tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60378492068105124512024-03-12T17:56:15.074-05:00Mustard Seed HouseCelebrating the little things in life.Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-22280818407234746832010-02-01T22:00:00.001-06:002010-02-01T14:01:12.376-06:002009 YEAR IN REVIEW!<div align="justify">So I have been a REALLY bad blogger in 2009! Hopefully 2010 will be better, especially after I graduate in May(!). Until then, here is a 2009 Year in Review (mostly for my mom since I forget to send her pics of the kids!) In my defense, we usually are in the same town so she sees them all the time, but still . . . sorry mom! So here they are: (I will probably break this into several posts since manipulating the pics gets unwieldy.)</div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#333399;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;">JANUARY</span></strong></div><div align="center">After watching Bean be a flower girl several times, Bear finally had her turn when El <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Guapo's</span> cousin (a former Army helicopter pilot -- the bride, that is!) asked Bear to be in her wedding. What an honor (and what fun!)</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 402px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433332588870687890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKu6JuNZnj-7SBjtGho7nX2SMQgMgxFRp673c2v2Fi2KlICspiLieR13Lh0rO3pLSe9_GO1pTY8cepo2FLTNa1RZdGvP8R1lhhgKefRHDEec4CaQhgwL0sWXOrod2Bfc8f1nWmufCyO8/s400/Ella+Flower+Girl.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 405px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 308px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433332609652323362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiWxcu17evScRftISaIrvqF2XX8FHRfMT6BFoGUKV8GTyrHlU4p95gGjWtDOY7KXQT6ZajYLhqStlBw3Go1vmk6YuE3tQAvfCjqaPbzRuLkfzKNnMC37wjgMUrN7hUgcPU_T3zqcUBkw/s400/P1103663.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">It was a little hard on Bean not being the center of all the attention, but she looked just as lovely since she was able to wear her flower girl dress from one of <em>my</em> cousin's weddings the previous winter.</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433333205696355538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9Lmv7JqQ5Vqx0uN0gaJ8LfBdwBg967JIj1QaBBrs6EhxsDS4eywfCRduY-PkLZ2sq2JHaXzQm5NMYnoboY8SbsPfyz1reLUFramqYTqJxFyh4m5i9muhFL5Q_Kgx-C87R_MYwit6Hks/s400/P1103645.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Bear had fun blowing bubbles at the happy couple.</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 306px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 409px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433332611678159618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJI3h077JPbfRYY62KTMi7HP3kobLHZlJbrMQA64WE2zwf8kBvLPY8m0BG7Y3s1sqPjtWMYZp_kbIKIu-VOCzxRIdqrmQBSPpLBFTLyFWaOJIeQsujHEdt68Ptf8gz52BwZr2jcpAqYRg/s400/P1103676.JPG" /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Beautiful</span> sisters!<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 410px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 309px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433333601332667586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlONDMw9WEf3C_plUxcy7sCV6hschbvOxih6bnkQ-zO-7jiDQmbkVlvq1i_7dGcl83g43rla3trXYU9P78btreBz7AEepT7VOghcih9S-hiqefGz68HfuovosCtnXVdg6bAiw_yLMn9i0/s400/P1103703.JPG" /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Both girls spent quite a lot of time on the dance floor!</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433333604637569394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXiyDbM_EGqHHj5yr4Y_n81ofK97yUdS0GT4_yYMsl_opOgZ89mSWVyHetldAvkRGcjOus7FGu7JuIXhJ_1kRhbwyXu3korY-5GbpXHM2O8s5spLI1piFGQPh9CunRG6o0yqjODkA9Ho/s400/P1103765.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">A RARE <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chica</span> sighting!</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 323px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 415px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433335813035297506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj239vkdHVcCacgKM9lfbFArTnxZLPXZUFpmgpxLatlVqFfr5LJ99xMXnYpHMjm8VCaLsjc9BAt_sBRztP09wZzFY0KwdrfFDA7jGqptrbFM2DoJyIet8fVOA0gfh0JZSjSh4TDI9uorMI/s400/P1103706.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">January ended with a bang. Ben made his second trip to the ER for a cut to the corner of his mouth. A papoose board and four stitches later, he was good to go! </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433334938855460226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgnQM_IWddlhPH2RiKJILnDKFKshTSvMlko-4LB5ewsWS6qEissj-dYxgBZUELvmT2meHxSDr_2uanSIs13CPWrO_zQJm32MFzzmIW2uU1uNGIJFszJvw2EZhHCfL-BoQ0uxjm8XqaCU/s400/004.JPG" />Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-69388913698248418352010-02-01T21:30:00.002-06:002010-02-01T14:01:34.568-06:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong><span style="color:#663300;">MARCH<br /></span></strong></div></span><div align="center">So this is what "spring" looks like in Illinois. . . </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr0lyA_XXc_8t8yywXptUOpBVzmh7CTj1A_0rO_Vy6KgmregmTpmuQVa5tVrbtNv5iK-4-99kZ3cAm419yd3lq6N331jCzFPVVqcGFeIf5GG6u-FnJ0VhbTXEKOjzr9KsMaCxpMqLmZ8/s1600-h/034.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433343105615610066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr0lyA_XXc_8t8yywXptUOpBVzmh7CTj1A_0rO_Vy6KgmregmTpmuQVa5tVrbtNv5iK-4-99kZ3cAm419yd3lq6N331jCzFPVVqcGFeIf5GG6u-FnJ0VhbTXEKOjzr9KsMaCxpMqLmZ8/s400/034.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">but Scout was happy to cuddle up with the kids and keep them warm . . .</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433343112906838082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiJttAfYR8q-4TQdk5omQCRnClnz35aAT6SKOPisiUxySP19pxhGDULQJHW6gMxGHjFnnaKE4r7u7_apb_Y_nTkpV_hcY_QmpDC_f44wZaAm9fKDVXqibmeskn9V2vvlba9OBdsxNWgM/s400/008.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">and our view was brightened by the promise of a real spring thanks to my aunt and uncle in Minnesota, who understand probably better than most just how flowers can lighten the mood on those long, cold days, so they send us flowers every Valentine's Day.</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433343122759661986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hFME6Is6k5CsmzBzEW6fxQPn0x5CUPr8pF98ejd-C4uxi-sxO41wk9NBx-jAXv31CszHpywfrDYkK1-GJRNRCGRYsPlchlwi09kpz2zD19Ej8Qe13AgxblTaDjCtJTA17HeOlCgxfOE/s400/011.JPG" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">And speaking of buds, here is Bean the budding artist whose <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kachina</span> Doll was selected for the district-wide art show, complete with special exhibition and reception.<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ-AoCEwKFhMTQ2SKonJJMRXtG2grHbFj6fgHb8cniJclTTwCzs1AbursWP3NIjWxNH2dpL6tJXVj9XCZyqv8PmLFFAt7gwbUVsvFq6BsYmWVZaxib1gRPaMWXoY-RkIgfDqzVNvygHA/s1600-h/014.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433342851470612594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ-AoCEwKFhMTQ2SKonJJMRXtG2grHbFj6fgHb8cniJclTTwCzs1AbursWP3NIjWxNH2dpL6tJXVj9XCZyqv8PmLFFAt7gwbUVsvFq6BsYmWVZaxib1gRPaMWXoY-RkIgfDqzVNvygHA/s400/014.JPG" /></a><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433342860324933858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXd14bTkJv5eO9f8wey1ABqICJmQA1IpJ1pjCAQgbpuincoNr9nmyRzXUETBbFVZuEBT2V-8n0ymLVcg39JI31YGhjmsLDPxdJoIGPa14LymprYY2nG7rF_JQf23Q5u6Y4vpAi2M8WdQ/s400/015.JPG" />Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-4650350178249607622010-02-01T21:00:00.002-06:002010-02-01T14:01:57.193-06:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;"><strong>APRIL</strong></span></div><div align="center">I actually posted pictures of Easter last year. That post can be found <a href="http://mustardseedhouse.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-easter.html">here</a>.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_g7EJTJc99exDiOrKFi7xbh7D0qPP1DxXU7EKZg61XSZwicexKkDz_-v4zIpfMio72lWy9pHqR6dVRQwpgCv2WlyCR5mHRamteICHjG1k3ef0Q6sSGwutUgnINFpQeRis4ucKlSJZx8E/s1600-h/007.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345843905438754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_g7EJTJc99exDiOrKFi7xbh7D0qPP1DxXU7EKZg61XSZwicexKkDz_-v4zIpfMio72lWy9pHqR6dVRQwpgCv2WlyCR5mHRamteICHjG1k3ef0Q6sSGwutUgnINFpQeRis4ucKlSJZx8E/s400/007.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">Garden dreamin' . . . . Just one of the many reasons I was a very bad blogger last year! These are the BEFORE pictures.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RY8e22QvBesRqGacWdKgCiwij9tlrVWAMK81boAgsQgXS_Vmo1LJk9341q1fxTUAHCHGxZJwRgOXel8-TDW8aiZKliE40r99nb280HNz2RqYqcJzA88rYWA6SjhbHUpQntdKnhYEYNo/s1600-h/033.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345840998530498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RY8e22QvBesRqGacWdKgCiwij9tlrVWAMK81boAgsQgXS_Vmo1LJk9341q1fxTUAHCHGxZJwRgOXel8-TDW8aiZKliE40r99nb280HNz2RqYqcJzA88rYWA6SjhbHUpQntdKnhYEYNo/s400/033.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OxiykIZvL76Jw69ECWrE2DxO8bn3ciEayVnk_ijOiIaB8mXlfOHEeF9k4sNSzTb14VN96y7VsuPW9w4u6zoUU4B202qDDFWqwHLOxnuink8ew7i613xwub7G-QdTk-tNaadQvb3CHSc/s1600-h/036.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345834409578530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OxiykIZvL76Jw69ECWrE2DxO8bn3ciEayVnk_ijOiIaB8mXlfOHEeF9k4sNSzTb14VN96y7VsuPW9w4u6zoUU4B202qDDFWqwHLOxnuink8ew7i613xwub7G-QdTk-tNaadQvb3CHSc/s400/036.JPG" /></a>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-45278906926894394072010-02-01T20:30:00.001-06:002010-02-01T14:02:35.324-06:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;"><strong>MAY</strong></span></div><div align="center">So it might not be the same kind of canal that was behind my condo in the Cayman Islands, but our waterway to the river is pretty sweet. Spring has finally sprung!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bTr2XMQeTzBHGrxMu84yRpB_31jvlalmYPwcsONXapRaMjhtsUb6pGKca8be70Bsf0zMMGpva4RyJmcZ5QsSNSnNVlpSn0T7jMfRp90AZazOQuK59x4mC_RsZrOOiX5JCBBVFBY6_EI/s1600-h/P5033956.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433348169768768818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bTr2XMQeTzBHGrxMu84yRpB_31jvlalmYPwcsONXapRaMjhtsUb6pGKca8be70Bsf0zMMGpva4RyJmcZ5QsSNSnNVlpSn0T7jMfRp90AZazOQuK59x4mC_RsZrOOiX5JCBBVFBY6_EI/s400/P5033956.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">Luna enjoys prowling the yard. She is especially keen on trying to catch our "hogger" (groundhog) who has lived in the yard since we bought the house. She has never even come close, but it keeps her busy.<br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63RPzUyBGImfh9w_E33QbIc4RN8qerXQ62vmBGMR9q13Yd4n2cGm-KKkxrE_ThurODH3sKHm_GMW7kccBRHtKhDHOKWN4042YRDFbpdi8fBVTW-8kHdlanBZWlxLT-mXGMSMWh6bNsWQ/s1600-h/P5033961.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433348166985987442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63RPzUyBGImfh9w_E33QbIc4RN8qerXQ62vmBGMR9q13Yd4n2cGm-KKkxrE_ThurODH3sKHm_GMW7kccBRHtKhDHOKWN4042YRDFbpdi8fBVTW-8kHdlanBZWlxLT-mXGMSMWh6bNsWQ/s400/P5033961.JPG" /></a><br />Even "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">dinny</span>-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">pid</span>" Oreo enjoys the warmer weather!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktSqn9tZMlume8-3jZmWOK3ePpXt8pZdCJA50xsdex6lY-6GFxt5k9VsrU5lkM1iA3gFCPNeJxytEOAhhzoV7WT6qzLVgFvL2BMfBDUE8ds0B1fltn2JClCEZ6yej63gS8q-OPY3Rm5k/s1600-h/P5033965.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433348014287841202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktSqn9tZMlume8-3jZmWOK3ePpXt8pZdCJA50xsdex6lY-6GFxt5k9VsrU5lkM1iA3gFCPNeJxytEOAhhzoV7WT6qzLVgFvL2BMfBDUE8ds0B1fltn2JClCEZ6yej63gS8q-OPY3Rm5k/s400/P5033965.JPG" /></a><br /><br />El <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Guapo</span> and I spent Memorial Day in the Big City rooting for our favorite team (they lost!). I especially enjoyed the extra patriotic touches for the day: representatives from all branches of the military, Challenger the bald eagle and. . .<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGsPvczYdpgMnhMrooD-WjoE5gH6jLjHKhnZ6eS9lkBVrQbisPMGPdOoNW5JtIgabBvt7h7xZzLWyQxXCo9Bi1Ct1NgS5dqaG9icIz7fnR9d6c4VEReizIwJOWBd3EsbOClP2NnErxNI/s1600-h/P5253971.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433348008352375346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGsPvczYdpgMnhMrooD-WjoE5gH6jLjHKhnZ6eS9lkBVrQbisPMGPdOoNW5JtIgabBvt7h7xZzLWyQxXCo9Bi1Ct1NgS5dqaG9icIz7fnR9d6c4VEReizIwJOWBd3EsbOClP2NnErxNI/s400/P5253971.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Mr. T in red, white and blue pajama pants singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkbqaYeiPrbUjt0IZ7pgMiHZ8PjKz-bDFuwr759qCBK1wkhyphenhyphen1MpnLnhVY3B7nHpTC8Z8j68ytEJ2xpbPAH4xy0tik9xKOXwmy7Fs2RTYJvXxVux91sWdLfeNDp1TInimK-gM386ke3Vo/s1600-h/P5253980.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433347997687336242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkbqaYeiPrbUjt0IZ7pgMiHZ8PjKz-bDFuwr759qCBK1wkhyphenhyphen1MpnLnhVY3B7nHpTC8Z8j68ytEJ2xpbPAH4xy0tik9xKOXwmy7Fs2RTYJvXxVux91sWdLfeNDp1TInimK-gM386ke3Vo/s400/P5253980.JPG" /></a><br />We didn't take this video, but this was the same game we were at.