tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50782532965636004842024-03-13T07:50:49.188-05:00a ripening lifeI choose to risk my significance;
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit. (DK)Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-48759949824842837822020-03-31T16:27:00.001-05:002020-03-31T16:27:37.569-05:00The Prince Has Kissed the Blog<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The prince has kissed the blog and awakened her from her seven year sleep. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly there is something to say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wake up world, then slow down.</span></div>
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This pandemic has forced us to stop dead in our tracks and listen, think, go within, and dig deep. 16 days in captivity now but being a bit of a recluse who is fueled by creativity which I never seem to have enough time for ... I don't mind this shelter in place. Mike and I have promised our pleading daughter to stay home and take every possible precaution. So we are doing our best to keep that promise and stay well.<br />
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From my bubble I've seen incredible silver linings, glove clad people helping others ... sharing food and supplies and leaving fresh eggs, homemade bread, and veggies from ones garden on doorsteps. Kind people are running errands for the elderly or those unable to. Finally families gather around dinner tables again, heads bowed in prayer, I like to think. They set up the card tables and huddle over jig saw puzzles, curl up and read books ... ultimately sick of being held captive by our TVs and devices stuffing our heads with fear and panic. Quiet moments bring insight. Children stay inside to help with baking, to learn to sew, to make potholders from loops and looms. Paintings get painted, poems get written, scarves are knitted, texts and email make way for something meaningful, the handwritten letter; that dying, elegant form of correspondence. What a beautiful gift to find a handwritten letter in one's mailbox. Dogs look at us adoringly, rest a paw on our knee and beseech us with devoted eyes, telling us to trust, that it will be alright.<br />
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It's said that times like these bring out the best in people and the worst in people. I've only seen the best, for the most part. Humankindness at it's finest. I find what I've always believed to be true ... that beauty is born in the face of adversity.<br />
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Something as sweet and beautiful as this fresh egg, which a friend asked a neighbor for in the middle of her baking, then opened the door to find it there.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L969Ar9GSZ8/XoOu53wS--I/AAAAAAAABik/pRdRq2xwBsItK0CiRHnp_BdjNrsikKklgCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoCMPNUpnny2L9scIbvfpPprJOPOK1e7A0JPHtsLPFmFQi31qWvYjy99200YvOWIgBVBnAbBtpvGiIFSntVTKBC-HWZm5C8D1ZaquVMkWoqdsp67CA2WtxmqKB-A78CCXr47eWk5rcG7hbatkM58K5dk4e5vsHsydNWIN8Ok2snXCej-F08bTM6nCcpsk4sxzfAXo1R6_LBaHUTP6T3o7LHN9woGpl3VA8cWMYxcZLa3A3j41xovUViDWSDgY7PRg9BdQJ74VBClyeWTEbpDTZXsJNz5iNPz5I6qs96StdJcsdnXhrnczMEhEminbNaxPNULHnRTVA3R04ZhBVKkKQ4_anDkAVlHesKDw-jziFov7N3yvrhqzugKsg2X2DL8GCwoUImouFrRwz7AkUInwdxgPUKLJgNcsTeL45-V_-CMefehXStGs4g-K4Tgrb4gkt7QTcyOPG8nEUu-Vol1EVnTlhxxGTGjoSjnaix3g9rbd8guXbS8Vw_r5Na6lM01tEMs43BApWwyIYLVOQoBkvFJg7yTAqACTYpJwIqFiXCcBjE6DYXpBtDq5uzCosooYwMpyFdzULDJiy7g7VHcSXdI-UDv-b0x1f8w-OKO9AU/s1600/fullsizeoutput_4950.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="616" height="235" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L969Ar9GSZ8/XoOu53wS--I/AAAAAAAABik/pRdRq2xwBsItK0CiRHnp_BdjNrsikKklgCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoCMPNUpnny2L9scIbvfpPprJOPOK1e7A0JPHtsLPFmFQi31qWvYjy99200YvOWIgBVBnAbBtpvGiIFSntVTKBC-HWZm5C8D1ZaquVMkWoqdsp67CA2WtxmqKB-A78CCXr47eWk5rcG7hbatkM58K5dk4e5vsHsydNWIN8Ok2snXCej-F08bTM6nCcpsk4sxzfAXo1R6_LBaHUTP6T3o7LHN9woGpl3VA8cWMYxcZLa3A3j41xovUViDWSDgY7PRg9BdQJ74VBClyeWTEbpDTZXsJNz5iNPz5I6qs96StdJcsdnXhrnczMEhEminbNaxPNULHnRTVA3R04ZhBVKkKQ4_anDkAVlHesKDw-jziFov7N3yvrhqzugKsg2X2DL8GCwoUImouFrRwz7AkUInwdxgPUKLJgNcsTeL45-V_-CMefehXStGs4g-K4Tgrb4gkt7QTcyOPG8nEUu-Vol1EVnTlhxxGTGjoSjnaix3g9rbd8guXbS8Vw_r5Na6lM01tEMs43BApWwyIYLVOQoBkvFJg7yTAqACTYpJwIqFiXCcBjE6DYXpBtDq5uzCosooYwMpyFdzULDJiy7g7VHcSXdI-UDv-b0x1f8w-OKO9AU/s400/fullsizeoutput_4950.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Or our friends and neighbors who, finding the bread shelves bare in the markets, have been the grateful recipients of my husband's beautiful homemade sour dough bread.</div>
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Yet how can I even begin to point out the silver linings born from this catastrophic and fearful time without appearing to minimize or seemingly overlook the suffering and deaths that so many have succumbed to with this coronavirus? It has stolen lives and left a trail of broken hearts in it's wake. And there will be more deaths, more hearts wrenched and aching beyond repair. <br />
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What shall we do, those of us who survive? God has put us on a big Time Out now, this shelter in place. Or the Universe, or The Greater Force or whatever you choose to call that which is bigger than us and guides us. Let's just call him/her/it<span style="font-weight: bold;"><i> </i>Fred</span>, for the sake of discussion. Fred has a captive audience now, having sent us all to our rooms for the big Time Out. You go to your room and think about it, World.<br />
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So how do we change and evolve? Because after every catroscopic, horrific event that we have faced in our lifetimes, we have circled the wagons and come together to show Fred that we are human beings filled with compassion, love, and kindness. After the Oklahoma City bombing, 911 for which there are no words, the heinous slaughter of small children as they sat in their classrooms at Sandy Hook.... the list of atrocities, which is unbearably long, brings out the best in us as we respond to the call. We dig deep and Fred is happy. We pay it forward, we build monuments to remember those who's lives have been sacrificed so that we might evolve as a human race, we give our hearts to strangers who need us, we make promises to Fred ... lots of promises. This horror we have lived through while others have not, has changed us forever, and we have the scars to prove it.<br />
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This is the tricky part.<br />
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Sooner or later, we return to our fast paced lives. We are racing through airports. We are sitting in traffic, late for appointments, hurling expletives. Our kids eat chicken Mc Nuggets in the car for dinner as we ferry them from school to dance class to soccer practice and back home for two+ hours of homework.<br />
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We forget to talk to Fred, to ask him to continue to guide us. We forget that we were supposed to evolve as human beings after the last big Time Out, and that what we learned was supposed to stick. We are the ones who survive with eyes wide open and hearts not broken so that we might see what needs repairing. Pretty sure that Fred doesn't shine the light into the dark corners of our rooms, only to show us how to be kind, compassionate human beings temporarily ... until the next atrocity and then the next big Time Out. And repeat and repeat.<br />
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As we shelter in place now, let's<b> not</b> let our hearts shelter in place. Let our hearts run wild without precautions, seeking Fred, who guides humankind to evolve and become enlightened, and do what we are meant to do on this planet.<br />
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So that beauty is born in the face of adversity, and lives on and on.<br />
<br />Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-72195477327418765272013-03-21T22:39:00.000-05:002014-10-11T00:49:55.246-05:00Held by the Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week while on vacation with family and friends, I stood in the wet sand on a beach in Costa Rica and looked out to the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky at a magical point of infinity. The warm water swirled at my ankles as the tide washed in and out. This Pacific Ocean is an old friend I have missed terribly.<br />
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The Pacific and I parted ways 17 years ago when we moved away from my native California to Austin, Texas. I've been back to visit the Pacific many times since, of course, but I feel land-locked in Texas, and torn away from something so meaningful to me, that endless and magnificent sea. As a kid I lived in Hermosa Beach where I swam in the ocean nearly every day, bobbing in the waves on my Dad's back when I was very young, then body surfing those waves as I got older. The ocean connected me to the world, cradled me, calmed me. When I swam in the ocean I was swallowed up in the planet, folded in, embraced by it. It was always that way for me when I was in the sea ... it touched me and soothed me like a cool hand on feverish skin.<br />
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My family left Hermosa Beach when I was 15 years old and we moved to the Bay Area. I remember the day of my last swim at the beach. The car was packed and we were to leave for Oakland the following morning. That last afternoon I swam way out and bobbed and floated over the rolling waves, then literally said goodbye to my ocean.<br />
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"I love you," my tender, young self said out loud. "Thank you for giving me so much. I'll miss you."<br />
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Yet last week as I stood there ankle deep on that beach in Costa Rica, the years and the distance to my youth on the shores of Hermosa Beach fell away. This was the same ocean in a different country, the same waters that lapped at my feet, the same Pacific I loved, the same old friend. So much time had passed since I swam in the Pacific that last day in Hermosa Beach. But now the 50 years swam together to form what had become my precious life. The ocean was always there, a constant. Just feeling the water on my skin, or even just looking out to sea, I felt my powerful place in the world.<br />
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So this rather mature beach girl waded further out, waist deep. The small breakers crashed against me. Further still and up to my chest, nicely shaped waves were peaking and breaking. I hopped towards a big one and went under it just before it broke. Then that old familiar spring off the bottom and break through to the surface, feeling like a dolphin ... and into the calm on the other side. It was like coming up into another world ... remote, quiet, weightless. Then bobbing and bobbing, and watching for the next waves to swell and roll in, just floating and being held by the sea.<br />
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Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-20283025544395362072012-12-21T14:19:00.001-06:002012-12-21T14:47:28.076-06:00Speechless but not powerless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been four months since I posted here. For some reason I haven't known what to say. Somewhat at a loss for words. And then the Sandy Hook tragedy occurred a week ago today and I <i>really</i> didn't know what to say. But now I do.<br />
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Dear World,<br />
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It's really not complicated or difficult.<br />
Lead with love and not with hate.<br />
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If you have trouble with the concept of God or the Universe or a Divine Intelligence, just think of it in terms of science. Love, kindness and positive thoughts are simply energy which materialize into real things. If we allow love and kindness to swirl around this planet instead of hate and violence, we will come to live in peace. If not, we will probably eventually destroy ourselves.<br />
