishouldbelaughing.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">I Should Be Laughing</a> adopted the idea of posting things from our environment that make us happy from <a href="https://mistressmaddie.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mistress Maddie</a> and I've been seeing a version of it going around FaceBook, and I think it's an excellent idea! </div>
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I love The Mighty Boosh. It's a silly British program on the outside, but it became so much more to me. I suppose I was just at a point in my life where I needed to make some changes and it made me look at things differently. And even better, I connected with people in other countries who shared my love. Artistic people, both of the drawing kind and the writing kind. A couple of years ago I bought some cards from those artists through Redbubble and found a beat-up shadow box at a garage sale-- and promptly shoved them into the "to do" pile. Now that I'm home (doing the self-isolating thing) I'm pulling out those old projects. A nice day and a can of white spray paint was all I needed. And yes, it makes me very happy.</div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-39971464910511377192020-04-04T18:21:00.000-05:002020-04-04T18:24:47.431-05:00The Five Stages of Grief--or Is That Guilt?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Grief. Anxiety.
These are what I’ve been dealing with the last few weeks. And now I can add
guilt. And it completely caught me by surprise.<br />
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<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I’m a grocery
worker. It’s a business that I enjoy for the most part. I like sales and I like
the challenge of deciding what to sell, how to market it, and how to display
it. But the last few years have been difficult for me because I’m blue in a red
area. It didn’t use to be a problem. And really, this post isn’t about
politics but I’m just going to say that I’m not as much of a people-person as I
used to be. I do as much of the “behind-the-scenes” work as I can at the store,
leaving the socializing to the other floor help.</span><br />
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On my downtime, I
like to cruise social media. I’m old enough that I didn’t grow up with the ability
to easily reach out and connect with people from other countries. It’s an
amazing thing and I learn so much. And several months ago, the chatter was
about the virus hitting <st1:country-region w:st="on">China</st1:country-region>.
Common sense said it would spread and I planned ahead. I stocked up on
groceries and refilled my prescription medicines at the end of February. I
stowed away a little extra cash. My husband and I prepared, even when the
people around us ignored it. And, as we all know, when it hit, it hit. Things
at my little store went crazy. Our crew is small and we were overburdened, not
taking breaks and cutting our lunches short. But it was our duty to take care
of our community, and we did it. <br />
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But I’m not going
to say I was happy to be there, because I was not. From the very beginning, a
large percent of our customers treated it like it was a party, nothing but a
big joke with toilet paper as the punch line. But the Governor had shut schools
and people were scrambling. And then he shut “non-essentials” so the scramble
continued. This wasn’t like when a snowstorm is predicted with everyone
grabbing extra milk and bread. Our shelves were as empty as I’ve ever seen them
and the supply chain had been broken. We had to begin to limit quantities. And
still, they acted like it was a joke or an inconvenience.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I became angry and
tense and sick to my stomach. I turned my back when I had to walk past a
customer, holding my breath as if that would help. I had a bottle of sanitizer
that I carried with me and I went around several times a day with soapy bleach
water and washed handles and flat surfaces. I’m not germophobic—I routinely
handle raw meat with no problem. But it began to feel like I had this ticking
time bomb in my body. I didn’t know when it would go off or how powerful the
explosion would be. It might be nothing more than a firecracker but there were
equal chances that it would be a stack of dynamite. Every breath I took felt
like I was inhaling poison.</span><br />
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And still there
were customers who refused to take it seriously. Customers that came in every
day and walked around, pushing a cart down all of the aisles, talking with
everyone they knew, only to buy 3 or 4 items—because they were bored. My chest
grew tighter and tighter until I started having chest pains. I was so tense my
muscles hurt and spasmed. I couldn’t sleep. I was nauseous and sometimes on the
verge of tears. In short--I was a hot mess!<br />
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It wasn’t just
myself and my husband that I worried about. I began to really <i>feel</i> the chasm that existed between me
and my parents. Although they live far enough away that I don’t spend a lot of
time at their house, I’ve always been available when they needed me. And
suddenly, it wasn’t safe. They are in their ‘80s and Mom has COPD. I couldn’t
risk it. And that knowledge made my chest tighter. <br />
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My husband was
worried about me and we discussed it for two days before deciding we would go
into quarantine. I was nervous about asking, but my boss was very nice about it
and my husband was able to take a leave-of-absence, and so on April 1, we
withdrew. Retreat is more like it. I felt like there was a battle happening and
I was losing. A man in the store said to me one day, “Thank you for your
service.” How was I supposed to respond to that? My brother, he’s a soldier. He
served overseas. “This isn’t the same,” my brain yelled as I awkwardly thanked
the man. <br />
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So now I’m home.