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1W3O8Ei-X7s&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1W3O8Ei-X7s&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-31822471755731896372010-02-01T20:00:00.002-06:002010-02-01T14:03:07.661-06:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;"><strong>JUNE</strong></span></div><div align="center">Lazy summer afternoon.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNmpRsKACk6h34TzkeC-Ch4LusokpOQltQI_I291kyqP9Bl6AiIiY_zQa9vpM6mszenPIi_s7WrryDhGFwJAJ01yUXJMaWGs6I6lyLTQ7d0rqd6b2BEk0J_1F_k-gsXjEBIW6NFReTmw/s1600-h/P6143996.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433355318470286578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNmpRsKACk6h34TzkeC-Ch4LusokpOQltQI_I291kyqP9Bl6AiIiY_zQa9vpM6mszenPIi_s7WrryDhGFwJAJ01yUXJMaWGs6I6lyLTQ7d0rqd6b2BEk0J_1F_k-gsXjEBIW6NFReTmw/s400/P6143996.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierKtMVBGP1flXb7uFl9-WPjXEQ6TdP_OdKF0QznHH8UGTE0jdsmzB8hKZgM23Q15D63Qan0Px3rqdArKQtAXgqEbNIx72iXYVq1irs_tL__Fd7Tz67KmqPPl4kA-y_cKmsmvdMrEfzrY/s1600-h/P6174001.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433355313560376786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierKtMVBGP1flXb7uFl9-WPjXEQ6TdP_OdKF0QznHH8UGTE0jdsmzB8hKZgM23Q15D63Qan0Px3rqdArKQtAXgqEbNIx72iXYVq1irs_tL__Fd7Tz67KmqPPl4kA-y_cKmsmvdMrEfzrY/s400/P6174001.JPG" /></a> </div><p><br /></p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;"><strong>JULY</strong></span><br />A bumblebee so "drunk" on nectar, that he can't move.</div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mIY9nLY2ufzw25xigw4DuJBoJbw4XfvAkAvpzi8U2PuKIfE6-1S48YG_MDKLJr0-c4axGY3rXEpaUflIYUlxfc1CuOQ3ZWiNfVB_dKDbclOQ6QdmsSFTZNUtkTHo1eqA8HgbFgJoglg/s1600-h/P7304026.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433355032748698418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mIY9nLY2ufzw25xigw4DuJBoJbw4XfvAkAvpzi8U2PuKIfE6-1S48YG_MDKLJr0-c4axGY3rXEpaUflIYUlxfc1CuOQ3ZWiNfVB_dKDbclOQ6QdmsSFTZNUtkTHo1eqA8HgbFgJoglg/s400/P7304026.JPG" /></a><br /><br />How I spent my summer vacation . . . "Square Foot Gardening." I built the beds, mixed the special soil mixture, grew all the plants from seed and made the trellises all by myself (ok, with just a little help from El Guapo!).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAnMLImHQ6ATj1bcBtARTZwwRuITtNGBSqeYw_VPSMcmQtU1TWH79f6RvMNgvDc_f0MJC7yTB7ggtPJoetzq3R0ZmsehekSHYqK4dgL1DdXrMnB6VOcyJGAcOh47SUrdejbRBXIUflJc/s1600-h/P7304035.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433355023511275970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAnMLImHQ6ATj1bcBtARTZwwRuITtNGBSqeYw_VPSMcmQtU1TWH79f6RvMNgvDc_f0MJC7yTB7ggtPJoetzq3R0ZmsehekSHYqK4dgL1DdXrMnB6VOcyJGAcOh47SUrdejbRBXIUflJc/s400/P7304035.JPG" /></a><br /><br />"Pool ball" squash -- like zucchini, but round and the size of a billiard ball.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC24U7IN-NNIz_uHAk0WqishKM9V8L144IS5i27GU9C7tdqAEDFJQbQm_nnxTZ3T4iB4XQM-RioM5lkRAuIAlPpsOfuRvjiQ2XRGQlLCwkgAq-xZSHEoj0HzXh4m5GPQ4WFB9ikRUylbo/s1600-h/P7304036.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354597976421154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC24U7IN-NNIz_uHAk0WqishKM9V8L144IS5i27GU9C7tdqAEDFJQbQm_nnxTZ3T4iB4XQM-RioM5lkRAuIAlPpsOfuRvjiQ2XRGQlLCwkgAq-xZSHEoj0HzXh4m5GPQ4WFB9ikRUylbo/s400/P7304036.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Cauliflower<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOp6UeCG2CNlfRsHzNFnTOBQyH0LGqKjsU5Q29PwLC5jYImtlFVHnyYGqn_gBO5Hd8PZ22QCjsG0OpLLHwYKqs9xAhj3DBxT2I5Q26nMsCdFu9DlbwbcneAgA5GDflLjHxPbgBcRMuRzY/s1600-h/P7304037.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354595335741186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOp6UeCG2CNlfRsHzNFnTOBQyH0LGqKjsU5Q29PwLC5jYImtlFVHnyYGqn_gBO5Hd8PZ22QCjsG0OpLLHwYKqs9xAhj3DBxT2I5Q26nMsCdFu9DlbwbcneAgA5GDflLjHxPbgBcRMuRzY/s400/P7304037.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Sugar snap peas<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9A6seNoJvEzqZPuRrbfgYBJYx1qBvIni7Fbes957ds5bcfHjlWFnu_nZ5CTowmHFpQ6v3a7FGKxY5uEHeQ_SaaXL0VLDLTPyad1OXYuZ3cSelOjiMO8xvJ6Y3oJy3mtjSLk3mtBnJkY/s1600-h/P7304038.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354586779940178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9A6seNoJvEzqZPuRrbfgYBJYx1qBvIni7Fbes957ds5bcfHjlWFnu_nZ5CTowmHFpQ6v3a7FGKxY5uEHeQ_SaaXL0VLDLTPyad1OXYuZ3cSelOjiMO8xvJ6Y3oJy3mtjSLk3mtBnJkY/s400/P7304038.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCKtXGyoGQM3NRnwFtcWqkQGcR4nmzitFKRYzBvrXXEvDXHg3-snxBUmxcPm_1GnRo8KlipfDLmInrrieEKS3xJ-rvHNqYx9MTnPMZvxzoyettTj4V3vg9Y6SIuC3lEu9Phwxy84DWrM/s1600-h/P7304042.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354337178408050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCKtXGyoGQM3NRnwFtcWqkQGcR4nmzitFKRYzBvrXXEvDXHg3-snxBUmxcPm_1GnRo8KlipfDLmInrrieEKS3xJ-rvHNqYx9MTnPMZvxzoyettTj4V3vg9Y6SIuC3lEu9Phwxy84DWrM/s400/P7304042.JPG" /></a><br />A closer look . . .<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7fV3Wq9LNP9nDrTrymeeie_amAkABCxl8_X7be8bYadErKSoKgAra9JE1jRuzthqtWOhB3rF0ESmBZmnNSyvmNKgY03OTM8DoAAtBOUXfYUlDELd1FdRGAdYcR1M3xyMDSBcrHuCBns/s1600-h/P7304044.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354327792394370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7fV3Wq9LNP9nDrTrymeeie_amAkABCxl8_X7be8bYadErKSoKgAra9JE1jRuzthqtWOhB3rF0ESmBZmnNSyvmNKgY03OTM8DoAAtBOUXfYUlDELd1FdRGAdYcR1M3xyMDSBcrHuCBns/s400/P7304044.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><div>Ever wonder what broccoli flowers look like?<br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYlXe7yESH6IqEL_IMtK5IuRZKXJdP26cjamwTST1yo6NXUYwMsIFGua_oIjV7RNDQo1MjWnMMNtZCVEfOXct9WSURt2eTNedAOPRI2aAk9lG3JLr6A3QsRfVNSPFYsPff5LsYpBR6Hw/s1600-h/P7304045.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433354321509094834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYlXe7yESH6IqEL_IMtK5IuRZKXJdP26cjamwTST1yo6NXUYwMsIFGua_oIjV7RNDQo1MjWnMMNtZCVEfOXct9WSURt2eTNedAOPRI2aAk9lG3JLr6A3QsRfVNSPFYsPff5LsYpBR6Hw/s400/P7304045.JPG" /></a> </div></div><br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-4600271263621312912010-02-01T19:30:00.002-06:002010-02-01T23:20:53.209-06:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;">AUGUST</span></strong></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="color:#ffffcc;">Every year, we find monarch caterpillars, feed them until they turn into <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">chrysalises</span> and then set them free when they hatch. This was Lily.</span> </span></div><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEaIE7B3_P64ubPpAuj2iHGAyJIlO9j6nLWUwLA_KJhtNKYw3fQI2R675MqP9g4JtYlWHOVu830tu15ujrAN8J4WbfSOSA15lCFNuhrhz8f37IUr9lYkICBK0md0CRr5J_24VJMrzbcs/s1600-h/P8114051.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 280px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433505466012561682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEaIE7B3_P64ubPpAuj2iHGAyJIlO9j6nLWUwLA_KJhtNKYw3fQI2R675MqP9g4JtYlWHOVu830tu15ujrAN8J4WbfSOSA15lCFNuhrhz8f37IUr9lYkICBK0md0CRr5J_24VJMrzbcs/s400/P8114051.JPG" /></a> </p><p align="center">One of the highlights of the summer is going to a local fair in a neighboring agricultural county. This year was even better because my parents, brother and his family and my aunts, uncles and cousins and their families were all there!<br /></p><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Bean <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 275px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 406px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502802103678690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nNThuD4f-29FwAeaUHW-2BrEggZDC7SaozxDNaKLR8MlFWKhV-v0zYAwPggK8tipeyf7wU7l8Kxq-g_aPqB4H3mslIAIdqj0ixMHZTqFQjUilkHfYu5xwpB1Bi_aPJ4UDSJ6PB0uTLU/s400/P8114061.JPG" /><br />Bear <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433505456637101442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7daRLv_fG08HmGHoHn1auBbgf-lj0E38XrNZwsClX_J5QahyMgmE7CNC-CNxIT6yuvafCBHbNKZlD7TmDb6Pc2liI6o_-zMNKP5UgwFIEBh5cjgFTQdZPHqUPij_zVHQQWA3SrW9SNXA/s400/P8114108.JPG" /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Bug</div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502806876198530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3G8ZwG9_-F8-bb8aLUqXnSlNqfTXlk-YH40YMp2cz5ztHg3JTo6m5v0yFhfUn_KV5IDDQs7dD-sEa4Jz8CPPsvopA7zhAYf1Z3WwtGU_g8H6hd0nLw5i44yRxLPciIh73-3tZui5Jco/s400/P8114057.JPG" /><br />The corn dog company should send us a check to use this in their next advertisement! <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Aaaaahhh</span>, the taste of summer.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZE-DrMqynHQnZwtjzQRePYmzxVr2cRBf9D_5n-gVg2m1giZ_Okqq4nObIlh6Ebf-g4Wk-VjSJuzFPMAH-tvK9Sjia3ryc295bIQq_DvOJPf_E5ddRRjhjxuv-F5g0WnKSg54LPe54eeg/s1600-h/P8114099.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 286px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502791195952626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZE-DrMqynHQnZwtjzQRePYmzxVr2cRBf9D_5n-gVg2m1giZ_Okqq4nObIlh6Ebf-g4Wk-VjSJuzFPMAH-tvK9Sjia3ryc295bIQq_DvOJPf_E5ddRRjhjxuv-F5g0WnKSg54LPe54eeg/s400/P8114099.JPG" /></a><br />Bug shares my farmer dreams. He wistfully longs for sheep. Can't you tell?!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosrcwgmsTamM41BcL7fs_KRAkpGjcehZazzkFylxvpi25jIg5j1RG96oki18jfw5orv6Ohpq2ABhE-6e-UsZq7AhMVs65zLkt9K2r-3lT5ZJx9_ZWeqwMwm9uVi3QCAAktSJPeopLbUg/s1600-h/P8114106.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 376px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502260775530082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosrcwgmsTamM41BcL7fs_KRAkpGjcehZazzkFylxvpi25jIg5j1RG96oki18jfw5orv6Ohpq2ABhE-6e-UsZq7AhMVs65zLkt9K2r-3lT5ZJx9_ZWeqwMwm9uVi3QCAAktSJPeopLbUg/s400/P8114106.JPG" /></a><br />Cousins and second cousins. (and sheep)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiybNO2rK7EDB5Hz1V20TwUcDO_D8hv_7eLA_UteKf1j2vHb3gBXhk09FS6ajm7W6O5OYtRmPPrwJ-NiofdirUsZZWrnYh_LD0jN6DR_zsv-RCWnIm7oZ7tlf1c6UFviBrWVI6Wpy6_P0/s1600-h/P8114107.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 305px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502255770899746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiybNO2rK7EDB5Hz1V20TwUcDO_D8hv_7eLA_UteKf1j2vHb3gBXhk09FS6ajm7W6O5OYtRmPPrwJ-NiofdirUsZZWrnYh_LD0jN6DR_zsv-RCWnIm7oZ7tlf1c6UFviBrWVI6Wpy6_P0/s400/P8114107.JPG" /></a><br />Gorgeous gals.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeBTRykwuDrVsBdpkmQ8d1Hu_begISDc56mAUmo4shbcwQKM2HaYzMcwgr8LpGIhP5mfVF2AqmjglMZNgD2HSYBY744KauiUH3NzDuMM_b7wIMHGGEbzOKrklKl3J6ZQtmfjJX2wQaCg/s1600-h/P8114125.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 280px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433502248091110946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeBTRykwuDrVsBdpkmQ8d1Hu_begISDc56mAUmo4shbcwQKM2HaYzMcwgr8LpGIhP5mfVF2AqmjglMZNgD2HSYBY744KauiUH3NzDuMM_b7wIMHGGEbzOKrklKl3J6ZQtmfjJX2wQaCg/s400/P8114125.JPG" /></a><br />The cutest critter in the petting zoo!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuJUsbkK6hRTskX2R4B3ybqeGWAiYO5IkuSv6W2GcJ-9fzBfpw8mf1Rskz1Iveru2Bx4bg1ynHlUp6QIH3yWJ7_dzz8EFuhsfz361F2dD7WsjH6hTusvb6znTmmdZDzh9AMIsiC89rBY/s1600-h/P8114123.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433501038607733042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuJUsbkK6hRTskX2R4B3ybqeGWAiYO5IkuSv6W2GcJ-9fzBfpw8mf1Rskz1Iveru2Bx4bg1ynHlUp6QIH3yWJ7_dzz8EFuhsfz361F2dD7WsjH6hTusvb6znTmmdZDzh9AMIsiC89rBY/s400/P8114123.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>The fair was so awesome, it even had tigers!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOV1uoqI2k96Dd4AgaAeL-nOe6nAVRvfAuhtcgbc5PbIyyc-md-OjnUDw0aKSkXcGCypeaLlaIfpJEA6qWnrQVbkKZHvlFl_Mz7lUaexqQDgx1yleTFPJSof_0wzi7scMkCpncznReXg/s1600-h/P8114130.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433501029546266066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOV1uoqI2k96Dd4AgaAeL-nOe6nAVRvfAuhtcgbc5PbIyyc-md-OjnUDw0aKSkXcGCypeaLlaIfpJEA6qWnrQVbkKZHvlFl_Mz7lUaexqQDgx1yleTFPJSof_0wzi7scMkCpncznReXg/s400/P8114130.JPG" /></a><br />My pride and joy -- my first garden including my sunflower that I grew from a <span style="font-size:78%;">tiny little</span> seed!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcZT8zgnk31J_n2XPGrnmE770cWFUIoydY-G6vjllNSFyC9div5n5V51PTZPg8QDx2BodOtJzWYvSt3idRAKR7BcLwEQoOvNJGPjidpEROr_Z1vnl4vThvkSk2Mkq6kf5uodNJQSeJZk/s1600-h/P8144135.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433501025491104034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcZT8zgnk31J_n2XPGrnmE770cWFUIoydY-G6vjllNSFyC9div5n5V51PTZPg8QDx2BodOtJzWYvSt3idRAKR7BcLwEQoOvNJGPjidpEROr_Z1vnl4vThvkSk2Mkq6kf5uodNJQSeJZk/s400/P8144135.JPG" /></a><br />Let's get a little closer look. . .<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0df5bdejEKUZ2fRQPFaqrqFD6EnzZtg20ZuA0ULPs7jiMbD5akd428rrIGTja1eYDs_jgDdda1p1UoDh3H9urcq3TeagDR6xy-q74lVWlnpbgSURt7Q9dM_ge4VBuf_vu_oARbAMlwkU/s1600-h/P8144134.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433500551922315986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0df5bdejEKUZ2fRQPFaqrqFD6EnzZtg20ZuA0ULPs7jiMbD5akd428rrIGTja1eYDs_jgDdda1p1UoDh3H9urcq3TeagDR6xy-q74lVWlnpbgSURt7Q9dM_ge4VBuf_vu_oARbAMlwkU/s400/P8144134.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>And a little closer. . .<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">aahhh</span>. . .my "fourth baby!"