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Positive energy is circuitous. Negative energy is circuitous. Which would you like to see build momentum?<br />
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That's what I thought. Thank you, World.<br />
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Peace and love, Michelle<br />
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Here's a brilliant way to get started with the kindness swirling. Not my brilliant idea, but Ann Curry's, which you simply MUST know about if you don't already. Understanding that so many of us feel powerless over the devastating loss of the precious Sandy Hook victims, Ann took to Twitter and suggested that we all do 20 random acts of kindness to honor each of the children. Someone suggested 26 acts to include the lost adults and the 26 Acts Movement was launched. Here's the <a href="http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/12/17/15972814-inspired-to-act-26acts-of-kindness-to-honor-those-lost-in-newtown-conn?ocid=di_dps_26cts_nln_8871">article</a> describing it ... and it also gives wonderful examples of acts that others have already done.<br />
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Twitter and Facebook are burning up with people who have embraced this beautiful idea, but of course you don't need to use either to participate. Just jump in with Act #1. And your acts of kindness don't have to be big productions. Put money in someone's parking meter, tape a dollar to a vending machine with a note that says it's for the next person to use. Buy gift cards and distribute them randomly or pay for someone's tank of gas. Yesterday I slipped some cash to the post office clerk and asked her to apply it to the charges of the frazzled-looking lady behind me who was wrestling with three packages. It is so fun!<br />
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But most important, the recipient is moved and is likely to pay it forward. And forward and forward and forward we go. What better way to honor the Sandy Hook victims than by spreading love and kindness throughout the world? Isn't this what they want? Isn't this how we learn from atrocities?? We are living in a pivotal time, a time that calls for a tremendous shift in the world. Why were each of us selected to be <i>here</i>, living <i>here</i>, on <i>this</i> planet at <i>this</i> time rather than some other time? I believe we're here to be on a collective team which will begin to change a world that has lost it's way. <b>You</b> are the one you've been waiting for. Go.<br />
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Sending prayers for peace, health, happiness and a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!<br />
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Michelle<br />
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<br />Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-12411273489246025732012-08-13T21:35:00.000-05:002012-12-21T14:14:14.722-06:00Jolly good!Another fabulous gift landed at my feet a few weeks ago.<br />
My bestie of 50 years, Marilyn, rings me up and says, "Pack yore steamer trunk, old gell ... we're going on holiday!"<br />
And I say, "Waaaat you, cheeky old gell, is this bosh you say?"<br />
"No bosh," she says, "we're off to London on the 18th of August!"<br />
"Smashing!" I say!<br />
"Brilliant!" she says!<br />
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Ohhh yes ... spot on! We're off to London for two nights, then we board the Queen Mary 2 for a seven night transatlantic crossing to New York. One night in NY where we'll have dinner with my beautiful daughter, then home. What could possibly be more jolly good than that!<br />
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You see, dear Marilyn has worked in the travel biz her entire life and is offered these smashing deals on brilliant trips from time to time. I am beyond thrilled when she occasionally pulls one out of her carpet bag and shares it with me. Like the Un. Bee. Leave. A. Bull. Mediterranean cruise we went on last year. There aren't enough jolly goods or better yet, bravissimos! to describe that one.<br />
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This time she's also pulled an amazing hotel deal out of her carpet bag, for Rubens at the Palace, which is apparently right by Buckingham Palace where we will actually watch the changing of The Guard.<br />
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And Marilyn really wants to ride the London Eye while we're there, the famous Ferris wheel. At first I told her she'd have to go it alone because no-can-do Ferris wheels. But then I decided that I'll suck it up and go because you're in an enclosed capsule, and not those leg-dangling, life-threatening, rickety chairs. And the view of London from up there is supposed to be <i>brilliant</i>, ol' chap! <br />
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The next day we'll have the entire day to kick around London ... to shop, sight see and eat ... er, I dunno, mutton? Bangers and mash? Yorkshire pudding? Whatever.<br />
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But I'd love to go here:<br />
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And see this:<br />
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And go here:<br />
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And see charming places like this:<br />
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And then the next day we'll board the QM2 and do lots of this. And SO much more!<br />
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So needless to say, I'm very excited about this trip and am especially grateful to have the opportunity to go with my BFF. Because let's face it ... this is Bucket List stuff. But I'm not telling you about this trip to be all smug and la-dee-da braggy. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that when you expect great things to happen in your life, great things happen in your life. If you decide that you will NOT settle for mediocrity, that only the most fabulous and smashing and joyful things will come your way (and you truly, truly <i>believe they will</i> ... that's key!) ... guess what? Pretty sure they will. Cuz that's just how the Universe rolls.<br />
<br />
IF, on the other hand, you think your life is in a rut or a downward spiral or just plain sucks, and that you probably are not <i>ever</i> going to have the fabulous things in<i> your</i> life that you see other people get ... it's super likely that you will just <i>never</i> get the fabulous things in <i>your</i> life that you see other people get. That's it. It's really not complicated. That's just how the Universe rolls.<br />
<br />
I feel so lucky to have grasped this concept years ago, this power of belief ... and to have come to truly understand it and live it. I, once a fairly curmudgeon-y, complaining and negative person, am now the promoter of optimism and dreams. Because once you KNOW that it will, all that joy and abundance begins to march in your direction. It comes to find you because you KNOW it will.<br />
<br />
And of course, gratitude is everything. The more grateful you are for what you have, the more you will have to be grateful for. We've all heard this so many times, but do we all live it?<br />
<br />
So pack your steamer trunk too. Throw the rubbish overboard and re-pack it with the finery of your dreams.<br />
<br />
Until my return .......<br />
<br />
Michelle <br />
<br />
(I mean, would it kill the Queen to crack a smile? Just once??)<br />
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Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-7383237857143875262012-07-01T23:42:00.000-05:002012-07-02T00:56:58.949-05:00A chair is just a chair ....The song says, "a chair is just a chair, even when there's no one sitting there."<br />
But I don't agree.<br />
<br />
A chair can make a difference in your life. A chair can be life-changing. "Oh, come onnnnnnnn!" you say.<br />
<br />
Well, what I mean is, a chair can invite you to read or knit or just sit and think in the quiet. It can beckon you to sit and scribble notes about an essay or pour thoughts into a journal. A chair might remind you it's time to curl up for <b>Madmen</b> or fantasize over apartments on <b>Selling New York</b>. And when it's 106 degrees outside and you've been out there watering the yard, a chair might remind you that you better take a load off and drink a glass of ice water before you end up with heat stroke.<br />
<br />
A chair can invite you to sit and work out problems. (Preferably while knitting, the best meditative passtime ever.) Important decisions might be made or great ideas may come to you while sitting quietly in a chair, like the premise for a best-selling novel! You can curl up in your chair during those Sunday morning phone calls with
the out-of-state relatives and friends, just sipping coffee and catching up. A chair can comfort you and offer you peace and solitude.<br />
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But the chair has to be perfect for you. It has to suit <i>you</i>
and the things that you will do in it. The pitch of the chair has to be
just right for you ... comfortable yet good for your back. Even the
style and the fabric must speak to you. And it must be <i>your</i> chair in <i>your</i> nook, and no one else's.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago I found my chair on sale at World Market. I'd
been looking for one for awhile now, for a little spot in my workshop.
Not that I have much room in here for a comfy chair, but it seemed to
suit the space perfectly ... not too big, not too small ... kind of a
Mama Bear's size
chair, and very comfortable. So I brought it home and tucked it into a
little nook between stacks of
fabrics and a bank of file drawers, in front of the TV, near my computer
and facing a nice big window. With my knitting basket at my feet, (that dark thing
on the chair is a shawl I'm knitting, not a old cat or a yule log or a
massive ink stain) and a little stool to one side for my morning
coffee, I settled in.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(See? Shawl, not yule log.)</td></tr>
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<br />
My chair meets all of the
above requirements. It brings me comfort and contentment,
peace and meditative moments .... if only for a short while each day. Sometimes that's all you need. <br />
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And someone else is happy that I've parked this chair
here. My miniature dachshund Rosemary, whose massive bed conveniently resides by the file drawers,
is overjoyed that I've joined her little world. Just hanging out with mommy now. World complete. <br />
<br />
So I put on some Neil Young/Harvest, sit down and knit a couple of rows, and look down to see Rosemary's sweet little face staring up at me adoringly.<br />
<br />
From where I sit, life is good. <br />
<br />Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-4197473561892737572012-05-24T11:36:00.000-05:002012-07-05T01:15:12.381-05:00Pura vida!One month ago, when my husband and I returned from our lovely vacation in Costa Rica, I fully intended to blog about that vacay vibe we all vow to hang onto when it's over. You know ... that mellow and relaxed free spirit you become when you've had a good dose of beach time, of books, mojitos, and sarongs, of <i>other</i> people cooking delicious meals for you and serving them poolside, and of taking your cues from the laid-back locals whose mantra is "pura vida," .... a phrase which embodies well being, harmony and positivity .... basically translating to "everything's cool, bro."<br />
<br />
Pretty much like this ....<br />
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... and this,<br />
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... and this,<br />
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... and this:<br />
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You arrive in Costa Rica looking like a stuffed shirt with a fresh pedicure. Your
hair is flat-iron smooth and you've just had your roots done. Your make-up is smart and proper, and your long umbre scarf is swagged artfully about your neck.