And I found out that a couple more from the store have taken leave for health
reasons. But still, there’s this guilt--that I’ve left my coworkers to deal
with what’s going on--and it’s a heavy burden. A little voice keeps whispering
“selfish” except, why should I feel like that? I do no one any good if I get
sick from stress any more than if I get sick from the virus. If I stay healthy,
then I can go back later and take over and let them rest. <br />
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<img alt="Image may contain: possible text that says 'so YOU'RE STAYING INSIDE, PRACTICING SOCIAL DISTANCING AND CLEANING YOURSELF? TwO Weirdos With Apage CONGRATULATIONS MY FRIEND, YOU'VE BECOME A HOUSE CAT.'" height="320" src="https://scontent-ort2-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/91179743_10164073781595377_96604135293452288_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&_nc_sid=e007fa&_nc_ohc=OzFaHlO_yEQAX9dWko5&_nc_ht=scontent-ort2-2.xx&oh=fe75b641193a8d0ca4267899a55e5b95&oe=5EB0593B" width="278" /></div>
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I worry about my
friends and family that work in medical fields. They can’t bow-out like I did. I’m
in this bubble now, one I’m sure many of you feel. I’ve become an introvert and
I’m here with my husband and son, so it’s not as hard on me as I’m sure it is
on others. I want to do something for those who are still in the “trenches”,
realizing probably the smartest thing I can do is stay out of their way.<br />
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All I can say is “I’m
sorry. I wish I could have been stronger,” as I work through my grief and
guilt.<br />
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Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-40055461914745952312020-03-21T05:02:00.000-05:002020-03-21T05:02:14.806-05:00Illinois Is Closed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is my produce cooler. It's looked like this all week. Basically, anything that comes in can go directly to my display case. For the most part, people have been understanding. I've been lucky and been able to get most of the basics, but in a limited supply. I don't know about next week, though. Potatoes, carrots, lettuce-- all things that my suppliers are iffy about. (Plus, getting meat, bread, milk, and eggs is nearly impossible.) We've never had sustained crowds like this in our little store. Sure, before a big snowstorm, or when we've had one-day meat sales. But that's been for a day, not 10 days running. What gets me is how many people act like it was a sudden thing. I stocked up a month ago because I knew it was coming, so, not so sudden, folks! </div>
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The schools are closed and for the most part, people aren't bringing their kids into the stores. But... so are the restaurants. No more <i>going for coffee </i>for the old men. And they're bored already. The older folks are the ones who should stay home, but instead they come into the store every day, just to wander around, wanting to visit. I'm going to end up fired because it infuriates me. Not only are they exposing themselves unnecessarily, but they're exposing all of us. They act like it's a party, that it's fun. (It's not fun, John!) </div>
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I'm tempted to make myself a T-shirt that says "stay back and don't talk to me!" (I'm pretty sure it still wouldn't get me fired.)</div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-65881965235215234332020-03-18T04:43:00.001-05:002020-04-09T07:38:35.217-05:00Keyword: Waiting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My rhubarb has broken through, my spring flowers, also. And the maple tree is budding. Still, it's damp and cold and I keep reminding myself it's only mid March, after all. But I've got my chair out, ready for afternoon sunshine, so now I just have to be patient and WAIT. </div>
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But... I'm also waiting to see when I'm going to get sick. Or if I'll get sick. Or if we'll all get sick at the same time. I work in a grocery store, my husband at Menard's, and my son at Kohl's. None of us are being told to stay home, and people in our area aren't going to (it's all a hoax, they'll say, even as they load up on roast and hamburger).</div>
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But it's this waiting that is stressing me, causing me to be easily distracted. I can't concentrate at all. My brain's fuzzy. And my throat is scratchy. I have spring allergies and I tend to get colds in the spring, if I get one at all. So now I'm waiting. Waiting to see if I start to run a fever, or get nasal drainage, or just a little stuffiness. </div>
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Waiting to see if my mom gets sick. </div>
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So I may have overdone it posting memes on FaceBook, but laughter is usually how I deal with things. Gotta laugh or I'm going to roll up into a ball and cry. Stay healthy, everyone. </div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-58931476817432542202020-02-10T17:20:00.001-06:002020-02-10T17:20:34.390-06:00Could It Just Not<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
5? Really? </div>
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I am just soooo completely ready for spring. </div>
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-40160680464317606952019-04-07T17:28:00.001-05:002019-04-07T17:28:51.353-05:00Star-Fallen Animation<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ex1qQ-c0CFo" width="480"></iframe>Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036472727697633841.post-55264792946795774982019-02-22T16:36:00.001-06:002019-02-22T16:36:35.039-06:00I've Semi-retired This Blog, But Some Things Are Too Good To Not Share!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sadie Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10277541674510077759noreply@blogger.com1