<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzfSqlzrVIyN13Uyy752J-cpQKHPH3W8EyTtUhfJjPYqtaXG7cYWZKQhthyphenhyphenIatXRhC8l7vsut5SLusNO5S1pLTdRQeMiDztxxXACueHGo2to0hsGRHrscDOhWZ1CqW80nylGSE-D6nv0/s1600-h/P8144136.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433500546686383682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzfSqlzrVIyN13Uyy752J-cpQKHPH3W8EyTtUhfJjPYqtaXG7cYWZKQhthyphenhyphenIatXRhC8l7vsut5SLusNO5S1pLTdRQeMiDztxxXACueHGo2to0hsGRHrscDOhWZ1CqW80nylGSE-D6nv0/s400/P8144136.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><br /><div>These beauties just glowed and brought me joy every morning.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6SneJHjVL1IEfuuhvm2gfz1Ub71jAFIXPGxE7N9P8YSLn6OcplvrNLREu52jDdqFLfjl9g9FL5uddyb5kz0aLeHBYRUnY_b2ZzAN9gURNgC1XP54TPxOyEsyTOnXI_Eow1_Bj43xbmc/s1600-h/P8144137.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433500540973870194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6SneJHjVL1IEfuuhvm2gfz1Ub71jAFIXPGxE7N9P8YSLn6OcplvrNLREu52jDdqFLfjl9g9FL5uddyb5kz0aLeHBYRUnY_b2ZzAN9gURNgC1XP54TPxOyEsyTOnXI_Eow1_Bj43xbmc/s400/P8144137.JPG" /></a><br />We also celebrated Bean's 8<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> birthday by having a party with all of her girl classmates.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0S6pS4ODczKXNDPcr4JORjeLuBV5x-tz_HenT7_Ad_sEJ-TAwqkD7y9qcAFxScBtmQmcPpgX7QfQ8rweqen-DMq-Ql4maYezOkvGCVFtGzy_OBqvFShsNZf_kr9i408gjkP4M8gSyR8/s1600-h/P8154140.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433499023783735874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0S6pS4ODczKXNDPcr4JORjeLuBV5x-tz_HenT7_Ad_sEJ-TAwqkD7y9qcAFxScBtmQmcPpgX7QfQ8rweqen-DMq-Ql4maYezOkvGCVFtGzy_OBqvFShsNZf_kr9i408gjkP4M8gSyR8/s400/P8154140.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQ8ubGuV9Q9z4f10dYKHoWiwU1VrmxBEF2DRyVGXMKV4AXP-KLxvSM4K7cAPRJ3DLtezZcrMzw4NytoduNcmKDoWtLKMdwFiIxBwzfkO9a_SlhpzLTRnaCp7tVxQ1YKQbfmc1vo2Al98/s1600-h/P8154142.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433499016736392546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQ8ubGuV9Q9z4f10dYKHoWiwU1VrmxBEF2DRyVGXMKV4AXP-KLxvSM4K7cAPRJ3DLtezZcrMzw4NytoduNcmKDoWtLKMdwFiIxBwzfkO9a_SlhpzLTRnaCp7tVxQ1YKQbfmc1vo2Al98/s400/P8154142.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Td6Ib-JrKQSZs5FYlC8guwN4mDVPqJ25WERfMg1A8_kADFcVOKRh4PPscrjSz68-bFPVHl9s4Q2EMvv2YVpWuLuGbod05mhkdkIILsXpc2PvOeA12w3RYWhb-easEShv_CneBvWALKI/s1600-h/P8154147.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433499007305986642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Td6Ib-JrKQSZs5FYlC8guwN4mDVPqJ25WERfMg1A8_kADFcVOKRh4PPscrjSz68-bFPVHl9s4Q2EMvv2YVpWuLuGbod05mhkdkIILsXpc2PvOeA12w3RYWhb-easEShv_CneBvWALKI/s400/P8154147.JPG" /></a> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>"<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Boola</span>" and "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Blito</span>" (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Abuelita</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Abuelito</span>) were also there!</div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24JA-f0E6ecVjf2gVPf4ELYaHqlBOfoMQyahsbrEMpHn9SGe-wqdzwiBDcNTUV1anY_DVAkCghQzlLWkqhoflmq-KPpBsu-7zcXrkZZcH0DNnwyr3F7x2hKgnZ2lf6M2xNmneBnO7iFw/s1600-h/P8154156.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433496841953379810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24JA-f0E6ecVjf2gVPf4ELYaHqlBOfoMQyahsbrEMpHn9SGe-wqdzwiBDcNTUV1anY_DVAkCghQzlLWkqhoflmq-KPpBsu-7zcXrkZZcH0DNnwyr3F7x2hKgnZ2lf6M2xNmneBnO7iFw/s400/P8154156.JPG" /></a> </div><div><br />No party is complete without a pinata!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-HwWRPd1mf0VEk0SH88_wpr9rnLxj8PPX04YWZD4xwERJVYJqKox6VH0iw0XaiJ2xxkQ-7ID1AiVX2OsWGHE1S6GoY8QC1lT83YHErcIhP3gIan-iH_j3Cpa7NOHA4XG3HnSH6roCco/s1600-h/P8154172.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433496836990279026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-HwWRPd1mf0VEk0SH88_wpr9rnLxj8PPX04YWZD4xwERJVYJqKox6VH0iw0XaiJ2xxkQ-7ID1AiVX2OsWGHE1S6GoY8QC1lT83YHErcIhP3gIan-iH_j3Cpa7NOHA4XG3HnSH6roCco/s400/P8154172.JPG" /></a><br />Cousin Iceman braved Girl World! (and survived).<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEUqSLL3PNoRUcsBGWyek2vOrkcs9HedqHuvhyYR2MqPFhVFxaOnvuOk-Nv-o2Mjkg-lzpbUxGHOvX0BxeXomRVwYzraOMUK91Fzy5ha28lrGbVRWm-L0dffucHNPpY6FLQYxh8NAMpw/s1600-h/P8154185.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433496826742707650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEUqSLL3PNoRUcsBGWyek2vOrkcs9HedqHuvhyYR2MqPFhVFxaOnvuOk-Nv-o2Mjkg-lzpbUxGHOvX0BxeXomRVwYzraOMUK91Fzy5ha28lrGbVRWm-L0dffucHNPpY6FLQYxh8NAMpw/s400/P8154185.JPG" /></a> <div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-41548459678395949282010-02-01T18:30:00.004-06:002010-02-02T12:56:48.166-06:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#663300;">SEPTEMBER</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center">For Labor Day, we headed north to a resort town and lake for the day. We hadn't planned on the day being so nice or the kids wanting to "swim," so at the end of the day, we let them head into the water in their clothes. Of course, the original idea was for them to just wade. "Don't get too wet . . ." Right.</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Doesn't Bug's face say, "What's the big deal, mom? It's just water." I ended up agreeing!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbGqKBhS1_wBgugOF1QwEIfhl5a9jTompWnbjdvRkrP3RpB5fxKJkYZ3tbijZKA_6ekwNy4Ckp0f8bj48LVa3dxC164Gn6GGkG71vc7CXEVsc_EUeuNq9EiUmKi_gGXZhav1CjCPeIqo/s1600-h/P9074264.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693825913042338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbGqKBhS1_wBgugOF1QwEIfhl5a9jTompWnbjdvRkrP3RpB5fxKJkYZ3tbijZKA_6ekwNy4Ckp0f8bj48LVa3dxC164Gn6GGkG71vc7CXEVsc_EUeuNq9EiUmKi_gGXZhav1CjCPeIqo/s400/P9074264.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeOFrbGLj-8UR6F49unCe3XT0gyHRJPk6Z_honPozW7JZ4a5yLZ1uMr_t5LiaFxRYGjzc5YfRnixlo4Ws0LDhA14SbcqhnML3RMZMRnOAaomO3x4xU74RZAqPtnRrU_9PGGnK-CVFBcg/s1600-h/P9074270.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693678769064034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeOFrbGLj-8UR6F49unCe3XT0gyHRJPk6Z_honPozW7JZ4a5yLZ1uMr_t5LiaFxRYGjzc5YfRnixlo4Ws0LDhA14SbcqhnML3RMZMRnOAaomO3x4xU74RZAqPtnRrU_9PGGnK-CVFBcg/s400/P9074270.JPG" /></a></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDqUsSWWLELfijTMdSHVBbyykMbz2jSBPCjjYwtu5m4_X29IH20fDQ9Cj_jxsTk6lQRv7z03gskSN6rHGOy3FOQ1J9uXQP610SItrTfHr4vpephTCVRQpH1L8vswkj6uYiPyoV_Uuwf0/s1600-h/Sisters+at+the+Beach.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693667942453458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDqUsSWWLELfijTMdSHVBbyykMbz2jSBPCjjYwtu5m4_X29IH20fDQ9Cj_jxsTk6lQRv7z03gskSN6rHGOy3FOQ1J9uXQP610SItrTfHr4vpephTCVRQpH1L8vswkj6uYiPyoV_Uuwf0/s400/Sisters+at+the+Beach.JPG" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8UFBALqgkEgjBwzdv29vrCG0xSwM4mO69G6CCkw7m_7GoiKQ3iwXF9xbPCjall_3GEWWWcwLTZJi4AJL1gzJbXHvy8NpoFMGPBbXEgUC5b0n8rVKXlv71lwuNvI8rH7r3N_CpzngV6g/s1600-h/P9074259.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693662976947074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8UFBALqgkEgjBwzdv29vrCG0xSwM4mO69G6CCkw7m_7GoiKQ3iwXF9xbPCjall_3GEWWWcwLTZJi4AJL1gzJbXHvy8NpoFMGPBbXEgUC5b0n8rVKXlv71lwuNvI8rH7r3N_CpzngV6g/s400/P9074259.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Our town has Touch-A-Truck day with dozens of big trucks, construction equipment, firetrucks, school buses, Red Cross vehicles, you name it. If it's big, impressive, on wheels, it's there and the kids (and parents!) can climb all over them. </div><div align="center"><br />Every little guy's dream! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmo_TnwhB-IstTsDYbOjmhTnwTWv8b2FpwYtoEW4yyNVlx-Jf2BoGSnxVrJLDEJGBNWBBywim3QjRVHkU08KY3AQlpXptfvx0mRa0XhFoPmYw8jE0PBbcASlxEdOfuUSugxanfEe1rf8/s1600-h/P9194293.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693028374715202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmo_TnwhB-IstTsDYbOjmhTnwTWv8b2FpwYtoEW4yyNVlx-Jf2BoGSnxVrJLDEJGBNWBBywim3QjRVHkU08KY3AQlpXptfvx0mRa0XhFoPmYw8jE0PBbcASlxEdOfuUSugxanfEe1rf8/s400/P9194293.JPG" /></a><br /><div><div><div></div><div>The girls loved it too!</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdZWNWL7f6Qf7J45a4HvwhhxxoFKoQ3jC0hAQWOY4-_8FOXY5UAUdBwc7gPp6Uj1wBiCqVwcY8T5MhStTnQYMi3mSQzUIvF55EKk_zIGckFHjhGOjCPu5xtu4emqyJ6M8UND_vQZ7KFg/s1600-h/P9194294.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 366px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693027348888050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdZWNWL7f6Qf7J45a4HvwhhxxoFKoQ3jC0hAQWOY4-_8FOXY5UAUdBwc7gPp6Uj1wBiCqVwcY8T5MhStTnQYMi3mSQzUIvF55EKk_zIGckFHjhGOjCPu5xtu4emqyJ6M8UND_vQZ7KFg/s400/P9194294.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqhq6bowBIO8tuiBpMPVMLcfKtuAMKPULag3b-sLdIAwqadxTO8KSZgk0iDjgu4I-QKmuwqHh5Mb40Qb93a4QTI08Ri7Rh499yv-OtfOPE_ZismwaCzgnW5BP0pIFdhkOAoYUxM5nQJ0/s1600-h/P9194298.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433691510712680162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqhq6bowBIO8tuiBpMPVMLcfKtuAMKPULag3b-sLdIAwqadxTO8KSZgk0iDjgu4I-QKmuwqHh5Mb40Qb93a4QTI08Ri7Rh499yv-OtfOPE_ZismwaCzgnW5BP0pIFdhkOAoYUxM5nQJ0/s400/P9194298.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><br /><div>Firefighter . . .<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-amPVf59PF_zvUN96Jr3vqgn4JD8Ppjchyphenhypheni2-G7RPivX2DGSRgKUATgfyc_Br83NLSEVWld0CpMmvttLzjBvsp5fP6BYabMWoiUPYdB8oI76Bvld1jaTCH6gRCkkmE6_D4f2mnu6USc/s1600-h/P9194304.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433691495786611298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-amPVf59PF_zvUN96Jr3vqgn4JD8Ppjchyphenhypheni2-G7RPivX2DGSRgKUATgfyc_Br83NLSEVWld0CpMmvttLzjBvsp5fP6BYabMWoiUPYdB8oI76Bvld1jaTCH6gRCkkmE6_D4f2mnu6USc/s400/P9194304.JPG" /></a></div><div><div></div><br /><div>Big rig driver. . .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuawpa_OW4_2xrabR3Pm2a5px-mO-Mf1lmrwuTMiAEz-5TbCDHOcD8adMl6jDhG0Oa5fqe1_IDy7euC6xvuDVFDF_4vGwY8lVe_LVclnUjE6q5nl2U5WzouQhY_6rmH0K3i18TRQklFtQ/s1600-h/P9194312.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 362px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433691492543831810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuawpa_OW4_2xrabR3Pm2a5px-mO-Mf1lmrwuTMiAEz-5TbCDHOcD8adMl6jDhG0Oa5fqe1_IDy7euC6xvuDVFDF_4vGwY8lVe_LVclnUjE6q5nl2U5WzouQhY_6rmH0K3i18TRQklFtQ/s400/P9194312.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><br /><div>Paramedics. . .<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO29pLKJ7HXhVZWrBzUGxOfzIOdkSV8ZYjH4qs49URts4VsyAN5IME_F-uPw3SATqxyc4N9B_LScK9lVsPO0SzMLnJPfwjV5KzN3cGvwtFzA_dAq3sQfWkFZV6IVS83Zm2zaO_Ke1A7K4/s1600-h/P9194310.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433690742736872738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO29pLKJ7HXhVZWrBzUGxOfzIOdkSV8ZYjH4qs49URts4VsyAN5IME_F-uPw3SATqxyc4N9B_LScK9lVsPO0SzMLnJPfwjV5KzN3cGvwtFzA_dAq3sQfWkFZV6IVS83Zm2zaO_Ke1A7K4/s400/P9194310.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><br /><div>SWAT team member . . .<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx6iixykfgr2pG8giZdcvQ0fbPRnHlUt6HlVAuhOP7XVJrtfctiYBjPMDQhFTCH-qyMinPgWSMYLrQ89hvptdf99yxEDzZDNZEv1kveIs2KFAyNVYqFf7t_OinGI5bb63IYn1A4U4qQk/s1600-h/P9194311.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433690737356961378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx6iixykfgr2pG8giZdcvQ0fbPRnHlUt6HlVAuhOP7XVJrtfctiYBjPMDQhFTCH-qyMinPgWSMYLrQ89hvptdf99yxEDzZDNZEv1kveIs2KFAyNVYqFf7t_OinGI5bb63IYn1A4U4qQk/s400/P9194311.JPG" /></a><br /><div>And a good time was had by all!<br /></div><br /><div><br />At the end of September is the largest World War II re-enactment in North America. It is held about an hour away from our house and it is one the highlights of my year! This year's weather was gorgeous and we had an awesome time (ok, <span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>I</strong> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">had an awesome time).</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Bagpiper</span><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdOI7NiuCogi_My7hHCTslyMW0exycY8Mr3j7MBJpeyzOjZtVo1VTSP7xN94Yo2ZwUMYG6bI1mPLIjYec3XzjInO9a98negiXyVcBiA0lfEFyrgXB5282iFkl3yjivUgjRZSHwXlRMHA/s1600-h/P9274319.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517695946264690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdOI7NiuCogi_My7hHCTslyMW0exycY8Mr3j7MBJpeyzOjZtVo1VTSP7xN94Yo2ZwUMYG6bI1mPLIjYec3XzjInO9a98negiXyVcBiA0lfEFyrgXB5282iFkl3yjivUgjRZSHwXlRMHA/s400/P9274319.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>Every where you look are vignettes that look like the 1940s.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11sLjjQkVvzhhqx9eftlW7UU0ZrrArfdTUSGhrEK3Nf4_WDepF9g2qTIrtIz5eEsfYQ1rzKddmDh1nAdSpyiAeLw_-qLdhVeGZBOYcPbn30uCaT0nCmwPQCY5mKeN6xqH-A3yGXPdiKs/s1600-h/P9274325.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517509593758066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11sLjjQkVvzhhqx9eftlW7UU0ZrrArfdTUSGhrEK3Nf4_WDepF9g2qTIrtIz5eEsfYQ1rzKddmDh1nAdSpyiAeLw_-qLdhVeGZBOYcPbn30uCaT0nCmwPQCY5mKeN6xqH-A3yGXPdiKs/s400/P9274325.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOO-88DoQ9tX7PeefkPYqNvOQhcm_IZHnPDfDeICnjkkTTDYAl-1eECI7oHMCauxbM-yjbnshLdI2z_TifjgRpZxWusOTGTvAytE2_TGalOtIiI9qGvXsrfx9dMLGClB26OSp_3k7i_w/s1600-h/P9274330.