You're stressed from traveling and exhausted from the previous hectic day of departing arrangements ...
the dogs, the yard, the mail, the packing.<br />
<br />
But fast forward ten days. You're <i>leaving</i> Costa Rica relaxed and looking like a
native ... tan, hair sun-bleached and wild, bra-less in a beachy maxi dress and flip flops and wearing the exotic shell earrings you bought off a
beach vendor. (And that turquoise anklet which you'll probably never wear again. Wow, really? What were you thinking?) But you don't care ... you're rockin' the surfer beach vibe. Your high school Spanish had come back to you in little bursts all week so now you attempt the local phrases like a fool. "Hey Tico, que hay de nuevo?" (What's going down?) But it's cool. Whatever. It's <i>all</i> good, man. <br />
<br />
And as you board the plane for home in this pura vida zone you think, now THIS is the way life should be lived. The Ticos have it so right ... enjoy every moment, soak it up, no worries! And you swear you'll maintain this state of mind back home ... this natural, easy-breezy way of thinking, of dressing, of living! Pura vida! <br />
<br />
SO NAIVE.<br />
<br />
We return home to Texas to no running water. I pick up the dogs from the kennel and the bill is astronomical. The internet is down for 5 days. <i>And</i> the land line. <i>And</i> our security alarm. And all that cable trouble knocks out the TVs for days. Eventually it all gets fixed. But then .... the water craps out again.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile the notes I'd scribbled on the plane for that blog post were long forgotten. I've strapped on a bra, fired up the washing machine, done nine loads in between water outages, and plugged in my flat iron in an attempt to look put-together.<br />
<br />
Make-up on ... check.<br />
Vacuum up dog hair ... check.<br />
Cook seven days a week ... check.<br />
<br />
I had hit the decks running and never looked back. So many things had wiggled their way onto my plate that I couldn't settle down to write. My Costa Rica blog post had slipped away.<br />
<br />
And then I realized something. Wise up, sistah ... life just <i>isn't</i> one long vacation. That's the ying and yang of it ... the vacay vibe can't exist without that regular, everyday, run-of the-mill stuff and all it's routine hassles. What's a vacation worth if not to escape from the daily drudgery? And the truth is, I'm so grateful to have a fantastic, abundant life which is virtually stress-free. My days are filled with creativity, family and friends I adore, and a couple of precious and hilarious doggies. Nothing I could call drudgery! It was my hard-working husband who really needed the vacation and I was lucky to get in on that.<br />
<br />
We DID love Costa Rica and have decided to return next year for two weeks! So I've tucked away the sarongs and turquoise anklet until then and meanwhile ...<br />
<br />
.... everything's cool, bro.<br />
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<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pura vida to all! </b></span> </div>
<br />Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-60103696902615416892012-03-06T22:10:00.027-06:002012-03-06T23:56:12.544-06:00When the dream becomes bigger than the pie.Oh dear. I sheepishly return after more than a two month absence. My winter months, which I love to spend quietly curled up reading and writing, have been quite the opposite, with travel and a busy schedule.<br />
<br />
This is not to say I haven't had some thoughts twirling around in my little pea brain though. Here's one of them, a post I've actually had in the hopper for weeks.<br />
<br />
I woke up one January morning with a killer migraine. For weeks I had been bloated, stiff, sluggish, pasty-looking, all that. It wasn't pretty. I knew I had a bad case of sugar overload and post holiday blubbery. And I was clearly sick. Of it!<br />
<br />
You see, the previous day I'd noticed a bowl of nice green apples sitting on the kitchen counter which no one was eating ... and whadaya know, a frozen pie crust in the freezer. And wouldn't it just make sense to <i>not</i> allow that perfectly good food to go to waste??? Why don't I just throw together my Mom's famous and fabulous sour cream apple pie recipe? (And yep, there was some sour cream in the fridge ... so handy!) You know, just clean out the cupboards and be resourceful? And oooooh, how I love pies.<br />
<br />
But of course, the REAL reason I wanted the pie was because I knew that the holiday goodies were gone and I was grieving the loss of them. The cookies, chocolates, the gingerbread ... gone. And I subconsciously dug in my heels over the idea that it was time to get on the healthy track again. SO not festive!<br />
<br />
So I made that scrumptious pie and I had my way with it. My husband was of no help whatsoever ... he was out of town. I <i>did</i> take a slice to my neighbor who shares my passion for pies. But that didn't help much and by day 2 I had consumed nearly half of the pie. Then I began eyeing it warily every time I passed through the kitchen. It seemed it was trying to tell me something.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JxIeMYBWUZA/T1ZyqUI-HdI/AAAAAAAAAnw/YjTiHdkNnso/s1600/P1011158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JxIeMYBWUZA/T1ZyqUI-HdI/AAAAAAAAAnw/YjTiHdkNnso/s400/P1011158.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Funny how our trusty brains spring into action to save our asses when we're in trouble. I was reminded of something I already knew too well. To keep my eye on the prize ... the prize being my dreams and goals and passionate ideas about what I plan to do with life in the second half. And these aren't mediocre dreams, lemme-tell-ya ... these are huge, wonderful, exciting dreams. I know that the only way I will ever realize and enjoy these dreams is to be healthy and <i>stay</i> healthy until the end of the line. The dream is important. The dream is all I think about. The dream is BIG.<br />
<br />
And this may seem like a BIG leap ... from apple pie to dreams-come-true. But actually, it's directly connected. When the dream becomes bigger than the pie, well ... that's how you stay on the healthy track.<br />
<br />
I learned a long time ago that, given two options, it is simply human nature to lean into the one that is the most enticing and thrilling. The one with the most emotional power. The brain naturally <b><i>selects</i></b> the most enticing, powerful thing and the scales are tipped. Obvious, right? Sometimes too obvious for us to see. Here is a very personal example of how that works. I'm happy to share it with you with hopes that it helps you see the power you have in your life.<br />
<br />
I gave up drinking many years ago but not without a lot of failed attempts and a tremendous struggle. For a long time alcohol offered me euphoria, escape, avoidance, and yep, good times. But as time wore on that changed and alcohol began to represent misery for me... it became a negative factor in every aspect of my life. So I had two things resting on the scales; a drinking life of misery and a sober, healthy, clear-headed and joyful life. One option beckoned to me and the other sickened me. When one looked like a champion and the other looked like a loser, the scales tipped dramatically. The brain just naturally <i><b>selects</b></i> the more powerful and desirable option when it comes down to the wire. The brain helps you find strength in that selection so you can carry on. Really. I finally left the misery behind and never looked back.<br />
<br />
So it's like that with weight issues vs. a healthy body. For me anyway, I have this BIG life ahead of me, full of passionate hopes and dreams. Nothing can stand in the way of that. With that in mind, the scales are tipped because the dream becomes so much bigger than the pie, i.e. unhealthy habits. As long as I keep my eye on The Dream, THAT is what works for me. Not counting calories or points or fat grams. Not measuring and weighing my food. Not weighing <i>myself</i> every day, or even every week. All of that simply brings focus to the idea that you believe you are fat, never good enough, always battling the bulge. That kind of focus will actually keep you <i>stuck</i> in the fat rut. You only need to focus on health and the rest will follow. And you need to want health because ....???? Because your life, your dreams, your future is magnificent. Bigger than the pie. Much bigger than what the pie can offer you. It's really just a mind trick.<br />
<br />
(And yup ... I threw away the rest of the pie.)<br />
<br />
Now, this is not to say that I can snap my fingers and this works like magic. Because trust me, with<i> my</i> appetite, I could easily be as big as Texas. We all have to constantly be mindful of The Big Dream and hold it up against the pie like a crucifix. I takes focus and because we are imperfect human beings (and not the Dali Lama), we can get lazy or forget to focus ... we slip and stumble and sometimes go on, oh ... I dunno, holiday eating binges??? But we know what to do ... get up and remember again that the dream is bigger than the pie. <br />
<br />
Keep the most enticing thing forever strong and powerful in your busy little head. (Note to self: and that ain't Mom's sour cream apple pie.)<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. Those of you who followed my previous blog, <a href="http://www.128sticksofbutter.blogspot.com/">128 Sticks of Butter</a>, might remember that I went through a very interesting journey a few years ago, starting off with one idea about weight loss and arriving at quite another by the end of my last blog post a year ago (March 11, 2011). You can probably get the gist of it just by reading the first couple of posts and the last couple of posts. But basically it was a bit of a epiphany. That blog is inactive now but I've left it up because I've found that people are still reading about the unexpected path I took, and some find it helpful. Please visit if you'd like.Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-79058598637624212472011-12-17T12:05:00.008-06:002011-12-18T01:12:05.483-06:00And so happy Christmas,<div style="text-align: left;">I hope you have fun,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The near and the dear ones,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The old and the young. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> - John Lennon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qvM4HiUN0yU/Tuwf6BR7N7I/AAAAAAAAAnY/vuq_8VNs4z0/s1600/christmas-scene-011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qvM4HiUN0yU/Tuwf6BR7N7I/AAAAAAAAAnY/vuq_8VNs4z0/s400/christmas-scene-011.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>In this last post of 2011, I just want to wish everyone an absolutely beautiful holiday season and a Merry Christmas. While this is such a busy time of year for most of us, it is also such a wonderful time. So many people are doing kind and generous things for others ... you can just feel the energy of goodwill swilling about us like snowflakes. If only we could remember to spread that goodwill all year round.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_JVehivdQP0/TuwgOYm9cJI/AAAAAAAAAng/5qq4WPSHefM/s1600/Christmas-Scene-christmas-2736054-1024-768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_JVehivdQP0/TuwgOYm9cJI/AAAAAAAAAng/5qq4WPSHefM/s400/Christmas-Scene-christmas-2736054-1024-768.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Every holiday season I donate a certain percentage of my earnings from sales of my handmade wares to a different charity, organization or individual in need. I like to find the little known causes that may not be getting lots of attention. This year I've chosen Amber's Angels and I just wanted to share her story.<br />
<br />
Amberlyn Fett was a young woman of 22 who passed away last month after a lifelong battle with cystic fibrosis. But before she died she established Amber's Angels, an organization which delivers Christmas gifts to children in hospitals. The article below describes it best, copied from the <a href="http://www.dsbabble.com/">Dripping Springs Babble</a>. If you haven't yet found a charity that truly speaks to you this holiday season, please consider Amber's Angels and join me to insure that her dream lives on. I'm sure that even $20 is so very helpful when buying Christmas gifts for sick children.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nxDzHO_5FNo/TuwhgCbhXyI/AAAAAAAAAno/Z4F8Q1FM0eY/s1600/christmas-scene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nxDzHO_5FNo/TuwhgCbhXyI/AAAAAAAAAno/Z4F8Q1FM0eY/s400/christmas-scene.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Although I didn't know Amberlyn ... and how I wish I'd had the honor of meeting her ... she was a local girl who lived just down the road from me in the little town of Dripping Springs. I believe that sometimes people find ways to reach us and touch our hearts after they've passed. We're listening, Amberlyn, and we hear your generous and pure heart beat on.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td align="left" colspan="1" rowspan="1" style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #8c2000; font-family: 'Arial Black', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">IN MEMORY OF AMBERLYN FETT</span><br />