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 287px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517502544207650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOO-88DoQ9tX7PeefkPYqNvOQhcm_IZHnPDfDeICnjkkTTDYAl-1eECI7oHMCauxbM-yjbnshLdI2z_TifjgRpZxWusOTGTvAytE2_TGalOtIiI9qGvXsrfx9dMLGClB26OSp_3k7i_w/s400/P9274330.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div></div><div>A jeep, a gun and the girls! (and if you look closely, you will see that I wore a skirt <gasp>. Wonders never cease,)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeAixz1wQPn3P9rgfTsYIfAJgfBVKtnXNxYygmy8qdNT-gPw78k1uUCo_x6cGD5Sibum_FDdS7WPwzt2d5kifQSpusqs5cxrE6jSSMXc2h3P7WwmVctdujrGA1hpzZcUqgRMSyapX7jw/s1600-h/P9274332.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517497788356258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeAixz1wQPn3P9rgfTsYIfAJgfBVKtnXNxYygmy8qdNT-gPw78k1uUCo_x6cGD5Sibum_FDdS7WPwzt2d5kifQSpusqs5cxrE6jSSMXc2h3P7WwmVctdujrGA1hpzZcUqgRMSyapX7jw/s400/P9274332.JPG" /></a> <div><div>A soldier and his dog.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOqtUxT_BI62FOHKcvYlzRFs6KR6Nk-yxgbl7BOfJMhf3Kp5Jc08LhOASAT6WAPuRiUPgl_HOWurSxgJGzgc88fQg0gUhLcCdFgRYyFSZuvMtw6EFbaEHMbZIMWUYwjqsb4V0NZnnrvE/s1600-h/P9274333.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517196818073762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOqtUxT_BI62FOHKcvYlzRFs6KR6Nk-yxgbl7BOfJMhf3Kp5Jc08LhOASAT6WAPuRiUPgl_HOWurSxgJGzgc88fQg0gUhLcCdFgRYyFSZuvMtw6EFbaEHMbZIMWUYwjqsb4V0NZnnrvE/s400/P9274333.JPG" /></a><br />Bug had a great time!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeswdP8ck4mSBPPRwNaaKMIJJJtsod_D5j3rVaMMXLwseydwIiCAHM4bB1ewYyHIiTcAlDm31QbLJJwSJeO2sCYdld-ni1nJDYYSKawSj5iKPzL-2OXsn-DTaQW-E6vfvTCnzrHz7-AI/s1600-h/P9274336.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517190231948834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeswdP8ck4mSBPPRwNaaKMIJJJtsod_D5j3rVaMMXLwseydwIiCAHM4bB1ewYyHIiTcAlDm31QbLJJwSJeO2sCYdld-ni1nJDYYSKawSj5iKPzL-2OXsn-DTaQW-E6vfvTCnzrHz7-AI/s400/P9274336.JPG" /></a><br />There are dozens of large military vehicles in working order -- pretty impressive.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXCFgOYrDQn_WRonOMOEuV48_rmtI87pu7XLA6eQHVrjHtKgpGoudQR34sB3VU8DCP_Tl8fP05ZAv0LI3lSIdlK3C07YzUemVVUlaEADSq3sYDTQkJH_GSvj6SWkSZehCpdCWybQxg4c/s1600-h/P9274340.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433517185970656178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXCFgOYrDQn_WRonOMOEuV48_rmtI87pu7XLA6eQHVrjHtKgpGoudQR34sB3VU8DCP_Tl8fP05ZAv0LI3lSIdlK3C07YzUemVVUlaEADSq3sYDTQkJH_GSvj6SWkSZehCpdCWybQxg4c/s400/P9274340.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>Chica in a WWII front lines foxhole. I want one as a fort in my back yard!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CiyGmRWE303mnRPNKCQkSdDiQOSmAbeicIpA4OF3aWT7PD94JZHTo-C5h9gyvZj7gy-yqKJCgEQnLFp0GKRM-oWaaX2v273j-T8DLh7dLUWlpTMIfZAq_zcRyoTXmcGgrLnXBiL6Tg0/s1600-h/P9274345.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515884911527858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CiyGmRWE303mnRPNKCQkSdDiQOSmAbeicIpA4OF3aWT7PD94JZHTo-C5h9gyvZj7gy-yqKJCgEQnLFp0GKRM-oWaaX2v273j-T8DLh7dLUWlpTMIfZAq_zcRyoTXmcGgrLnXBiL6Tg0/s400/P9274345.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div></div><div>Bear ready for battle.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1-yhiQxHEpg5pmh0vnQ5hkcdnaMAoW-Intc4YQWK1rLnJtDoPLra1I7chpyaeGZLIgGCxzW76dIGHwK3AqKrD7KWDksf7nhmlzlrtENO_4rKi0O3MzTMsu0ioWlHljiLR-gQ8lI-rTU/s1600-h/P9274347.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515875623154002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1-yhiQxHEpg5pmh0vnQ5hkcdnaMAoW-Intc4YQWK1rLnJtDoPLra1I7chpyaeGZLIgGCxzW76dIGHwK3AqKrD7KWDksf7nhmlzlrtENO_4rKi0O3MzTMsu0ioWlHljiLR-gQ8lI-rTU/s400/P9274347.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>The ZamFam comin' attcha!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0NvEcZZlYueh4cmTT-fPcyNmvy1Cg0azFtl7u34tmVMtt31ShYK1YrdDbh6_qw4FkABU0VcLSCqoJMXGqTbLe3G22dNojD7tp7odxkfrKTXUnzGwy-T-uA0ei-1aVxiCmY8agOuhX5c/s1600-h/P9274348.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515866204605490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0NvEcZZlYueh4cmTT-fPcyNmvy1Cg0azFtl7u34tmVMtt31ShYK1YrdDbh6_qw4FkABU0VcLSCqoJMXGqTbLe3G22dNojD7tp7odxkfrKTXUnzGwy-T-uA0ei-1aVxiCmY8agOuhX5c/s400/P9274348.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><br /><div>The day ends with a large-scale re-enactment of a real battle or engagement complete with Hollywood-style pyrotechnics. It is incredibly loud with the explosions pounding off your chest -- exhilarating! El Guapo took these pics from the back with Bug. The girls and I were sitting right along the string-line -- front row seats.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUdow_0dEmqQ2zFIvDOX80xur7vLPNZeL9AWBO0IXivxXqc0KcOpSsWnCAZwuGNtmIkNTXOn_BPrqaOp3JwTUhyphenhyphenQ9ekk-z87HTGVcJlEnZ4cUWquAHLVGB72EUEoeHaJ-LBAYj5l7hXk/s1600-h/P9274364.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515292093302130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUdow_0dEmqQ2zFIvDOX80xur7vLPNZeL9AWBO0IXivxXqc0KcOpSsWnCAZwuGNtmIkNTXOn_BPrqaOp3JwTUhyphenhyphenQ9ekk-z87HTGVcJlEnZ4cUWquAHLVGB72EUEoeHaJ-LBAYj5l7hXk/s400/P9274364.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-CkzEScZwnDX-Li_bZqEc1LvbsOYndjwSOZk-uY8t5V8kqvhyphenhyphen3z4dWy-F5Arc353QfIufoDIG3fQn-4OpKzVAsVKl4M2WqV1Z741aXj-x0aI9XyV4sXF5NTlJeW-zNWtODjNp8EaNa70/s1600-h/P9274366.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515282386633426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-CkzEScZwnDX-Li_bZqEc1LvbsOYndjwSOZk-uY8t5V8kqvhyphenhyphen3z4dWy-F5Arc353QfIufoDIG3fQn-4OpKzVAsVKl4M2WqV1Z741aXj-x0aI9XyV4sXF5NTlJeW-zNWtODjNp8EaNa70/s400/P9274366.JPG" /></a><br />Throughout the day are other minor skirmishes. This one took place in a German-occupied French village, but the Allies prevailed. (To preserve the realism, they don't always.) This is a Scottish force complete with our bagpiper and a guy in ghillie.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcb8OUJppdWoj8KDDun9raWAqJJ09gZadxikF0zu-ERUx-vWvu53lbqV5M349V5CuHd4nrVzOZH0UTxi2Nk5GrQAwZP831DvjN52E3n-JBCxf7OhW0CZwxg_Zc-kTh8sy8MLBj2hfPRs/s1600-h/P9274370.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433515272014467330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcb8OUJppdWoj8KDDun9raWAqJJ09gZadxikF0zu-ERUx-vWvu53lbqV5M349V5CuHd4nrVzOZH0UTxi2Nk5GrQAwZP831DvjN52E3n-JBCxf7OhW0CZwxg_Zc-kTh8sy8MLBj2hfPRs/s400/P9274370.JPG" /></a> Hands up, Krauts! Check out the guy in the tam o'shanter and kilt!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt636E6Re2N_QHgA_1fa2wPbEVXlpDzwZx5N0mCE62VSG5pFqgbNtuzu2MJ1pkTMbpE3ar4k57GIgdgqI8u-LEJiaNB1cMC_A3wTPkriLgK-cSQ5rRwDwepe5kiJyZdDSeRLiTM-uk56s/s1600-h/P9274373.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433514887035386722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt636E6Re2N_QHgA_1fa2wPbEVXlpDzwZx5N0mCE62VSG5pFqgbNtuzu2MJ1pkTMbpE3ar4k57GIgdgqI8u-LEJiaNB1cMC_A3wTPkriLgK-cSQ5rRwDwepe5kiJyZdDSeRLiTM-uk56s/s400/P9274373.JPG" /></a> <div></div><br /><div>This guy was trying to escape and the Scots had to subdue him. They really hammed it up and audience was roaring.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuRLhDO-HZvcZaozD8R4JT1oYyy8mv0l4Nbsho4DKy0dlSX0Wlvt-gPuCnD891rAnu4I-CWY6jzf5ZwjXfjg0NSMLuXZ0m3X7mZs9rrNc58hjAXDwmPw3U2WzfT-jndNlPBKD1QX4ec4/s1600-h/P9274374.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433514878407532530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuRLhDO-HZvcZaozD8R4JT1oYyy8mv0l4Nbsho4DKy0dlSX0Wlvt-gPuCnD891rAnu4I-CWY6jzf5ZwjXfjg0NSMLuXZ0m3X7mZs9rrNc58hjAXDwmPw3U2WzfT-jndNlPBKD1QX4ec4/s400/P9274374.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Our final outing in September involved an informal tour led by my aunt to several organic/cottage industry farms in a nearby county. This was dream-fodder for me, since I would love to have a small farm with some animals. I think Bug shares the dream. We called him the Goat Whisperer because the goats in this pen followed him everywhere! He'll always have the career option of goatherd!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPvCb0HkStIY70D1L2jVN3WXbA4-32tkrFJ8BcY9rRHyBRs_BUl-HIyzI8Yjo4IjDAOaR4J9GPVyjPpG2umTi2bnpxlLAYMeIxoh8XB2366X7D5XXKlbX8wSKx4uSHT9SVsrzwrgI4ec/s1600-h/P9284378.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433514869698855682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPvCb0HkStIY70D1L2jVN3WXbA4-32tkrFJ8BcY9rRHyBRs_BUl-HIyzI8Yjo4IjDAOaR4J9GPVyjPpG2umTi2bnpxlLAYMeIxoh8XB2366X7D5XXKlbX8wSKx4uSHT9SVsrzwrgI4ec/s400/P9284378.JPG" /></a> </div><div>If you are interested in seeing pictures of our 2008 trip to WWII days, I have placed them chronologically in 2008, but they are newly posted (today!), so check them out <a href="http://mustardseedhouse.blogspot.com/2008/10/chicas-big-day-out-or-how-i-took-years.html">here</a>.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-3172014747601167052009-11-11T12:44:00.012-06:002009-11-11T13:40:09.711-06:00Veteran's Day 2009<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 273px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 290px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402929961999342178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbA7D0PrC2pPkgFqG6y9mWsG2ihMKq0MnPhNb-FJATrx2U96DaC631e_y12bH80A01bPXr55q1cZuFkqqZqD7sDYsY7oKIG_2Syfiux8Jc5AZng0OKbpTq-dn9de_uhp7mS-1yTSXlyc/s400/VeteransDay.jpg" /> <div><div align="justify">I walked into the school gymnasium and as my eyes scanned the room taking in red, white and blue decorations dripping with glitter, glue and "thank you's" scrawled by chubby hands, I started furiously swallowing the hard lump in my throat that had suddenly appeared. And through teary eyes, I only dimly saw the old men in faded uniforms pinned with once-bright ribbons who held the hands of their white-haired sweethearts. As we all faced the enormous flag on the wall, hands over beating hearts, I managed to utter about every other phrase : "I pledge allegiance . . .and to the republic. . .one nation, under God (<em>really</em> choked here) . . . with liberty . . . for all." And someone could have probably mopped me up off the floor as the preschoolers belted out a surprisingly good "God Bless America." When we were asked to sing on the second round, stronger voices joined the chorus, but mine was not one of them, although I did manage to croak out a few words . . ."my home sweet home." I could not love Miss Pam, the principal, more for getting choked up as she dismissed the children and said thank you to the veterans and had the kids hand out homemade thank you cards to everyone there. </div><div align="justify"></div><p align="justify">As I surveyed this Rockwellian scene, I couldn't help but think that sixty-some years ago, these men and women, young and fresh, were flung far afield charged with the mission of saving the world. And for all the gratitude I carry in my heart, I couldn't help but wish that we had more to offer by way of thanks than an annual lunch in the gym, some shy thanks, a sweetly-sung song and a teary pledge. But the very nature of the folks dubbed "the greatest generation" dictates that this is enough and it is why as I pulled out of the parking lot, I had tears streaming down my cheeks because a proud white haired man wearing the uniform of II Corps (North Africa unit) waved and smiled at <em>me</em> as I drove away.</p><p align="justify">Thank you, veterans of World War I. You fought in one of the worst conflicts the world has ever seen and overcame.</p><p align="justify">Thank you, veterans of World War II. You did nothing less than save the world.</p><p align="justify">Thank you, veterans of the Korean War. What you sacrificed is not forgotten.</p><div align="justify">Thank you, veterans of the Vietnam conflict. We ARE proud of you and your service.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Thank you, veterans of Desert Storm. You answered when duty called.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Thank you, veterans of the War on Terror in Afghanistan and Iraq. My children sleep safely in their beds at night because you are not sleeping in yours.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Thank you, veterans of all of the other conflicts -- Bosnia, Grenada, Somalia and the myriad of other places where Americans have been on the ground righting wrongs and fighting evil.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Thank you, families of service men and women. You have lent America your very best.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Never have so many owed so much to so few. You are heroes. God bless. </div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 270px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 341px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402929964817688690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSDMRWc5DCsL7Eo3dTmfhdWIO48gNzoh5DtqwtRSYgu5Tt0-yFjx6ohV0xdhgSipk9Hum8f90l1buqqQBYjEF_HAev8XVFNmW5y9d5Ju5sIvDel2sYoWSdYrvP4DIU0Al282A3A1p7tM/s400/Veterans%2520Day%25202006.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-10824724385265945112009-05-02T10:29:00.000-05:002009-05-02T10:33:53.239-05:00Reprise: Riders Up!<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3C-Zjg8yTdXZbF8ELWXLxXVQNuuV7AQQeoWP4HP8O3BeoJdXfe-n6XRTu-462F_LCE-ErT1MTQsZx0ZPNLFafB-uHxEACviei9-xAG8rGk-iNymcvoTN84DF0Io_-wAoXCbUOaKwhbnw/s1600-h/GQ.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331244748060171874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3C-Zjg8yTdXZbF8ELWXLxXVQNuuV7AQQeoWP4HP8O3BeoJdXfe-n6XRTu-462F_LCE-ErT1MTQsZx0ZPNLFafB-uHxEACviei9-xAG8rGk-iNymcvoTN84DF0Io_-wAoXCbUOaKwhbnw/s400/GQ.bmp" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="justify">It's that time of year again when I am distracted by funky names, post assignments, sound conformation and compelling stories and then subject you, dear readers, to it too! Today is the 135th running of the Kentucky Derby and the 25th time that I have reveled in Louisville University's rendition of "My Old Kentucky Home," thrilled to the bugle fanfare, crossed my fingers at the "Riders up!" and held my breath for two minutes minutes as fragile three year old horses and skilled jockeys hurtle themselves down the one and a quarter miles at Churchill Downs. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">My favorite aspect of horse racing, aside from the visceral magnificence of the animals themselves, is the moving back stories of either horse, jockey, trainer or owner. It seems every year is a tale from knacker (horse meat man) to track or a 93 year old lady who has dreamed of having a race horse her whole life and finally gets a Derby colt. Call me a softie, but I love those kinds of stories. This year does not disappoint as it offers the combination of an everyman's hero of a horse and his tenacious owner/trainer. So indulge me. It's Derby time!</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><p align="justify">First of all, you must know that horse racing is big business. It is a commercial enterprise where horses are bred for speed, trained by folks who answer to wealthy owners. Trainers' careers rest on being able to land big purses in the right races creating horses that command even larger stud or brood fees. And if racing is a hobby, it is the pastime of sheiks, not school teachers, since Derby horses are bought and sold for hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars. They are more expensive than the finest cars, not the price of a Taurus. That is the backdrop for our story.</p><p align="justify">In 1955, a college student hopped a bus, went to his first Kentucky Derby, watched Swaps beat Nashua and a love affair was born. Since 1962 Tom McCarthy has dabbled in racing, a racket he loved, but that never loved him back. Retired as a high school principal since 1990, McCarthy has been racing in obscurity rising at 3 a.m. to go to the track, working his one or two horses, then leaving for school by 7, nobody paying him any attention. In all that time, he never won so much as a stakes race. None of McCarthy's horses have ever been very good and in the nearly half century he has been racing, he has only won a total of $229,020 in purses. That has all changed with General Quarters, the star of McCarthy's barn, the only horse in McCarthy's barn.</p><p align="justify">McCarthy saw him first in 2007, as a gangly one year old colt at the Keeneland Auction where the most expensive horse of the day went for $3.7 million. McCarthy had to bow out of the bidding when it rose over his ceiling of $20,000 and that was the last he thought of the leggy grey fellow with the white diamond splashed across his face. In fact their paths crossed again at a claims race where the winner could be purchased for the price of the purse. The winner? The grey colt now a little more grown up and dubbed General Quarters. The purse? $20,000. The luck of the Irish was with McCarthy that day because two other claimers wanted him, but McCarthy won the "shake" when his form was drawn. General Quarters was his.</p><p align="justify">McCarthy, 75, is nothing but patient. He is in no hurry. He is an unglamorous, old fashioned trainer in a fast-paced, glitzy world. He says that as a young trainer he lacked the finesse to be successful. With General Quarters, he was determined to rush nothing. "When he was a 2-year-old, he was very anxious," McCarthy says. "I just had to slow him down and begin to allow him to grow up and get away from all this fast and strenuous work. So I just let him go along and grow. I thought I had something that was fairly nice and I was in no hurry. That's the patience I've learned after so long. ... You've got to take your time, and with this one, I did." </p><p align="justify">And he still does. McCarthy is the hot walker, stall mucker, groom, masseuse, trainer, owner. He slips his pocket knife out each morning and slices a carrot into General Quarters' feed and an apple into his dinner rations. He is a throwback to the days of Seabiscuit where a small team brought an unlikely horse into the hearts of Depression-weary America. Rival trainers with dozens of horses to keep track of walk by his barn and see a horseman who lavishes attention on his lone colt the way they wish they still could. After the post-position draw, Hall of Fame trainer Bill Mott, who's won more races at Churchill Downs than anyone else, introduced himself to McCarthy, looked him in the eye and said, "You're a natural. Good luck."</p><p align="justify">McCarthy stood there for a moment and took in the scene. Around him, the rich and the powerful milled about in suits and expensive cowboy boots, swapping stories about the vagaries of running operations he could only dream about. McCarthy was still wearing the while polo shirt he had on early in the morning, spotted with flecks of blood and mud as he massaged his horse, filled his own feed buckets and even raked the gravel outside a rented stall. "I've seen this race come and I've seen it go," he said finally, a note of wonderment softening the usual gruff tone. "But I've never been a part of it before."</p><p align="justify">In a cut-throat industry where trainers have eyes only for their own charges, McCarthy is a sentimental favorite. "Here we all thought it was just some principal who hit the lottery, and it turns out he was training quarterhorses with an uncle at Rillito Park in Tucson before I was even born," Hall of Fame trainer and three-time Derby winner Bob Baffert says. "How cool would it be if he won?"</p><p align="justify">How cool indeed. In a world where cash is king, McCarthy has been offered millions of dollars for General Quarters. He said he hasn't been tempted."I told one guy, I can't sell my dream," McCarthy said.</p><p align="justify">So this morning in the cool mists of the Churchill Downs backside, if you were to meander past Barn 37, you might see this: "There's only the hint of a shake in his hands as he pulls the leather straps up from under the belly and buckles them, before turning to the bridle. The colt's blanket lies folded to the side. It's not the typical garment of a Kentucky Derby horse. Worn thin, the orange wrap was red when McCarthy's kids gave it to him years ago. On each side is sewn a rectangular nylon patch to hide the name of a horse that wore it previously. A peek inside reveals the name, Silent Victory." Before this year, those were the only kinds of victories McCarthy knew.</p><p align="justify">So join me today to root for the longshot because today, millions of dollars worth of thoroughbred horses will go to the post in the 135th Kentucky Derby. And McCarthy will be there, too, with his $20,000 claimer and a million-dollar smile.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331244750873954002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 318px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj7UQygaTcfa20q_mQQaVOW_qxQ22oCoHf43me5OaTl9U4OV74rYHz9q6zmHMYHP8jM4FwhAuN2Xc7g49BL7Rx9pGj98VpK3HnKi6tY7EFVMQSNFLYqQoLkSQ5VWl7QCwWFtbYMb94FE/s400/GQ+and+McCarthy.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p><strong><em>Other Derby News:</em></strong></p><ul><li>In addition to rooting for General Quarters, I also like Dunkirk. "General Quarters" is the call to battle stations on a US Navy ship and Dunkirk was the site of an epic WWII struggle, so aside from the compelling Cinderella tale, how could I not root for those two?</li><li>I think Pioneerof the Nile (correct spelling with the "of" not spaced-funky names, remember?) also has a good chance.</li><li>Friesan Fire out of Eight Belles' stable will be the final Derby entry for trainer Larry Jones. He's had enough and wants to spend time with his grandchildren.</li><li>There will be a brief memorial time to remember Eight Belles, last year's second place finisher who tragically outran her legs and died on the track.</li><li>A new bronze memorial to Barbaro will be unveiled.</li><li>The nineteen horse field is a big one and for that reason, dangerous. Track conditions are expected to be wet, so it could be anybody's race and a real nail biter. Fingers crossed for safe trips for everyone.</li><li>I Want Revenge, the 3-1 morning line favorite, was scratched just hours before the run for the roses.</li><li>All this and mint juleps, big hats and gorgeous horses too? And you ask why I love horse racing?</li></ul><p></p><p><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Full disclosure: Under normal circumstances writing on this blog is 100% my own (or credited otherwise). Due to this being my final day of the semester, with a large project due and wanting to post this before the Derby start time, I selected a few quotes from other sources. Since this is not a term paper, they are not cited. And since about five people read this, I don't think anyone will care. If you do, contact me.</span></em></p>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-9217123423066535552009-04-24T10:28:00.008-05:002009-04-30T12:15:17.992-05:00Happy EasterWe had a blessed Easter: a moving Easter service, a wonderful meal at my parents' house with family and glorious weather for a little egg hunt.<br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328280610603074226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2tPrOULOV-8ksK4rFLrnGd4mkq_nPfxOv5jufC1UirPjiSPP0dVh_ucvoqqECdUCAOBScSxwl0siQURdvpdH2nrrZYJ_2L7g9HMNkkYv0QIagYwBCBjTVjS8Tv1NqLOL_Ss5zVLsRf4/s400/007.JPG" border="0" /> Bear, Bug and Bean in their Easter finery. . .</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328280622996341810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDdbWUQZAAdNFs4WVwpdJsaUiH4EHA1zSqwhiMU9qupvy-yEUx-gflPCQAeOqK8pTSc_Nl1Ki6Gqd2J6uuUjaQW2WPLS2_VzVrp9K95QbybcDCIQFFIate_ICf-xqqtD5vJXux3n-ER8/s400/005.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center">Bug loves Cousin M . . .well, after he got over his great surprise at seeing her at OUR church. She met us during the service and when she showed up with me after church to pick him up from his class, he was so surprised that he whimpered and hollered and wouldn't go anywhere near her until we got to my mom's house. What a goof!</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328280622531714386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerdQuza1RFl1dha1unDJRrjhghjnjWxgrIAqpHUd9D9X8vcNu93AUMgN7VgbtKFyr5QGDcnkbK9o55swcOjDNsy-Bi8Dzy4hUd23hhdbA75ZnKVWSBbZ-gV16qeP_eEP0fcnbY69xhsQ/s400/025.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="center">Egg hunt!</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328282782534824658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk__8kE0BlbIC6iXn3S0lqU0UNCS5tvauUP2khDHMHBLc49FZ_VxWZ4uqQ9KJRMsCzVFUdGH_31ktVirKBx895QO0sE4fNDUCMyvb_DZqoe_X3xq5TCkzzDPIdhKYdOKDFZaqwbNQo7Kg/s400/022.JPG" border="0" />And yes, I do coordinate the girls' dresses. I never get identical dresses, but ever since Bear was born, I have gotten them Easter dresses that match. This year, El Guapo's boss Lady J gave us Bear's dress and I just adore the colors. (Anyone who knows me in the real world knows I LOVE brown.) So I was just thrilled to find Bean's dress in the identical colors (and on sale).</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328280618219174866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoInexuQNIoALDBU0mVm9bxjwn37goroPjOZX11IzW4gyeIo0dl8wKTOpZ_vN7rJGrRCXi-J70pJD6tAesGA7qGedDCLCrZWk98ADSWJsrUzUBdrgkRV5FJuVDtxe880wojhBrt76zPNc/s400/021.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">There must be some eggs around here somewhere!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ABFAb3RJ5XLVUcbovAkZSh5ocrQ-CwMCWjnNJ09Trz4kRqc8TA3OPpzEHZoUmnGdpGNk3HSSnFznANN9UgHUxtlCzRyABPuop7wwXYxHUmAdfRB0n2vDCUoZVKUoouT-O0BCzXCZgKQ/s1600-h/029.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328281175753190018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ABFAb3RJ5XLVUcbovAkZSh5ocrQ-CwMCWjnNJ09Trz4kRqc8TA3OPpzEHZoUmnGdpGNk3HSSnFznANN9UgHUxtlCzRyABPuop7wwXYxHUmAdfRB0n2vDCUoZVKUoouT-O0BCzXCZgKQ/s400/029.JPG" border="0" /></a> "Getting dressed up stinks. Just give me my Lightning McQueen shirt and I'll be happy!"<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-3749599836981943432009-04-09T11:49:00.003-05:002009-04-09T11:56:46.147-05:00She's Baaack!!!<div align="justify">So what excuse is there that anyone would care to hear for being absent and neglectful for FIVE MONTHS!?! My fingers were crushed in a horrible farming accident and I couldn't type. I had severe post-election depression and have been institutionalized and over-medicated. I was cultivating a new-found romance with France and all things French. Priorities shift, deadlines loom, creative outlets get pushed to the periphery no matter how dearly they are missed. . .<br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Spring is a time of new beginnings. It's good to be back . . . .