<div>Dripping Springs recently lost an angel when Amberlyn Michelle Fett passed away at the age of 22 on November 18, 2011 due to complications from a double lung transplant and cystic fibrosis. Many of you knew of Amberlyn thanks to the non-profit charity she founded, Amber's Angels. Her lifelong battle with cystic fibrosis meant most Christmases spent in the hospital. During one Christmas, she noticed that many of the children in the the pediatric units did not have family with them or any gifts to open. She was particularly concerned with a 5-year old girl who never had any visitors and did not receive any presents during the holiday season. From her hospital bed that Christmas, Amberlyn was inspired to form Amber's Angels, a charitable group created to deliver gift bags to the patients of Dell Children's Hospital. Last Christmas (2010), was the very first time that Amberlyn herself was able to attend the passing out of gift bags to the children at the hospital.<br />
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While her time on earth was so short and filled with struggles few of us can comprehend, she never lost her spirit, and what she did to help others in her too-brief lifetime should be an inspiration to all of us<strong>. For those who want to help keep Amberlyn's spirit alive to bring a brighter Christmas for many hospital-bound children, memorial contributions may be made to Amber's Angels, a 501(c)(3) organization), at <a href="http://www.ambers-angels.org./" shape="rect" style="color: #8c8813; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">ambers-angels.org</a></strong>. Contributions can also be made to the bereavement fund for her family via Fett Family Fund c/o Cattleman's National Bank, Account #3136760, PO Box 1243, Dripping Springs, TX 78620. </div></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-68175738565633427182011-12-05T20:04:00.001-06:002011-12-05T20:04:01.020-06:00My Colorful Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-flWokRkVqg4/TtpcF2w_WoI/AAAAAAAAAl4/sdTWBiiTNMg/s1600/P1010984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-flWokRkVqg4/TtpcF2w_WoI/AAAAAAAAAl4/sdTWBiiTNMg/s400/P1010984.jpg" 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 class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As I look around my house I realize it has evolved </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">to reflect </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">my colorful life.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pHNcg4GSsoQ/Tt1FzS-EXHI/AAAAAAAAAmA/Rn8dxKOMBu4/s1600/P1011045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pHNcg4GSsoQ/Tt1FzS-EXHI/AAAAAAAAAmA/Rn8dxKOMBu4/s400/P1011045.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And by that I don't necessarily mean the ruby reds, emerald greens, and sapphire blues ...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6Mf94hmWGQ/Tt1G_gdty1I/AAAAAAAAAmI/Xf4OMYoruSk/s1600/P1011033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6Mf94hmWGQ/Tt1G_gdty1I/AAAAAAAAAmI/Xf4OMYoruSk/s400/P1011033.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rDo5ScGAi4o/Tt1rnUWtcyI/AAAAAAAAAnI/QxW1MXb3Mac/s1600/P8140019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rDo5ScGAi4o/Tt1rnUWtcyI/AAAAAAAAAnI/QxW1MXb3Mac/s400/P8140019.jpg" 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 class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">... but a multi-faceted life that is rich and saturated </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">in creativity and imagination,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqExGT3MGjw/Tt1LuxZ5GNI/AAAAAAAAAmg/zSzcZIxlsoA/s1600/P1011015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqExGT3MGjw/Tt1LuxZ5GNI/AAAAAAAAAmg/zSzcZIxlsoA/s400/P1011015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eV9RcAHMsYY/Tt10CKdzUNI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/5aWqlYThxS8/s1600/P1011057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eV9RcAHMsYY/Tt10CKdzUNI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/5aWqlYThxS8/s400/P1011057.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--o1RkP8-eBU/Tt1KspmdDCI/AAAAAAAAAmY/vX7mCDmLO-4/s1600/P1011027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--o1RkP8-eBU/Tt1KspmdDCI/AAAAAAAAAmY/vX7mCDmLO-4/s400/P1011027.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">... of collections and treasures that express my love for young and old,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qYhAcOY276k/Tt1MbkesHwI/AAAAAAAAAmo/aiq4rrKZ17o/s1600/P1010950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qYhAcOY276k/Tt1MbkesHwI/AAAAAAAAAmo/aiq4rrKZ17o/s400/P1010950.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">... of a life rooted in tradition and gathering family,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lOR3Kx8OHfg/Tt1NcJt1KII/AAAAAAAAAmw/IboHifDaVXg/s1600/P1011013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lOR3Kx8OHfg/Tt1NcJt1KII/AAAAAAAAAmw/IboHifDaVXg/s400/P1011013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lSMbDWzl_3U/Tt1OGj_F4GI/AAAAAAAAAm4/F4_mES2DFj0/s1600/P1011002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lSMbDWzl_3U/Tt1OGj_F4GI/AAAAAAAAAm4/F4_mES2DFj0/s400/P1011002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">... lived happily under the roof of a place of comfort, retreat and rest. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dcRkwQvv82A/Tt1R6pb1obI/AAAAAAAAAnA/awyt8np4V7M/s1600/P1010994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dcRkwQvv82A/Tt1R6pb1obI/AAAAAAAAAnA/awyt8np4V7M/s400/P1010994.jpg" 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 class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A colorful life which I cherish everyday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-9228306185521514832011-10-20T22:54:00.003-05:002011-10-22T00:33:45.261-05:00Oh baby, you knooooooow what ah like!Having just returned from my 40 year high school reunion... Piedmont High School, Class of '71 .... I have just one thing to say about that:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Oh baby, that's what ah like!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Never before have I been amongst a more beautiful crowd. From the beaming faces to the open arms and hearts, this was a Love Fest to beat all Love Fests. I am bowing and hailing the incredible organizing committee for bringing us all together for this amazing reunion. Thank you a hundred times over .... Hank, Gail, Sherri, Carl, and Garrett.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PHS Class of 1971</td></tr>
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This was a night when the high school cliques and groups dissolved and became one big happy circle. Hugs were served up all around whether you knew each other well in school or not. (Hugs of the wine-sloshing, rib-crushing variety as I predicted in my last post ... was I right? Hmmm?) I think this was the hugging-est event I've ever been to. A T-Bird Woodstock. A feast of warm fuzzies. A perfect Piedmont par-tay.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kim, Mark, Debi & Gary<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Glasses were raised as toasts were made, arms were punched, lipsticked kisses were planted on cheeks, asses were grabbed, stories of delinquent days were swapped, photos of kids and grand kids were pulled from wallets, and beer was swilled once again (but this time not in cars at Senior Circle). Someone said the funniest thing as he raised his glass to a group of us chatting together (was it Kim Gimbal?) ... he said, "My God, I think this is the first time I've had a drink with all of you legally!" Hilariously true! </span></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kim Gimbal with his chickie babies; Debbie, Sherri, Debbie and Moi</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carole, Katie, Debi, & Debbie</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sue, Tracy, Ann and me</td></tr>
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The room roared with shouts of recognition, lively conversation and laughter and needless to say, pretty soon everyone began to feel real loose like a long necked goose. And oh baby ... that's what ah like!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classmates Tracy & Kent; too cute not to post!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with the man of the hour, Hank; reunion organizer and T-Bird drummer extraordinaire</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John, Garret (Zook), Kim & Scott</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Us-ygnEyEnM/TqBdkB9v7mI/AAAAAAAAAeg/yxFMW0p6ibY/s1600/reunion+40th+coleen+112-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Us-ygnEyEnM/TqBdkB9v7mI/AAAAAAAAAeg/yxFMW0p6ibY/s400/reunion+40th+coleen+112-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coleen, Cheri, Shelly, Belinda, Noel, Sherri & Gail</td></tr>
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Oh yeah, and I think there <i>might have been</i> just a little bit of music .... and perhaps some dancing going on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zLJ6WfodeBo/TqBaSJbSlLI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/GA2xS1F-25c/s1600/IMG_5271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zLJ6WfodeBo/TqBaSJbSlLI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/GA2xS1F-25c/s400/IMG_5271.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The teenage girls of the Class of '71</td></tr>
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</div>Our class is so lucky to have our beloved T-Birds, the most awesome group of teenage boys who formed a Sha Na Na inspired band back in the day, and who have continued to perform over the years, most memorably at every high school reunion we've had.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan, Hank, Christoph, Kim (hidden on drums), Kent & Scott</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p5BCJjXIeg0/TqDepURcdTI/AAAAAAAAAfg/mootcto_8VY/s1600/IMG_5319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p5BCJjXIeg0/TqDepURcdTI/AAAAAAAAAfg/mootcto_8VY/s320/IMG_5319.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott Bowhay; pure joy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We possessively call them "our own band" and brag that no other high school class has this. Last Saturday night our T-Birds give us all a priceless gift ... one night to kick off our 58- year old's clunky shoes with orthotic inserts, step into our teenager be-boppin' shoes, and return to our youth. Time fell away and we were kids again. No hair color in a bottle, no face lift, no red Ferrari, no nuthin' could make us feel that young again. Only a night with our boys, the T-Birds. Thank you, guys! Why must I be a teenager in love with all of you?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Forty years ago we were unaware of what lay ahead of us. Now we have those answers and our blank pages have been written and filled with our own unique stories of the paths we chose. I love that we came together to share them. Who would have ever thought that after all this time, we would reach across the years and celebrate our teenage years together in our lovely home town of Piedmont in 2011? This reconnection brought our scattered worlds together, if only for one night. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UEZsMIbJNLg/Tp9NsQJ7RuI/AAAAAAAAAdY/PC04skOVSuk/s1600/IMG_5306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UEZsMIbJNLg/Tp9NsQJ7RuI/AAAAAAAAAdY/PC04skOVSuk/s320/IMG_5306.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hank</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-txK0y2VwjFg/Tp9e2-PwHZI/AAAAAAAAAdo/jBLxaqeLkPI/s1600/IMG_5305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-txK0y2VwjFg/Tp9e2-PwHZI/AAAAAAAAAdo/jBLxaqeLkPI/s320/IMG_5305.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carl & Scott</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But we've lost eight classmates ... gone much too soon, so many blank pages which should have described their extended lives, left unwritten. These classmates were beautifully honored and remembered through a moving video and song, thanks to Hank, Christoph and Kim. I choose to believe these eight classmates were with us on this wonderful night, reminding us that we are so blessed and privileged to be continuing on and that every day is to be cherished.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As the night drew to a close, Katie Wood Cole said it best. The T-Birds were playing their final song and she tearfully hugged old friends on the dance floor saying, "I don't want it to end."<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n1q4u7FpIDw/TqC-7wHH3LI/AAAAAAAAAfA/ksyjX9jBqWU/s1600/305311_2543632040170_1534817284_2852837_441359406_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n1q4u7FpIDw/TqC-7wHH3LI/AAAAAAAAAfA/ksyjX9jBqWU/s200/305311_2543632040170_1534817284_2852837_441359406_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katie</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It doesn't have to.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
Call me a sappy sentimentalist but I think we were given something that night that we will always carry with us. Nothing can take it away. And besides, rumors of a 5-year reunion are already buzzing, people. <i>And</i> talk of a dinner gathering next year! Why wait til we're 68??? And then there is Facebook, which thankfully keeps many of us connected on a daily basis.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dk9ZMcvBEtY/TqBTtx4JvJI/AAAAAAAAAeA/bF8ao-Z7ZyE/s1600/IMG_5178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dk9ZMcvBEtY/TqBTtx4JvJI/AAAAAAAAAeA/bF8ao-Z7ZyE/s400/IMG_5178.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys in the band in Debi Bartlett Anderson's high school mustang.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Love you all. Virtual hugs, ass grabs, and lipsticked kisses all around. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh baby, that's what ah like!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">xoxo,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Michelle </div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">P.S. Many thanks to Lorraine Moreira for most of the fabulous photos I used here, and to Tracy Mikkelson and Coleen Casey Manuel's husband for a couple more. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div></div></div>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-79176538200801004012011-09-26T21:22:00.003-05:002011-10-08T14:05:04.534-05:00Evolution of a Snotty Teenager<div style="text-align: center;"><b>"You haven't changed a bit!"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"And YOU look exactly the same!"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"And YOU haven't aged a day!"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"I would have known you anywhere!"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>We'll lie and lie and lie.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>At our 40 year high school reunion next month.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kKpDn2DgK8/Tn9qQncy_0I/AAAAAAAAAc0/fZzHj9-zDsM/s1600/131495_493454412471_645972471_5943483_1745785_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kKpDn2DgK8/Tn9qQncy_0I/AAAAAAAAAc0/fZzHj9-zDsM/s400/131495_493454412471_645972471_5943483_1745785_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>But really, we'll only be half lying. Because in many ways, behind the extra girth, snow on the rooftop and double chins, we <i>are</i> still the same. This is what I discover at every reunion I attend. And I have to confess, I'm a reunion addict. I go to all of them, high school or college, I recruit/beg friends to go, and when I worked for the University of Pacific many (many!) years ago, one of the hats I wore was that of official class reunion organizer. I helped bring together a range of alums, young and old ... from the 32-year olds for their 10 year reunions to the 72-year olds who were being indoctrinated into the Half Century Club. It was so, so rewarding to see these classmates come together again. So I guess it's in my blood.<br />
<br />
I love reunions because I feel like the buddies we had way back then are some of the most important friends we'll have in our lives. They knew us when we were shaping, growing, and trying to figure who the hell we wanted to be. Unlike friendships we've forged since then, our high school friends knew us at our core, before we signed up for all the grown-up stuff. When I reunite with friends from my youth, especially if it's been decades since I've seen them, the years simply fall away as I bring them back into the folds of my life. That reconnection is a gift. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yk7dSBvTvps/Tn9rMHdMpXI/AAAAAAAAAc4/UJ9oy84gnQs/s1600/76750_467863647471_645972471_5569143_3227314_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yk7dSBvTvps/Tn9rMHdMpXI/AAAAAAAAAc4/UJ9oy84gnQs/s400/76750_467863647471_645972471_5569143_3227314_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Reunions mean time travel. For one weekend we can squeeze back into our 18-year old skins and look into the young faces of old friends who knew us when life was less complicated. We'll catch ourselves being hilariously and shamefully immature once again. We'll forgive and forget, even bury the hatchet if there is a hatchet to be buried.<br />
<br />
We'll come together on that old familiar ground where we rolled up our skirts, sneaked our cigs, and drove those narrow, winding streets of our small town like Formula One drivers. This is the place where we sat in cars at lunchtime and belted out "One Less Bell To Answer" with the radio (sorry, guys) and where we ... oh, I dunno, we might have done stuff like ditch history class by jumping out the ground floor window when the teacher turned to write on the blackboard.* This is the place where our hearts were broken and mended, where we yearned to be accepted, and where we eventually parted ways after graduation to venture out into an unknown world, solo, without each other.<br />
<br />
But much as we may often wish for our youth again, growing up is the gratifying part of life. Really. Because let's face it ... in high school we were sometimes snarky and shallow, snotty and clique-y. I know there were times I was mean to certain people, and I know I was especially sullen and snotty to my parents. For which I'm truly sorry.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yf2psjv2Ikw/Tn9spjrYG3I/AAAAAAAAAc8/t-54xCBK6ec/s1600/76750_467863652471_645972471_5569144_5433120_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yf2psjv2Ikw/Tn9spjrYG3I/AAAAAAAAAc8/t-54xCBK6ec/s320/76750_467863652471_645972471_5569144_5433120_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At a reunion though, we proudly show each other that we really did grow up, that we now actually have grown-up qualities like responsibility, compassion, and kind, generous and grateful hearts ... everything we always had deep within us anyway, even then. We now recognize the once unthinkable; that we've evolved from snotty teenagers to adults with wiry, grey hair, cholesterol issues, and (heaven forbid) common sense. We quit smoking, let our skirts down, and subscribe to NetFlix so we can stay home on Friday nights. We've become the very parents we said we'd never become, with the very kids we once were. Yep, I love that we knew each other at our core back then, but what I love <i>more</i> is seeing who we've now become. Kinder, deeper, less judgmental, more tolerant and open-hearted.<br />
<br />
I'm SO excited about The Big 40th. This is an important reunion (as high school reunion statistics indicate) because it's usually the one with the greatest attendance. And <i>that's</i> because:<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">a.) 40 years is a loooooong time and people are <i>finally</i> revved up to see each other again, and ....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">b.) while we don't look "exactly the same" at age 58, everyone still looks pretty good, and ...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">c.) everyone knows that it will probably be the <i>last</i> reunion, because in another 10 years you look pretty much like crap and nobody wants to go to a reunion.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">These are just the facts, people.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Not gonna lie.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And so, Piedmont High School, Class of 1971 .... if any of you are reading this, I'm recruiting/begging once again. If you haven't already registered for our 40th reunion, please do. In just three weeks we'll hear the squeals of recognition and the nicknames shouted out, followed by wine-sloshing, rib-crushing hugs.<br />
<br />
And then the lies.<br />
<br />
****************************************************************<br />
<br />
* Let the record show that this was not just <i>one</i> student who would slip out that window ... there were times when the teacher would turn around to continue the lecture and one third of the class would be gone! To the late Doc Benson, please forgive us ... we were just a bunch of snotty teenagers.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-22288311211849824172011-08-27T00:47:00.005-05:002011-08-28T18:15:09.848-05:00Hurricane of Prayer.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yxy1-x4YwUI/TlnVtz8QZBI/AAAAAAAAAcw/xZeF3AHR-_A/s1600/Burning_Candle_by_Imaginaworld_stock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yxy1-x4YwUI/TlnVtz8QZBI/AAAAAAAAAcw/xZeF3AHR-_A/s400/Burning_Candle_by_Imaginaworld_stock.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I'm supposed to be sitting in a theater in NYC's Lincoln Center tonight, enjoying the Tony winning play, <b>War Horse</b>, with my daughter and sister. And we made reservations for brunch tomorrow morning at the celebrated restaurant <b>Balthazar</b> in Soho. We planned such a wonderful trip.<br />
<br />
But needless to say, we cancelled that trip on Thursday night as the reports of Hurricane Irene grew more concerning by the minute. And while we are very disappointed to miss our long planned trip to New York, this can't compare to the fear and suffering the East Coast people are going through now.<br />
<br />
But tonight my daughter <i>is</i> in New York City because she recently moved there. As I write this she is hunkered down in an apartment with friends in Chelsea, only four blocks from the Hudson River. As her mother, I am beyond worried. But I must trust that she will be safe. I must have faith.<br />
<br />
I'm sending up a request to all of you for positive thoughts and prayers, not only for my daughter ... but for all of those in harm's way with this horrific storm. Collective positive energy can swirl, gather strength and become a powerful force, much like a hurricane. <br />
<br />
Thank you and blessings to all.<br />
<br />
<b>Sunday morning update: The kid is safe! Thank heavens Irene lost steam and THANK YOU ALL for your prayers!</b>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-39503613191902354752011-08-16T01:12:00.001-05:002011-08-16T01:13:11.817-05:00My Pet Peeves<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1fvFDaFMjI/AAAAAAAAAOs/zGkXafOETO0/s1600-h/sc002830c301.jpg"><br />
</a><br />
Last week we made the difficult decision of putting down our beautiful 13 year old Lab, Angel. Until I find the right time and words to write a commemorative post about her, I am re-posting one I wrote for another blog quite some time ago. This may say it best.<br />
<br />
******************************************************************* <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dpRuJoAnIgs/TkoHRSigUmI/AAAAAAAAAcs/BCHgIejX8iY/s1600/sc002830c301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dpRuJoAnIgs/TkoHRSigUmI/AAAAAAAAAcs/BCHgIejX8iY/s400/sc002830c301.jpg" width="287" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(This blog post was originally published on January 1, 2010.)</span> </div><br />
I was kind of in the mood to gripe about a few of my pet peeves, like:<br />
<br />
wrestling with tangled clothes hangers,<br />
<br />
or, people who say "her and I" (as in, "Her and I ditch English class often.")<br />
<br />
or, rude and sullen service people who mutter (without even glancing up from their task at hand) things like "what's up" when you go to pick up your passport photo at Walgreen's. And I don't mean a friendly, cheerful "hey, wassup!" ... I mean a "what-the-hell-do-you-want-lady, you're-bothering-me" what's up.<br />
<br />
Or, sheesh, they can send a man to the moon but nobody can figure out how to make a garden hose that doesn't kink,<br />
<br />
or, clueless grocery shoppers who abandon their carts in the middle of the aisle as they wander off to contemplate nutrition labels,<br />
<br />
or, the fact that we are always knee-deep in dog hair at our house, despite endless vacuuming.<br />
<br />
But that last pet peeve got me to thinking about the pet that causes that peeve and then I started feeling less bitchy and more, well ... all mushy inside. The source of all that dog hair is Angel, our 12 year old yellow Lab. Baby Girl, Mike calls her. But our Baby Girl is getting on in years. And, oh dear ... that makes you think. And now I don't so much feel like bitching about petty stuff anymore.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1YVPSfFizI/AAAAAAAAAN0/y4xHw3ywJAo/s1600-h/IMG_2886.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428549753246157618" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1YVPSfFizI/AAAAAAAAAN0/y4xHw3ywJAo/s320/IMG_2886.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>Angel came to us as a 9 week old pup in 1998. Elizabeth was 10 and we had promised her a puppy when we moved to Austin; she in turn promised <span style="font-style: italic;">us</span> she would be responsible for taking care of this dog. Parents 'round the world? Does this ever happen? (raspberry sound here) Elizabeth named Angel after her favorite food at the time, angel HAIR pasta, and after a couple of shedding seasons it became clear that Elizabeth's name choice was a littl<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1f0pSS4fTI/AAAAAAAAAO0/K7ZnDfBEVrU/s1600-h/IMG_0305.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429076865941273906" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1f0pSS4fTI/AAAAAAAAAO0/K7ZnDfBEVrU/s320/IMG_0305.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>e joke from the universe. Shouldn't we have taken the "hair" part of that name inspiration and called her Harriet? Especially since Angel seemed a poor choice for the naughty youngster she was. But as she got older, it was evident Angel was a perfect name as she became our gentle, patient, devoted companion and protector.<br />