</div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322736386154294674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNewfp3DEMsYSJpsdrTptBOHmc_h6Gth_Cb5iPBqt3ubTEnl3BVydqnuqI90dh7FVW-_kDvTfPJlKuagttjMNuQHSMWHFBg6v4xUZJSnudB9eo0QAUlHxTMhpqSbTetTFBUJ2fQoebVk/s400/spring+flowers2.jpg" border="0" />Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-85295950296260890352009-04-09T09:18:00.012-05:002009-04-09T11:58:47.595-05:00Ode to Chickens<div align="justify">I have fancied chickens for as long as I can remember. Yes, the cluck, cluck, scratch, scratch variety. Don't ask why because I don't even know myself, but I just love chickens. Who can resist a chicken? Plump and soft, devoted mothers, fierce fathers, attractive hens, magnificent roosters, useful without being used up. </div><br /><div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTmXUxO4HgYcgIBaASPviUYANvLG6XqXvn4X0jfwDDb9I7hQImeFNz-TjoQeugFzIrYPnF38elrLSereXxPRWkVZ56-FbM-gunlfOROUFYID_EOwypt8Ba4x1r-XGFupoB_SUfduU0CM/s1600-h/buff+orpington.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716388223959666" style="WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTmXUxO4HgYcgIBaASPviUYANvLG6XqXvn4X0jfwDDb9I7hQImeFNz-TjoQeugFzIrYPnF38elrLSereXxPRWkVZ56-FbM-gunlfOROUFYID_EOwypt8Ba4x1r-XGFupoB_SUfduU0CM/s200/buff+orpington.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8LfiDT_wlfi17KX_AovsFoh_Pjya9E5IhsdhZGPbI3BBIK9aQQWrKRlZ8PpxGFFXl6yV6fTNghzYWZGlYcR4S4JLxLILXo5q-fhiXr4f0Ws8IrQ_2AyTZcdkP1olpsgbUElcBoy0Dt8/s1600-h/plymouth+barred+rock.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716692367543266" style="WIDTH: 167px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 187px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8LfiDT_wlfi17KX_AovsFoh_Pjya9E5IhsdhZGPbI3BBIK9aQQWrKRlZ8PpxGFFXl6yV6fTNghzYWZGlYcR4S4JLxLILXo5q-fhiXr4f0Ws8IrQ_2AyTZcdkP1olpsgbUElcBoy0Dt8/s200/plymouth+barred+rock.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXocivYVUsNKr1_PekOwcgGEvPxKy33OIOd4pF9Sz1ywMlbJ4jDBSPck-EPpazRjadbcjdYvrJGkRmlVWmN9H-YTpDziXwNbAnirtfIhWweFdHsbfPSAC0-3UsMYiZr3Jyvb8MCpUbgdM/s1600-h/rhode+island+red.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716693514511634" style="WIDTH: 188px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXocivYVUsNKr1_PekOwcgGEvPxKy33OIOd4pF9Sz1ywMlbJ4jDBSPck-EPpazRjadbcjdYvrJGkRmlVWmN9H-YTpDziXwNbAnirtfIhWweFdHsbfPSAC0-3UsMYiZr3Jyvb8MCpUbgdM/s200/rhode+island+red.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Honey gold Buff Orpington</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">Stalwart Plymouth Rock</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">Classic Americana Rhode Island Red</span><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKiOAS3lsRajBf71aNMMsgSZpUd_MKg_DbQYRpKCLUIPNSY5vun6ZWUldBmkwSQpokjFdjlDtj2AsY1oUiW9utpkRDu6n8h1hOe0VK70o58ol_hBYY489f1rb8HhJ-Uu3BMG-y6e4Ro4/s1600-h/rooster.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716697745751570" style="WIDTH: 168px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 183px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKiOAS3lsRajBf71aNMMsgSZpUd_MKg_DbQYRpKCLUIPNSY5vun6ZWUldBmkwSQpokjFdjlDtj2AsY1oUiW9utpkRDu6n8h1hOe0VK70o58ol_hBYY489f1rb8HhJ-Uu3BMG-y6e4Ro4/s200/rooster.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOs2N0h-0KDKl08pPeeR3fN1VnLNmxY90hcRm2kfyaGae0SE-rdCabObVmbMCzzR7eX6Dfh7ZttPiCSGUv290UiEVUpEIFgIR21z-ewqFf-4kSkezNslieh7OuTTfU_EAEPoktE2FpLM/s1600-h/barnvelder+hen.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716686505679202" style="WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 184px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOs2N0h-0KDKl08pPeeR3fN1VnLNmxY90hcRm2kfyaGae0SE-rdCabObVmbMCzzR7eX6Dfh7ZttPiCSGUv290UiEVUpEIFgIR21z-ewqFf-4kSkezNslieh7OuTTfU_EAEPoktE2FpLM/s200/barnvelder+hen.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRPOD3JiYJpdWW7QQHo9_WFJ9I9XYD4WNdZld0HCL8lbX0Oe8OkDgF9_sWoT_-uwY9eH_pkJZ4AtRxGZDTncjLJCslZbPgqZeIH6jUzmDRoHhOW3EqcJ_DxdSVvHuGYobgssl9ETqMfU/s1600-h/wyandottesilverlacedhen.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322716697858087234" style="WIDTH: 193px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 183px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRPOD3JiYJpdWW7QQHo9_WFJ9I9XYD4WNdZld0HCL8lbX0Oe8OkDgF9_sWoT_-uwY9eH_pkJZ4AtRxGZDTncjLJCslZbPgqZeIH6jUzmDRoHhOW3EqcJ_DxdSVvHuGYobgssl9ETqMfU/s200/wyandottesilverlacedhen.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Old World Barnvelders (Check out the gold lacing pattern on the hen!)</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">Sassy Wyandotte</span><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><p align="justify">One of my earliest chicken memories is of sitting in the backseat of my parents' car with my Grandma E, a former chicken farmer. I was about eight or nine and we were discussing all of the vagaries of raising chicks. Well, the discussion was more like a recitation of every chicken detail, fact or tip that I had memorized by checking out and reading every book our library had on chicken husbandry. As I talked about incubation, the specifications of a variety of do-it-yourself brooders, the correct height for the lightbulb used to keep new hatchlings at an optimum temperature (and how to tell), what to feed them and how to prevent them from drowning in their water AFTER you have dipped their baby beaks in to teach them how to drink, my grandma exclaimed, "I think you know more about chickens than I do!" What a compliment! I must have glowed for hours.<br /></p><p align="justify">About an hour away is a world-renowned museum featuring a chick exhibit with incubated eggs at different stages so that every day, every hour, there are chicks hatching that people can watch. As a child and now as a parent with my own children, I have watched those chicks shake and quiver and struggle then rest and then shake and quiver and struggle some more to break free of their eggshell prisons. If you visit, your eyes will lock on one mini-struggle for life and if you have any sort of soul, you will not be able to walk away until you have seen "your" little fellow through his birthing ordeal. And if you are like me, a tear might slip down your cheek as you realize that watching something, anything, being born is one of the few true everyday miracles.</p><p align="justify">So you might think that with this great chicken love-fest going on here, Mustard Seed House must be home to a flock of chickens, real or otherwise. I wish I could report that I have a happy klatsch of ladies in my backyard, but alas, city ordinances being as unprogressive as they are, backyard flocks are banned. (If I ever run for local office, it will be on a chicken platform -- "A chicken in every yard!") But that is not to say that I have not dreamed of clandestine coops and fantasy flocks (if guys can have fantasy leagues, why can't I?!). My gals even have names: Selma, Matilda, Frieda, Bertha, Erna, Dorothy and Gertrude in honor of my grandmothers' and great-grandmothers' first and middle names. I envision misty mornings, going out to release my girls from their coop where they have cozily roosted all night, scattering some feed at my feet as they jostle their plump feathery bodies to scratch and cluck and hunt for bugs, gathering warm eggs in a rainbow of dusky colors and creating simple, yet divine, egg-based dishes that friends and family clamor for. Oh the life! </p><p align="justify">While this may sound crazy to some (or MOST -- including El Guapo!), I have found a chicken-loving soulmate in a co-worker, Divine Miss M. DMM is further along in her chicken dream than I since on the Tuesday after Easter (this is in just five days!!), 50 hatchlings will be arriving at her parents' house in the country and she is going to be in charge of their egg and meat production. I am experiencing the thrill vicariously and am almost as excited as she is for Tuesday to arrive! I'll keep you posted. I have already been saving egg cartons galore; this has not been a problem since we go through several dozen eggs a week. (If El Guapo's blood tests come back showing high cholesterol, I guess we'll know why!)</p><p align="justify">And before anyone starts anonymously sending chicken brick-a-brack, knick-knacks or other paraphernalia, our decor is not chicken-coop-chic; it is more late-millennial Salvation Army in neutral colors with accents of hand-me-downs. I don't actually collect anything since I have discovered that for myself anyway, collections breed discontent. Even when you add a new piece, you are always on the hunt for one more thing, always wanting more, always pining for something you can't have. So no collecting (I do have a book addiction problem I can write about some other time, though!). But I do have a couple of chicken-related items that bring me great pleasure. </p><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322730546754328338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNd_LBVYzy4m_ggGp3DevNyxpqtnn-1RvmINoKO3YKT12agH-AIS42Y7jJGCty6GeBchG23bQVSYftRskEyEU_PdkmKByIP9fVzfo9e9ZUtnyy-bJB1R4DJO2Od8tOVgnv-aP8RWf-jE/s400/038.JPG" border="0" /> This is a salt and pepper set from my Grandma D. They are filled with antique grime and impossible to clean without possibly damaging the painting, but I love their whimsical design. </p><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322730554431803154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SFjOLPMAvEjJpjK7PfzA2GGrf8_FY1pNMPWD7F2hs48kCytikY8fc5apAZU9LSCWIXqx3S2ZIJxFFONrC803p-s7qsglzsxAWOwnlEwWXXDHE1tT_oswZE1YWdEbyJ-JIUG0G_oCzBY/s400/039.JPG" border="0" /> This is one of my favorite things, one of those everyday items that brings me unexplainable pleasure and joy every time I look at it. I agonized over buying him at the Kriskindle Market one winter. He is German hand-cast, hand-painted pewter and could be used as a pin or brooch. We passed the stall several times, but it was at a time when the budget was really tight, so even though he didn't cost that much, it was hard to spend the money. I am so glad we did. About a week after I brought him home and hung him near my kitchen sink, I was listening to the radio while putzing around the kitchen, and I heard a most amazing tidbit that has forever enshrined chickens in my heart (as if they weren't already!).<br /></p><p align="justify">In Jesus' time and in the times of the Early Church (the 2-3 centuries after Christ), believers would etch the icthus (fish) symbol on their doorposts as a subtle symbol to other believers -- kind of like hobo codes letting fellow travelers and pilgrims know they would be welcomed with hospitality. As persecution increased and officials became more hostile to Christianity, believers had to forgo the icthus symbol as it was like a signpost saying, "Come beat this door down and feed me to lions." They used a different symbol, rich in meaning. The rooster. As in the cock that crowed after Peter denied Christ three times on the night of Jesus' arrest and trial. As in every time we look at this rooster, let's remember to never deny our Lord or who we are. Even today in countries where Christians are tracked down, hunted, tortured, killed for their faith, the rooster is a vibrant symbol identifying like-minded souls to each other and admonishing them to take courage. So I love my colorful fellow who keeps me company as I wash dishes, wipe counters, prepare meals. He is a reminder to me: Brothers and sisters live in chains -- pray for them. Peter denied Christ, but was forgiven -- forgive others. Peter denied Christ, but was redeemed -- there is hope for me. Peter denied Christ, but others have not -- take courage and live boldly. Happy Easter.</p>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-8943364249681085752008-11-19T08:29:00.004-06:002009-04-09T13:08:05.684-05:00Happy Birthday, Bug!<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGalbvwBe2O8AubSjqXN69lL9eObisHiXYMRPL1kscvxxJs2ya46q4T0abzVVuC04yHbKDRk36JepZtlIZgFn0lbMclnt9KAxe9ju3jQJ40bNqfw1urW9720l9aGZkMHzRFDQ7hSru-sA/s1600-h/PA193247.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305742718586165602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 205px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGalbvwBe2O8AubSjqXN69lL9eObisHiXYMRPL1kscvxxJs2ya46q4T0abzVVuC04yHbKDRk36JepZtlIZgFn0lbMclnt9KAxe9ju3jQJ40bNqfw1urW9720l9aGZkMHzRFDQ7hSru-sA/s400/PA193247.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">Look at this handsome fellow! Here is the guy who keeps us young and gives us grey hair all at the same time! </div><div align="justify"></div><br />Your first sentence was "I am SPEED!" (from the movie Cars) and it could not be more apt. If you are not sleeping, you are climbing, running, dancing, clapping, smiling, MOVING! It is more entertaining watching you watching a movie than it is to actually watch a movie. You are a sparkling delight, my son. </div><div align="justify"><br />When I was discouraged during my pregnancy with you, I distinctly remember driving in daddy's Jeep, telling God all of my woes and sorrows. It was not an audible voice that I heard, but just as clear when God said, "Let me BLESS you with this son." You are only two, but God has truly blessed our family through you. As you lie in your crib each night, I pray over you blessings in return. I pray that God will reveal His path to you early in life and that once you set your foot upon it, you will never stray. I pray that you will be a young man after God's own heart, and that you will continue to grow healthy and strong. You are challenging that part! Only two and the only one of the kids to visit the ER twice and the only one to have ever gotten stitches! Such a boy. . . </div><div align="justify"><br />Your name means "son of my right hand" and is so appropriate and God-breathed, it is as if you could have been given no other name. The story behind this is highly personal to our family, so we will tell you one day when you are older. Just know that you hold a special place in both my and daddy's hearts. And while you will always be a little brother, I envision the young man you will someday be and my heart already swells with pride. Defender of Your Sisters. Right Hand of Your Father. Heart of Your Mother. You are my son. May God richly bless you always, Bug. </div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-73596247612676322052008-11-11T12:01:00.005-06:002008-11-11T12:39:08.683-06:00Happy Birthday, Bear!<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrjNaQdr_mjTk5ZnwEwboSnIzpEJ16RKy-nbcPXwmdq15y90YTBMSNwQGH-Z5_3ErSvoWCdYK6W7R4LZK3qiZ1ucDDtwb55mrkJpxlAYbcBc1c1NPMG5oZ285iLFdCQrLa5XwxVmait8/s1600-h/Bear.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267462884842447810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrjNaQdr_mjTk5ZnwEwboSnIzpEJ16RKy-nbcPXwmdq15y90YTBMSNwQGH-Z5_3ErSvoWCdYK6W7R4LZK3qiZ1ucDDtwb55mrkJpxlAYbcBc1c1NPMG5oZ285iLFdCQrLa5XwxVmait8/s400/Bear.jpg" border="0" /></a> Happy Birthday, Bear! It was four years ago today that I called Daddy at work after he had only been there for about twenty minutes and said, "I think you need to come right now!" Sure enough, it wasn't too long until you were born -- right at lunch time. You had the most hair of all three kids and when you were a baby it went everywhere. No matter what we did, you looked like Einstein so we called you "Bear-Bear Crazy Hair" for a long time. </div><div align="justify"> </div><br /><div align="justify">You are named after my grandma who was an amazing woman. She was a tiny lady with a strong spirit and passions for Jesus, baking, gardening, taking care of people and loving her grandkids. She has had an incredible impact on my life and who I have become. We so wanted to honor her by naming you after her. She had a short name, so instead, we gave you a longer version of that name with the intention of calling you the shorter nickname, just like Grandma E. The summer after you were born, we went to a family reunion where we brought out the old family Bible. Right there was written your name, the longer version we had given you, as Grandma E's real name! Even Grandpa, who had known her since she was five years old, had not known that her real name was the same as yours! I still get goosebumps when I think of it. Your name was meant to be! </div><div align="justify"> </div><br /><div align="justify">Your first name can mean "light" or "God is my strength." We think this appropriate for a lovable little person who we call "Iron Fist in Velvet Glove!" You are quite the character: funny, sweet and smart. Also stubborn, opinionated and not easily swayed (or bribed with "stittas" <em><span style="font-size:78%;">stickers</span></em>)! Your middle name is the same as Bean's because as she is, you are a "precious and undeserved gift from God." </div><div align="justify"> </div><br /><div align="justify">Before you were born, I worried, "How could I possibly love anyone as much as I love my little Bean?" (Especially after I was so sick for most of the time you were in my tummy!) It sure seems silly now to have ever worried about that. Of course, we love you like crazy!! We are so excited to see what adventures your life holds. In your four short years, you have amazed, delighted and entertained us just by being YOU. You have expanded the love in our hearts and our family. You are an awesome little sister to Bean and a loving big sister to Bug. Happy Birthday, Bear!<br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-83188251147214544602008-11-04T16:00:00.004-06:002008-11-04T16:16:18.686-06:00A Prayer for America<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcr5NL9bKJLm32zHifnBRvyoElpoB7tsIGBfy8-uBnvMWpZXvHPxIzB2YmVUzJDJ4Po_3FidFRtyTzR3ZYp6KyUqvFnavJ34IhsUY_OzPzZm9hkG2-5c1oEW6p-pWNB2XKJ99qAF4-Y4/s1600-h/prayer-vallorge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264929208142903986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcr5NL9bKJLm32zHifnBRvyoElpoB7tsIGBfy8-uBnvMWpZXvHPxIzB2YmVUzJDJ4Po_3FidFRtyTzR3ZYp6KyUqvFnavJ34IhsUY_OzPzZm9hkG2-5c1oEW6p-pWNB2XKJ99qAF4-Y4/s320/prayer-vallorge.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">I couldn't let election day pass by without comment, but I have promised that I would only write the one political post, so I want to be a person of my word. So this post doesn't specifically address the current election, but it is a good representation of true conservative beliefs. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Actually, Paul Harvey read a version of this prayer on air, and it has circulated as an email for a while, but this truly is "the rest of the story." The email is not entirely accurate, so I looked up the official source. (As an aside, do not pass on emails without checking them on <a href="http://www.snopes.com/">Snopes</a>. Snopes is a very reliable source of information regarding the veracity of all those emails that circulate!)</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Back in January of 1996, the Rev. Joe Wright, senior pastor of the 2,500-member Central Christian Church in Wichita, was invited to offer the opening prayer at a session of the Kansas House of Representatives. The prayer he offered was this one (which differs somewhat from the version being circulated on the internet): </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">"Heavenly Father, we come before you to ask your forgiveness. We seek your direction and your guidance. We know your word says, "Woe to those who call evil good." But that's what we've done. </div><div align="justify"><br />We've lost our spiritual equilibrium. We have inverted our values. We have ridiculed the absolute truth of your word in the name of moral pluralism. We have worshiped other gods and called it multiculturalism. </div><br /><div align="justify">We have endorsed perversion and called it an alternative lifestyle. </div><br /><div align="justify">We've exploited the poor and called it a lottery. We've neglected the needy and called it self-preservation. We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare. In the name of choice, we have killed our unborn. In the name of right to life, we have killed abortionists. </div><div align="justify"><br />We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self-esteem. We have abused power and called it political savvy. We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it taxes. We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression. We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment. </div><div align="justify"><br />Search us, oh, God, and know our hearts today. Try us. Show us any wickedness within us. Cleanse us from every sin and set us free. Guide and bless these men and women who have been sent here by the people of the State of Kansas, and that they have been ordained by you to govern this great state. </div><div align="justify"><br />Grant them your wisdom to rule. May their decisions direct us to the center of your will. And, as we continue our prayer and as we come in out of the fog, give us clear minds to accomplish our goals as we begin this Legislature. For we pray in Jesus' name, Amen." </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">The prayer Rev. Wright used wasn't of his own crafting; it was a version of one written in 1995 by Bob Russell who offered it at the Kentucky Governor’s Prayer Breakfast in Frankfort, Kentucky. Either way, it is a prayer that would serve us well, these thirteen years later.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><br />"If we ever forget that we're one nation under GOD, then we will be a nation gone under." -- Ronald Reagan</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">God bless America.</div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-62105435855668653802008-11-04T08:50:00.005-06:002008-11-04T09:53:31.339-06:00Beautiful Hands<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUCeTvb7OAO4OFdBhE-fKcFzafpotB27d_sJajHFVLIGKKxXtbhB9qlDCHpyuJibETLlamicsKLgmxaO0pWgCtiW7RSvLMGuWinirA-JWg-9fMcdGJco_W4VJPIRgPB4lac_dx1T1Z6Y/s1600-h/hands.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264830762747993282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 273px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUCeTvb7OAO4OFdBhE-fKcFzafpotB27d_sJajHFVLIGKKxXtbhB9qlDCHpyuJibETLlamicsKLgmxaO0pWgCtiW7RSvLMGuWinirA-JWg-9fMcdGJco_W4VJPIRgPB4lac_dx1T1Z6Y/s320/hands.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">I have ugly hands. I was waiting in the car the other day, looking at them and noticed the raggedy cuticles, the scraggly edges of my fingernails, the redness of my knuckles and the overall roughness of my hands. "Wow, I could really use a manicure!" I thought to myself. But as I mulled it over, I realized what a hopeless cause it is. I am really hard on my hands. I garden without gloves, wash dishes in scalding water without gloves, strip furniture, do craft projects, lift heavy loads of books at work, repair materials with harsh chemicals and glues, all without gloves. Not to even mention all the times in a day I wash my hands while cooking, cleaning, changing diapers, taking care of pets, children, and household. Yes, a manicure would last unchipped for about, oh, maybe fifteen minutes. And you know what? I don't care if my hands are raggedy, scraggly, red or rough! (Poor El Guapo!) And here's why:</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">This will make me sound like I am eighty-seven years old, but I used the <em>McGuffey's Eclectic Readers</em> as one of my main literature books in primary school. For those of you not familiar with <em>McGuffey's Readers</em>, they are what hundreds of thousands (if not millions!) of Americans grew up reading in school since the 1800's. They are aptly called "Eclectic Readers" because they contain a whole host of reading samples from poetry to expository selections on animals and natural history to stories and fables with moral lessons. A little selection in <em>McGuffey's Third Eclectic Reader</em> is called "Beautiful Hands." I must have been about ten or eleven when I read it, but it has stuck with me ever since. In the conversation that is the story, Daisy walks home with her teacher and comments on the course-looking hands of classmate Mary. But Miss Roberts tells Daisy that Mary's hands are the prettiest in the whole class. Miss Roberts goes on to explain that Mary's hands are rough because of all the hard work she does around her house and lists all of the grueling chores that women and girls performed in the late 1800's. And besides work, Mary's hands are used to be kind to her younger siblings and those less fortunate. Miss Roberts goes on to say that, "They are full of good deeds to every living thing. I have seen them patting the tired horse and the lame dog in the street. They are always ready to help those who need help." But my favorite lines are the last two. After Daisy hears of Mary's many good works, she feels remorse at having said that Mary's hands are ugly. Her wise teacher instructs, "Then, my dear, show your sorrow by deeds of kindness. <strong>The good alone are really beautiful</strong>."</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">I remember reading that story for the first time, and purposing in my young heart that I wanted to have the kind of beautiful hands that are set about meaningful work. This is not to say that caring for oneself or even having nice, manicured hands is a bad thing. For me, though, my hands are a visual reminder of what is truly important. That the outward appearances are much less important than the inward spirit and attitude. So if it takes having ugly hands to remind me that setting about kindness and goodness in my daily life is my goal, than I will keep them as they are and be content. </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Often our bodies show the stories of our lives. Sometimes we reveal poor habits or unhealthy living. Other times we hint at our obsession with the superficial and the temporal. We can reveal if we have a low opinion of ourselves or too high of one, if we are modest or proud, if we are scared or confident. When you see people who bear the scars of hard work or hard knocks or hard living, how do you judge them? Think of the etched face of Mother Teresa. She was no beauty by earthly standards, but the lines on her face, the stoop in her walk, the cracks in her hands were testaments to the principles by which she lived her life. I think of One whose body most showed the way He lived His life -- all the way to His death on the cross. Jesus bears the scars of sacrificial love. I am so not even close to living out my love that way. But I'd like to move in that direction more and more every day.