<br />
She's not been an especially healthy or low maintenance dog however, and she has cost us a small fortune in vet bills, especially in contrast to our miniature dachshund, Rosemary, who's never had a sick day in her life (and who sometimes uses Angel's ass for a pillow; above). <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1fnRZnoUqI/AAAAAAAAAOk/j8m15LaiwaA/s1600-h/IMG_2774.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429062161939321506" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1fnRZnoUqI/AAAAAAAAAOk/j8m15LaiwaA/s320/IMG_2774.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>Angel takes the prize for ear infections, chronic skin allergies, compulsive licking, paw chewing, and scratching. She often wears toddler's socks (pictured above) to keep her from gnawing paws raw. She's been on an expensive allergy medication for several years now ($50 a month) and does an occasional course of steroids for bad flare ups. As you can see, she's never particularly happy about all this. In September she tore her acl and had surgery, a big deal for an older dog because the recovery process (below) is intense. Again, not happy. She's hobbling a bit but doing pretty well now! For an old Baby Girl.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1YUdEIr2hI/AAAAAAAAANs/mFHYd5fw2Gk/s1600-h/IMG_2532.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428548890400643602" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1YUdEIr2hI/AAAAAAAAANs/mFHYd5fw2Gk/s320/IMG_2532.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>But the shedding. Ack! I find blond dog hair in my morning coffee and on my pillow at night. I even found one in the microwave the other day. My slippers, which are<span style="font-style: italic;"> not</span> the furry, fluffy kind, are furry and fluffy. And our clothes ... well, suffice it to say we have a lifetime supply of lint rollers which are strategically stationed throughout the house.<br />
<br />
Angel is a year-round shedder, even shedding great gobs in winter when other dogs are smartly building up and hanging onto their winter coats. You can see the hair falling off blizzard-like when she strolls by. I could stuff a sofa with the hair I collect after I brush her on the back porch. I often throw fistfuls of it into the yard and come spring, the birds snatch bits of it to line their nests. In the fall we find these empty nests in the naked branches of trees and we tell Angel that she has made a loving contribution to the comfort and protection of tender fledglings, who will soon be the parents of more fledglings come next spring. And on and on.<br />
<br />
I often complain that I wish I had back all of the hours I've spent on extra vacuuming over the years since we've had Angel. I don't really. She has been worth every minute of it, worth every penny spent at the vet, every moment devoted to her convalescing, every chewed up Bally shoe and every Barbie ensemble ingested as a puppy. The best part is that we can say this <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span>, while she is still with us. We can nuzzle her neck and tell her how important she is to us. She has been our mentor, showing us how to love. Showing us how it's done.<br />
<br />
There is such an abundance of Angel hair blowing about our yard that long after she is gone someday, the birds will still be lining their nests with Angel hair every spring. When we find those abandoned nests in fall, our hearts will swell and we will tell Angel again: you always did and always will make a loving contribution to the comfort and protection of tender lives.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">That's what Angels do.</div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1fWbpc7pwI/AAAAAAAAAN8/LExtHe3ykvA/s1600-h/sc00266bb801.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429043646290437890" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sHtJUriNJDM/S1fWbpc7pwI/AAAAAAAAAN8/LExtHe3ykvA/s400/sc00266bb801.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-76945282113395638512011-08-07T14:25:00.008-05:002011-08-07T23:08:32.670-05:00The Big Gift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j1M2d80JvO8/Tj7kaggOymI/AAAAAAAAAco/4H0TFHntfJU/s1600/large_Birthday_Cake_Alight_Large_54536.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j1M2d80JvO8/Tj7kaggOymI/AAAAAAAAAco/4H0TFHntfJU/s320/large_Birthday_Cake_Alight_Large_54536.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's my birthday and I'm giving myself a present! But more important, I'd like to give the Progeria kids a present.<br />
<br />
Please scroll down and check out my last blog post about Progeria, the rare and cruel disease that causes children to age rapidly. These children march bravely through the few years they have to live. Birthdays are limited.<br />
<br />
So here's the plan for presents. On the selfish side, I'm trying to bring new followers and comments to my blog. (But this is all part of a grander plan down the road which actually has non-selfish motives!) <b><i>So to encourage participation I am going to donate $5 to the</i><a href="http://www.progeriaresearch.org/"> <span style="color: #38761d;">Progeria Research Foundation</span></a></b><b><i> for every new follower and $2 for every comment left on my blog from today until the end of August. </i></b>I will have a cap on the amount I can donate (just in case I get flooded with responses, which is my hope!) but it will be a pretty high cap ... maybe somewhere between $300 - $500. Haven't decided yet.<br />
<br />
So please sign on as a follower .... it's a win/win!<br />
<br />
Two ways to do it: <br />
<br />
You can either click on the blue <b><i>"join this site"</i></b> button to your right and use your google account to follow or, if you don't already have a google account the blue button should direct you to register for one ... which you never have to use afterwards if you don't want to.<br />
<br />
Or, you can sign up as a follower through the <i><b>Networked Blogs</b></i> button.<br />
<br />
And if you share this on Facebook or tweet it, that would be awesome. Then it just might spread like wildfire! Those buttons are also to your right. <br />
<br />
I love presents! Thank you!Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-47622694782448111182011-08-03T11:53:00.007-05:002011-08-03T11:59:39.271-05:00She just lives.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJsyra7td6c/Tjl1aHiLs1I/AAAAAAAAAck/D4eslFgFDzM/s1600/Sun_Rays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="330" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJsyra7td6c/Tjl1aHiLs1I/AAAAAAAAAck/D4eslFgFDzM/s400/Sun_Rays.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> Last week I turned on the TV and landed on a Barbara Walters show about the rare disease Progeria, which causes early aging in children. The show featured three little girls with Progeria; Lindsay, Kaylee and Hayley.<br />
<br />
These children suffer from countless afflictions and rarely live past their early teens. They have no hair on their bodies, are very pale and fragile, have larger heads, bulging eyes and beaked noses. In other words, unlike most of us, these children have been dealt a very, very difficult hand. Not only do they suffer from this cruel disease and it's difficult treatment, but they look extremely different from the average child, which makes them subject to stares and cruel words from those who don't understand.<br />
<br />
During this show, the mom of one of these little girls (and I <i>think</i> it was Lindsay's mom but I'm sorry that I'm not absolutely certain) said something that just hit me in the heart with a big thud. She was talking about how her daughter is such an inspiration and mentor to her, because despite all the pain, difficulty and adversity in her life, Lindsay looks beyond that and ... "she just lives."<br />
<br />
Just those three little words. She just lives.<br />
<br />
She doesn't care how she looks. She doesn't care what people say. She giggles her way through her day. She adores her devoted family and friends. She's grateful for her time on this planet. She just lives.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Say no more.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-inKHkDqvv7s/TjTu6d0kjmI/AAAAAAAAAcY/qbbH8eten-M/s1600/LindsayKaylee-trophies-crp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-inKHkDqvv7s/TjTu6d0kjmI/AAAAAAAAAcY/qbbH8eten-M/s320/LindsayKaylee-trophies-crp.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lindsay and Kaylee, in Boston September 2009 for their <br />
final visit in the first clinical trial (for which they received <br />
trophies!) and their 1st visit for the new, triple drug trial.</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>For more information about Progeria or to donate to the Progeria Research Foundation, please click <a href="http://www.progeriaresearch.org/">here</a>.Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-79293900532418745662011-07-24T22:11:00.002-05:002011-07-31T12:11:32.203-05:00Who I Am<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RPRcPCX0yQ/TitRo6oHR_I/AAAAAAAAAcU/N7EDb6_Dl40/s1600/l-in-the-pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RPRcPCX0yQ/TitRo6oHR_I/AAAAAAAAAcU/N7EDb6_Dl40/s400/l-in-the-pink.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
painting by L. Diane Johnson</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Last week I noticed an elderly woman in a restaurant in Carmel, California where I was lunching with my Mom. She was dining alone and seemed to be having the most enjoyable, leisurely time of it. She wore khaki capris, a plain white shirt and a straw garden hat with a silver ponytail trailing out from under it. Her lined face was beautiful ... she reminded me a bit of the late Jessica Tandy, actually. I commented to my Mom, "Now there's a typical Carmel lady." Artsy, beachy, unpretentious, maybe on the wealthy side (I mean really, it's Carmel).<br />
<br />
My mom and I enjoyed on own leisurely and scrumptious lunch ... big wedges of the most divine deep-dish veggie quiche and gorgeous fruit. (Okay, and coconut cream pie and a latte.) As I watched this Carmel lady, the writer in me immediately launched into conjuring up the details of her life.<br />
<br />
She was an artist, of course. (Because it <i>is</i> Carmel, the city of galleries.) She's just taken a break from a gratifying morning of painting in her glorious garden. She's a regular here at this restaurant, dropping in often for lunch or a croissant and cappuccino. There is warmth in her eyes as she smiles at the waitress who brings her salad. She is friendly and welcoming.<br />
<br />
Yet she is a loner in many ways. She loves her solitude and her creative time. It feeds and nourishes her soul. She has learned that using her gifts and talents and sharing them with the world is the most powerful connection to God. She is at a point in her life where she doesn't care what other people think. She's over it. She imperfect and worthy and grateful for every blessing that has come into her path. She is overwhelmingly content with her art, her house full of books and memories, her daily stroll on the beach, and her devoted family and friends.<br />
<br />
Yes, as I painted the picture of her life I painted my own. This is who I hope to be in my 70s and 80s; I want the Carmel lady's life. Funny thing is, I feel like I'm well on my way. Over the years I've managed to wiggle myself from a place of self-doubt into a place of celebrating being an imperfect person living in an imperfect world and feeling utterly worthy of every day I get to stand on the right side of the grass. And I've recently had a return to painting and writing, two passions I've put aside for years. I've learned you can't turn away from these things .... they will come back after you because they are part of who you are at your core. Writer Mary Jo Putney says, <i>"What one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever."</i> Words that ring so true. And so ........<br />
<br />
This is who I was.<br />
This is who I am .<br />
This is who I will be.<br />
<br />
(You never know how much you might inspire somebody, just by sitting there eating a salad. Thank you, beautiful Carmel lady.)Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-79180448838178459122011-07-14T19:32:00.002-05:002012-03-13T20:37:22.176-05:00No journey is too great .....I'm off to California to visit my Mom, who turned 89 yesterday. She is in surprisingly great health, has so much energy, and has a far better memory than I do! I plan to have a fun few days celebrating her birthday and catching up. (And it's 45 degrees cooler there than here in good ol' hot Austin, Texas ... a refreshing change!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kz5x04SgXO0/Th-KIKgi5gI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/r8ifgAomrj0/s1600/P1010354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kz5x04SgXO0/Th-KIKgi5gI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/r8ifgAomrj0/s400/P1010354.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>But before I go, I want to leave you with this wonderful sentiment on a thank-you card my beautiful friend and neighbor Jane, gave me ... just for bringing her some peach cobbler! When I read this, a tremendous feeling of wonder and gratitude washed over me, because I realized I DO find whatever I seek. I have hoped for people like Jane in my life and here she is. Another of my favorite people in the whole wide world, Katherine (who also happens to be my cousin's wife) found her way back into my life by moving into a house right across the road from me, all the way from New Zealand. I live out in the country which is what I've always wanted. I have a wonderful, creative life, and three sweet dogs who follow me around adoringly. I have a terrific husband and a daughter who is truly a dream come true.<br />
<br />
This is the life I have sought and this is the life I have. Yep, sometimes the journey is rocky but it <i>is</i> worth everything when you find what you seek. Thank you, Jane.<br />
<br />
A card with a dachshund even!Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-19849426213471755802011-07-03T18:10:00.002-05:002011-07-04T13:31:46.098-05:00Brooklyn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8ZCIFfvKv0/Tg-wAnHmKvI/AAAAAAAAAbs/9YfVVRcs12Y/s1600/IMG_0200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8ZCIFfvKv0/Tg-wAnHmKvI/AAAAAAAAAbs/9YfVVRcs12Y/s400/IMG_0200.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Funny how just when you think you're all grown up, you put on a big growth spurt. At age 57. <br />
<br />
Last weekend I went to Brooklyn to visit my daughter who moved there a month ago. Her move was a big leap, not just for her ... but for me. You see, she's my only child and not only was it so hard to see her go, but ... well, it was difficult to know that she was moving to an uber-urban place like Brooklyn and commuting by subway to her job in NYC. This is a far cry from our laid-back, Southern lifestyle in Austin, Texas. In Brooklyn there is massive graffiti, guys hanging out on stoops, dark and grimy subway stations and, you know ... stuff for a mother to worry about.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TUfL5MYjto4/ThADrwGEUzI/AAAAAAAAAb0/Nux8NdQ5ALQ/s1600/IMG_0182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TUfL5MYjto4/ThADrwGEUzI/AAAAAAAAAb0/Nux8NdQ5ALQ/s400/IMG_0182.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
But over the course of my three days there, my daughter introduces me to her new Brooklyn neighborhood and beyond. We walk the streets to her favorite coffee house, little diners and restaurants for brunch or pizza, and even to the Flea Market on the East River where we buy her a nice big chest for her apartment. We have a lovely time. Nevertheless, it has been a very long time since I've lived in the Bay Area and navigated the streets of Oakland and I wasn't used to this starkly urban life. I am apprehensive.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We also spend a lot of time in Manhattan during my visit, and I follow my daughter through a maze of tunnels in those dark and grimy subway stations. My preferred way of NYC transportation ("Taxi!") gives way to countless subway trains as she tries to teach me how to do this alone upon my next visit. We take the subway <i>everywhere</i>... to Soho, to Macy's at Harold Square, to Fifth Ave. and 53rd St. where she works ... and all sorts of points in between.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fwU5ROKkcAA/ThDzYYCwzdI/AAAAAAAAAcA/olBTvuwrpJI/s1600/IMG_0164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fwU5ROKkcAA/ThDzYYCwzdI/AAAAAAAAAcA/olBTvuwrpJI/s400/IMG_0164.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Lots and lots of walking too, which I always enjoy while in Manhattan but this time my feet are killing me. (I think this is called aging. Or quite possibly, as my husband suggests, being out of shape.) As we weave our way through the packed sidewalks of Soho, I'm often cut off by the crowd and get separated from my daughter. She turns, spots me and waits until I can catch up, something like a mother duck and her duckling. She asks about my aching feet and we stop into a drugstore and buy shoe inserts, which helps for awhile. <br />
<br />
On Sunday, as we sit on a bench in Central Park eating our deli sandwiches, it occurs to me that she teaches <i>me</i> now. She teaches me how to ride the subway, how to see that graffiti can be art, how to recognize that those people on their stoops are most likely not thugs, but people enjoying the day. She teaches me how to navigate the city and guides me through her world. Most of all, she teaches me to trust that she will be fine.<br />
<br />
She has taken me to the very spot in Central Park where she comes to eat her lunch everyday. It's a beautiful sparkling day. We watch nicely dressed families strolling by after church and the balloon man twisting up crazy shapes for children who beg their parents to buy one. We see the pierced and tattooed lovers whispering on a bench across the path, the numerous pregnant women walking by on the arms of husbands, and nannies rocking napping babies in strollers. I am flooded with memories of my years with this beautiful 24 year old daughter beside me .. as a baby, as a toddler, as a little girl whose hand fit in mine like a tiny sparrow as we walked the tree-lined streets to kindergarten.<br />
<br />
I am glad to know this little piece of her day on a Central Park bench, glad to take that perspective home with me to Texas so that I can glance at the clock everyday around 11:30 a.m. and know where she is and what she sees from that bench, because I've been there next to her.<br />
<br />
We gather our shopping bags and head out to Fifth Avenue where we hail a taxi. My feet are hurting so bad I cannot even walk the few blocks to the subway station. I'm not as young as I used to be.<br />
<br />
And neither is she.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rZjtbuEFQdk/ThADPdJhAHI/AAAAAAAAAbw/8Ty_0NTpeSM/s1600/IMG_0180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rZjtbuEFQdk/ThADPdJhAHI/AAAAAAAAAbw/8Ty_0NTpeSM/s400/IMG_0180.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>Just one month ago, it was painful to watch her disappear through the retracting doors at the Austin airport en route to NYC, her petite frame slung with heavy duffel bags. That image is branded in my brain. It was worse then leaving her on the steps of her freshman dorm six years before. Much worse. Because this time it seemed she was going so far beyond my reach, disappearing from sight, deep into her new world and life, far away from mine. All those years she spent beneath my cloak of protection are truly over now. When those retracting doors slid closed behind her, I felt the finality of it.<br />
<br />
But now I trust that she is (and always has been) beneath a different cloak of protection ... one of a divine and loving nature, and that she will be alright, and safe, and very happy. I try very hard to hand her over.Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-72299254700008464432011-06-17T13:22:00.003-05:002011-06-20T10:35:35.611-05:00Fountain of Youth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2PF-MHjSDZM/TfuXRYKzuVI/AAAAAAAAAbo/T-LcaDh2vJY/s1600/P9220511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2PF-MHjSDZM/TfuXRYKzuVI/AAAAAAAAAbo/T-LcaDh2vJY/s400/P9220511.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Today I watched our old girl, Angel, experience a moment of joy and remembrance.<br />
<br />
After helping her off the deck and onto the lawn to do her biz, the poor thing (nearly blind and deaf) stumbled about in her Mr. Magoo way and got a bit disoriented. These days she tends to veer to the left for some reason, something like a shopping cart with squirrely front wheels, and you have to constantly steer her back in the right direction.<br />
<br />
But today I watched as Angel wandered into a section of the lawn beyond her usual restroom area. It was 104 degrees and unbeknownst to her, she was headed straight for the little sprinkler I'd set out there awhile earlier. And we're talking Labrador Retriever, a water dog who in her younger days, would shoot out the back door of our former house with pool, and make a beeline for that pool three times a day. Where she would proceed to do laps like Michael Phelps and have the time of her life. She used to adore the water and I know she's missed that pool since we moved from there almost six years ago.<br />
<br />
So when she found herself under the sprinkler, she flinched initially, not quite sure what these drops were all about. Then she realized, <i>hey this is water ... if I just stand here I can get drenched. Like back in the day.</i> Then she began to practically <i>hop</i> around ... in an arthritic way, but still. She opened her mouth and lapped at the droplets. She stuck her face in the sprinkler, then stood directly over it and let it spray her belly. She shook (sort of) and went back in for more.<br />
<br />
My heart swelled as I saw how happy Angel was, to feel this cool water soothe her ancient body and for just a few minutes, I really think she remembered her playful, youthful days ... when her body was agile and pain-free, life was joyful, and her days consisted of way more than sleep, poop, and a bowl of senior dog chow laced with meds. <br />
<br />
She'd found her way to her own little fountain of youth, if only briefly. She drank it in and soaked it up ... and today was a day worth living.<br />
<br />
And how I wish I'd had my camera with me.Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-46790998355446920302011-06-05T23:30:00.003-05:002011-07-10T01:39:50.720-05:00Unlived life ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U2UNrTbfJqI/TexDPmAkkPI/AAAAAAAAAbY/24NymoY7Q00/s1600/2009-1-22-sunrise-wells-beach-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U2UNrTbfJqI/TexDPmAkkPI/AAAAAAAAAbY/24NymoY7Q00/s400/2009-1-22-sunrise-wells-beach-002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I will not die an unlived life. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I will not live in fear </div><div style="text-align: center;">of falling or catching fire. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I choose to inhabit my days, </div><div style="text-align: center;">to allow my living to open me, </div><div style="text-align: center;">to make me less afraid, </div><div style="text-align: center;">more accessible, </div><div style="text-align: center;">to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, </div><div style="text-align: center;">a torch, a promise. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I choose to risk my significance; </div><div style="text-align: center;">to live so that which came to me as seed </div><div style="text-align: center;">goes to the next as blossom </div><div style="text-align: center;">and that which came to me as blossom, </div><div style="text-align: center;">goes on as fruit. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> -Dawna Markova<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(These beautiful words seemed meant for the description of my blog, and when I added a portion of this poem to the header, it didn't leave me room for Dawna Markova's full name. I want to be sure that my readers know that she wrote these inspiring words.)</span> </div></div>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-5818407765429929542011-05-29T21:45:00.015-05:002011-05-30T10:26:32.009-05:00The Big Picture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jD93knwSflw/TeCJsf7BbhI/AAAAAAAAAa0/RNc2RL7aCOc/s1600/ladderclimb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jD93knwSflw/TeCJsf7BbhI/AAAAAAAAAa0/RNc2RL7aCOc/s400/ladderclimb.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>A conversation over lunch last week with a good friend centered on the issue of people dear to us who hurt us deeply. My friend was struggling with the recent estrangement from her daughter and I could see what a painful situation this had become for her. I've so often found myself in this position, where I have been angry and resentful over a family rift or a friend's hurtful behavior. But over time, and through the help of mentors, I've learned that there's only one thing to do.<br />
<br />
You have to look at <span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Big Picture</b></span>.<br />
<br />
There is always a reason why people behave the way they do and if you follow that thread and find the source, you will have a much broader perspective of the issue at hand. That offender's source of hurtful behavior may be fear, feelings of unworthiness, a painful upbringing, addiction ... any number of things may cause someone to behave badly, particularly on a continual basis. Look at the BIG picture, not just the argument you've had or the pain and anger it's caused you. Look through a wide lens. See <i>everything</i>. <br />
<br />
It's like climbing up an orchard ladder and viewing the entire landscape around you. Get up there on the top rung, stick your head through the tops of the trees, and take it all in. What do you see? That person's whole life? Their hidden suffering? Their alcoholism which causes volatile behavior, even when sober? Their crappy, negligent parents? Again, there is <i>always</i> an explanation for the way people behave. (Including ourselves, let's not forget!) Recognizing this, your anger and pain may very well shift to compassion and the problem, at least from <i>your</i> position, may be forgiven or even dissolve. As a result, you let go of your end of the tug-of-war rope and there is nothing left for the other to hang onto. Game over.<br />
<br />
<b>Big Picture</b> applies to everything ... problem solving, facing our <i>own</i> fears, parenting, even the massive problems we see in the world today. If only we could all view the problems of the world from the top rung of the orchard ladder, we would really SEE the world as a whole community in a brighter light .... and solutions would be clear. Well, clear-ER. Not gonna go all Pollyanna on you. <br />
<br />
But we can't always live up there on the top rung of the orchard ladder and have the wisdom and insight to see <b>The Big Picture</b> when we are upset. Most of the time we are "on the ground" where our vision is limited. When in the throes of the wrong-doing, or the unfairness of it all, or the throbbing hurt, we forget to climb up there and look for the source of the behavior. That's because .....<br />
<br />
We. Are. Human.<br />
<br />
Unless you are the Dali Lama, you don't live in a constant state of enlightenment and wisdom. But you can <i>take steps</i> to be wise and enlightened. Next time you are hurting, <i>try to remember </i>to poke your head through the trees and look around. Pretty cool.Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-68798766009467025402011-05-16T12:30:00.003-05:002011-05-17T11:43:55.922-05:00Argh. Oh well ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Weyliby6jX4/TdFcWm02SvI/AAAAAAAAAaw/UCGsfEraMQk/s1600/DSCN0308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Weyliby6jX4/TdFcWm02SvI/AAAAAAAAAaw/UCGsfEraMQk/s320/DSCN0308.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Yes, I am back from my Mediterranean cruise and I'm hoping that at least some of you had a chance to see the nice long post I did with lots of pictures from my trip before .... <i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Blogger lost it during a major crash.</b></span></i> Arrrrrgh. <b>Blogger</b> says they have now restored nearly all lost posts but, hmmm ... I sure haven't seen mine show up yet. In the meantime, let's have a nice quote, shall we? To forget about the petty stuff that doesn't matter a lick and remember what really does. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Do not let the hero in your soul perish,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">in lonely frustration for the life you deserve,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">but have never been able to reach.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Check your road and the nature of your battle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The world you desire can be won, it exists,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">it is real, it is possible,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">it is yours.</span><br />
- Ayn RandMichelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-68930987017259620562011-04-11T09:15:00.013-05:002011-04-26T02:51:16.380-05:00Believe it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q3HUBWxfmIw/TaE7hVZKbYI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/QxxVqg6u4xs/s1600/1195428129898623692johnny_automatic_ocean_liner.svg.hi.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q3HUBWxfmIw/TaE7hVZKbYI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/QxxVqg6u4xs/s320/1195428129898623692johnny_automatic_ocean_liner.svg.hi.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<i><b>The starting point for all deliberate manifestations is always with the desired end result in mind.</b></i><br />
<i><b> --- Mike Dooley</b></i><br />
<br />
I truly believe this.<br />
<br />
Case in point:<br />
Years ago I dreamed of going on a Mediterranean cruise, imagining that this must be the ultimate of all vacations. My husband and I have enjoyed three cruises in the past and so I assumed that he might be on board with this idea.<br />
<br />
Nope. He decided he didn't want to cruise anymore, that all those stops in all those ports aren't all that relaxing for him. He has always traveled a great deal with his job so now he's decided that his idea of a vacation is to park a beach chair in the sand and never move from it. <br />
<br />
Okay. I get that. But this threw me for a loop and a Mediterranean cruise was on my dream list. Now, if my husband didn't want to go, <i>how</i> was I ever going to work this out?<br />
<br />
<b>Believe.</b><br />
I reminded myself that I don't need to worry about the "hows" ... that's the job of the universe. <i>Believe</i> ... that was my job. So I kept dreaming about a Mediterranean cruise and believed that someday it would somehow happen.<br />
<br />
In one hour I leave for the airport to fly to Athens where I will board a luxurious cruise ship. My BFF of 48 years, who has been a travel agent for 35 years, was offered a free 10 day Mediterranean cruise for two by the cruise line rep. She chose me as her guest! And here's what happens folks, when you believe in a dream and you turn it over to the universe to arrange for you .... the plan that is offered you will be far, far better than anything you could possibly design for yourself. We were originally booked into a beautiful cabin (the reps want the agent to have a really great experience so that they will rave about and sell those trips) but 3 days ago we were upgraded to the penthouse suite with butler services! Pinching myself. Yeah. Better than anything I could have ever designed for myself.<br />
<br />
Belief is a powerful force now acknowledged by the world of science as a means to manifest the tremendous, beautiful, meaningful lives we dream of. Stuff happens in your brain when you believe and visualize something with great certainty, stuff with neurons and synapse and what-not, (that's my super scientific explanation) especially when you pair that belief with a trust that you are being cared for by a divine intelligence, spirit, universe, whatever you choose to call it. Whether it be a dream vacation, a rewarding career, love or great health ... whatever it may be, we can have that if we believe we can. On the other hand, if we <i>don't</i> believe we can have the life of our dreams ... that can be arranged as well.<br />
<br />
Off to a enjoy a trip of a lifetime! I hope to post a short blog post or two from the ship!Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-88227481403871085122011-04-05T17:41:00.003-05:002011-04-06T11:57:08.309-05:00Angel Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zcwAW05ml8/TZuROBsin0I/AAAAAAAAAZo/wsDsj9KNRyk/s1600/IMG_2886.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3zcwAW05ml8/TZuROBsin0I/AAAAAAAAAZo/wsDsj9KNRyk/s400/IMG_2886.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I sat reading in a comfy chair in the sunlight and through the wall I could hear my husband talking to our 13-year old dog, Angel, in the next room. I closed my book and listened. His voice was muffled and low and I could not make out the words, but I didn't need to. He was talking to her affectionately as he always does ... tenderly, with the hum of love in his sentences. He was having quite a long and and happy conversation with her, and then I heard her answer with the thump, thump, thump of her tail as it whacked the wall.<br />
<br />
They love each other so much. I notice that the older Angel gets, the more devoted my husband is to her, the more connected, and the harder it will be to let her go. We know we won't have her much longer ... this wonderful old, deaf dog. Our Angel Baby. <br />
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</a><br />
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</a></div>Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5078253296563600484.post-21401091913244290212011-03-28T12:00:00.004-05:002011-03-30T00:06:03.018-05:00Hit the decks running ....<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div><br />
A couple of days ago I didn't have a chance to eat breakfast until 11:30. Very bad for the metabolism, I know. Weeks of deck construction and landscaping means I hit the decks running every morning. A whole lotta stuff's been going on out there; power saws, nail guns, pick-ups in the driveway, a bobcat shoving dirt around, 3 dogs barking at the workers ....<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_d8avcTdAfM/TZFkqnjMEDI/AAAAAAAAAZg/fGRBpfGyyZQ/s1600/P2161611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_d8avcTdAfM/TZFkqnjMEDI/AAAAAAAAAZg/fGRBpfGyyZQ/s400/P2161611.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris & Ed, my new BFFs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My usual peaceful ritual to start my day ... reading the newspaper over a nice breakfast ... gone. Replaced by my new ritual which is to wipe down dirty dog Louis several times a day, who loves to roll around in all this exciting new dirt. So I wolfed down some cereal on the run but in my haste to rush out again to water 80 drooping new plants, the bowl dropped to the floor where it shattered everywhere. Grrrrrr. How I wish this back yard project would be over.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cym4wzcFfbs/TY_WBueFr6I/AAAAAAAAAZE/eZ6Jn6z5fQE/s1600/P3011673.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cym4wzcFfbs/TY_WBueFr6I/AAAAAAAAAZE/eZ6Jn6z5fQE/s400/P3011673.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DIRT DOG</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alrighty. Got the bitching out of the way. The rest is all fabulous! It <i>IS</i> almost done and it's beautiful! Come along and see.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CHwrJjcVUU4/TZAo9XboVdI/AAAAAAAAAZI/GcOh-tkiMZg/s1600/P2201613.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CHwrJjcVUU4/TZAo9XboVdI/AAAAAAAAAZI/GcOh-tkiMZg/s400/P2201613.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Our beautiful deck, patio and surrounding landscape were all designed by the most talented landscape architect team of all time ... who also happen to be my cousin and his wife; Steve and Katherine. (They <i>also</i> happen to live right across the road from us, and how they arrived there is another incredible story in itself. I'll tell ya sometime. ) Their supervision and hard work on this project has been so appreciated! We're all decked out!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tiXqwlT0X8/TZApNXX6dUI/AAAAAAAAAZM/21ttJL5w9n4/s1600/P3091683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tiXqwlT0X8/TZApNXX6dUI/AAAAAAAAAZM/21ttJL5w9n4/s400/P3091683.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When this concrete slab was poured for the stone patio, Louis ran through it, then onto the deck with cement-y paws. Grrrrrr.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting there.......</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8yC0bsH5BOQ/TY-6Z5EqNrI/AAAAAAAAAY4/HQ7kRtiDvF4/s1600/P3251895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8yC0bsH5BOQ/TY-6Z5EqNrI/AAAAAAAAAY4/HQ7kRtiDvF4/s400/P3251895.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The deck is finished and the furniture arrives .....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4cOF3OGgVUo/TY-zfOyG4DI/AAAAAAAAAYs/MuGHLm18z4I/s400/P3251891.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love the chevron pattern Steve & Katherine designed for the overhead. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Even though we aren't finished with the landscape portion of the plan, we couldn't wait to christen the deck over the weekend. Steaks and Shiner Bocks were in order.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lighting is awesome ... it's in the risers of the steps, the overhead and the trees.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dBKMkilsJns/TY-6i1_8o4I/AAAAAAAAAY8/Q7pu6CptuRE/s1600/P3261899.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dBKMkilsJns/TY-6i1_8o4I/AAAAAAAAAY8/Q7pu6CptuRE/s400/P3261899.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(left to right) Katherine, my hubby Mike, Steve, and friend and neighbor Jane</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">It's all been so worth it. We've gone from insanity to Zen. Well, almost.</div><div style="text-align: center;">(But somehow I think my troubles aren't over.) </div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--AaLz1qn7D0/TZFOOd2uq0I/AAAAAAAAAZc/4v-MCjzBljw/s1600/P3281916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--AaLz1qn7D0/TZFOOd2uq0I/AAAAAAAAAZc/4v-MCjzBljw/s400/P3281916.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GRRRRRRR.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hC6ssem1Zik/TZFl4xljPFI/AAAAAAAAAZk/OUhftlmxPTA/s1600/P3281911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hC6ssem1Zik/TZFl4xljPFI/AAAAAAAAAZk/OUhftlmxPTA/s400/P3281911.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SOD DOG</td></tr>
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Final, final photos to follow .... once the beds are mulched and Steve and Katherine have added their artful touch with potted plant arrangements on the deck. Heaven!Michelle Wells Granthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05578899755932198740noreply@blogger.com3