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Lastly, I have thought about this little story many times over the years. It has literally been woven into the very fabric of who I am and has impacted how I see the world and others. And it was this last time reflecting on it that something new was driven home. Oh, how the little things can impact who we become. What are my kids filling their minds with? How will those things shape who they become, how they see others, how they view world? What careless words do I say that will burn into their brains? What do we value enough to impart? What are they being "fed" each day to help them grow? So excuse me now. I have to go attend to Bear and Bug -- and turn off Sponge Bob! </div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-27126468403174326492008-10-14T07:00:00.005-05:002008-10-15T08:02:07.748-05:00Why I Am NOT Voting for Obama -- PART II<div align="justify"><strong>If you did not read <a href="http://mustardseedhouse.blogspot.com/2008/10/why-i-am-not-voting-for-obama.html">yesterday's post</a>, STOP. Read that first. Then we can still be friends!</strong></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">I believe in LIFE. Yup, I think that we kind of skip over that part of the Constitution about LIFE, and jump straight to “liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” (Please notice that we are NOT guaranteed happiness, just the right to PURSUE it, but that is a different post for a different day!). I hate being reduced to a one-issue voter, though. I am deeper than one issue. I have thoughts about the war, the economy, health care, gun control. Thoughts that I have formed through long and hard consideration, opinions that are well-reasoned and dearly-held. But once again, this year, I will be voting primarily over one issue and frankly, it kind of irks me that I will be forced to do that AGAIN. But I am left with no choice because the issue is fundamental to the core of my being. </div><div align="justify"><br />Am I pro-life in the anti-abortion kind of way? Yes, I am. And again, I speak from a well-reasoned point of view. I was an unwed woman with an unplanned pregnancy and at the time, my life would have been a whole lot “easier” if I had just exercised “my choice” and made the whole situation go away. I would be a liar if I said I didn't consider it, but I must say that it was only for a fleeting moment. It's amazing how those bedrock principles you think you hold dear really hold up when the opportunity presents itself to actually put them into practice! I literally thank God everyday for my beautiful daughter and the clarity and sanity that prevailed in choosing life. But even the abortion issue is not what I am writing about. I think that most people have pretty clear views on that one way or another and are not going to be swayed. So be it. (I am also one of the few pro-lifers I know who think that Roe vs. Wade will never be overturned. I think it is foolhardy for pro-lifers to think it and alarmist for pro-choicers to say a political candidate will accomplish it.) </div><div align="justify"><br />Indeed, Obama believes in abortion. At a townhall meeting on March 31, 2008, Obama said of his daughters (in the context of a conversation on HIV/AIDS and sex education), “I am going to teach them first of all about values and morals. But if they make a mistake, I don't want them punished with a baby." Wow. Look into your kid's eyes and see if you could ever think of them as “punishment” or "mistake." But even this is not why I am not voting for him. I am not voting for Barack Obama, a senator from my home state, because he has on several separate occasions <strong><em>voted in favor of infanticide</em></strong>. Yes, killing babies. This is NOT an abortion issue. This is about live babies, with BIRTH certificates, being allowed to inhumanely die without being given any medical care or intervention. I'm sorry, but in a gray world, this is a black and white issue and it is WRONG. And for me, it is unforgivable. Recently the media has picked up on this issue a little, but I have known about this since 2002 and have been stewing ever since. </div><div align="justify"><br />While Obama was in the Illinois State Legislature he voted against the Induced Infant Liability Act which would have mandated medical attention for any baby born alive. It sought to offer equal treatment under the law for babies who survived premature inducement for the purpose of abortion and wanted babies who were born prematurely and given life-saving care. It was virtually identical to the federal Born Alive Infant Protection Act signed into law by President Bush with only 15 House members opposing it and unanimous Senate support.</div><div align="justify"><br />The language in both bills meant it would have NO IMPACT on Roe vs. Wade. NARAL Pro-Choice America released the following statement when it was being debated at the federal level: “Consistent with our position last year, NARAL does not oppose passage of the Born Alive Infants Protection Act ... floor debate served to clarify the bill’s intent and assure us that it is not targeted at Roe v. Wade or a woman’s right to choose.” </div><div align="justify"><br />But Obama voted against the Illinois version of the bill twice and killed it in committee a third time. (To be fair, he voted “present” the first time and “no” the second. Same thing!!) This was just six short years ago. Does he truly support infanticide? Does he merely lack good judgment? This is a bill that was supported at the federal level by the likes of Hillary Rodham-Clinton, Ted Kennedy and other uber-liberal, pro-choice senators. Either way, Obama is totally out of touch on this issue, and it is not one to be taken lightly. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">This is LIFE. BABIES. Children who were left to die in laundry closets, cold and alone. I wouldn't treat a puppy that way, let alone a child. And frankly, I have no ears to listen to anyone who would say that this is okay. Ignorance is not an excuse. Protecting Roe vs. Wade has been proven not to be a valid excuse. There is no excuse. This is America. We are a culture of life. We are not China, Saudi Arabia, Iran, North Korea. Life is woven into the very fabric of our Constitution. At the Saddleback Civil Forum, Pastor Rick Warren asked, "At what point is a baby entitled to human rights?" Obama dodged the question by responding, "Answering that question with specificity is above my pay grade." Well, that's just great. Wherever you are on the pro-life/pro-choice issue, I think we can all agree that if you are <em>born</em> and have a <em>birth</em> certificate, you might be alive and therefore have "human rights." But apparently in Obama's world, that's not enough. </div><div align="justify"><br />Even so, I know that my vote is not going to count. Illinois is always a blue state and especially this year, will go to Obama. But I believe in personal responsibility when it comes to civic duty, so I will go the ballot box this year and cast my vote and pray and hope that against the odds, McCain will win. I hope a lot of Illinoisans will vote and make the race close so that Obama knows that his home state doesn't give him a <em>carte blanche</em> mandate. </div><div align="justify"><br />Finally, I have posted this video after much soul-searching. I don't like being manipulated emotionally, and I don't like to emotionally manipulate others. I don't think that Obama is a closet Muslim, and I don't care that his middle name is Hussein. I don't believe that he as president would have all that much power or be able to make even half of his promises come true so my underwear is not in any kind of a bunch! I also believe in the sovereignty of God and that he “allows rulers their thrones.” But I do believe that it is morally imperative to vote your convictions, and more than any other topic, I believe in the sanctity of life. For me it is not a political issue, but a moral one, akin to the slavery issue of the 19th Century. So I post this video with the caveat that I do not necessarily agree with all of nohussein.org's tenets, but the testimony of the nurse and the final visual of the baby is just too powerful not to be seen.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VIdbYjmbFzo&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VIdbYjmbFzo&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-57255622020110863762008-10-13T14:29:00.007-05:002008-10-15T07:49:42.671-05:00Why I Am NOT Voting For Obama<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRquvJzm5ELOqyTMWMpDFfmu_ZXsfYYfqvx0ucfZxQcK71faMOv9pxXkTLCQ5HS04itvD3VUTk_b-OEok9lXtihrYxQ7J4k-s1sdbRH83Ft1ThivN-aPJjaNSPFjYxYYa7p3y3b3HhFzA/s1600-h/nobama.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256723650023083090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRquvJzm5ELOqyTMWMpDFfmu_ZXsfYYfqvx0ucfZxQcK71faMOv9pxXkTLCQ5HS04itvD3VUTk_b-OEok9lXtihrYxQ7J4k-s1sdbRH83Ft1ThivN-aPJjaNSPFjYxYYa7p3y3b3HhFzA/s320/nobama.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">Wow. Here you are, just thinking you’ll pop on over to friendly MSH to see what that crazy ZamFam is up to and you get a giant political smack in the face! Well, before you get all riled up, please read the next two paragraphs. Sit down, relax and let me tell you a little story from when I was a kid. (No politics, I promise!) And then decide if you want to read the rest. . . .</div><div align="justify"><br />I grew up living in an unincorporated neighborhood on a gravel road. We were an eclectic bunch of folks living in an odd assortment of houses that included one that was meant to be underground, but was built above ground due to permit problems; a couple of Swiss-style chalets; a multi-level house built in a sort of circular style; a house whose front looked like a giant glass pinwheel; a Tudor mansion; and an old Girl Scout camp lodge. Our house was my parents' dream home, a plan they got in a magazine with soaring cathedral ceilings, spectacular hillside views and finished with salvaged items. </div><div align="justify"><br />In an era before such groups were common, we had a neighborhood association that was responsible primarily for contracting for services to grade and add gravel to the road in the summer and plow in the winter. My dad would come home with spectacular stories about the “fireworks” at these meetings. Get a group of eccentric folks together with their equally eccentric ideas, toss in some hot-heads and watch the fun ensue. One of the hottest was a red-headed, red-faced German named Martin. He was formidable – big, loud, intimidating, prone to swearing while clenching his smelly European cigarettes in his teeth. And that was before he got to these meetings. Apparently he was quite passionate about various issues that came up and wasn't afraid to let everyone within a ten mile radius know what he thought. Then, on cold, January mornings, he would be at the top of our hill, waiting to drive the neighborhood kids to school, all gruff smiles and German-accented pleasantries. I remember asking my dad about this, how you could be at such loggerheads with someone one moment and still be friendly with them later. I knew my dad had deep moral convictions about how to treat people, so I wasn't asking so much how my dad did it, but what about blustery Martin? Martin himself had explained to my dad that Europeans were different from Americans in many ways, but one notable way was that Europeans were perfectly willing to fight about ideas to the death, but when the arguing was over, it was time to shake hands and head out for a beer -- the old “let's disagree agreeably” that is so easy to say, but so hard to do.</div><div align="justify"><br />I write this rather long introduction partly because it was fun for me to remember our old neighborhood and its interesting inhabitants, but to also illustrate how I hope that friends, family and acquaintances who read this blog and also know me in real life will take what I post today. First this will be the only post this year about politics unless something totally bizarre happens like McCain or Obama turning French. Let me say that I am a “rah-rah” American, probably one of the more patriotic people you’ll ever meet. I am unabashedly proud to be American and think that the United States is the greatest nation ever to grace the face of the planet. Please don’t write to tell me about all the ways America has screwed up or how much we suck. I know that America is not perfect, has screwed up and sometimes even sucks. I’m just saying that other countries are even less perfect, screw up more and are suckier – take France for instance. . . . Just as a crazy aside: I actually like the new French president Sarkozy, so maybe I’ll move to France if this election doesn’t turn out how I want.<br /><br />And I know it is not polite to discuss politics or religion, but since I already talk about my faith, I guess one political post won’t kill anyone. This is not a blog about politics, work or rants, but it is MY blog, so I reserve the right to write about what I want and occasionally that will be on some of these topics. I write because it is cathartic for me and it helps me solidify and order my thoughts. I have gotten into many discussions about politics this year, even though I avoid them like I might avoid a stranger in a dark alley, and I have walked away feeling frustrated that I wasn’t better able to articulate what I believe. Depending on how happy I am with this post when I’m done, I think I might carry around little cards with my blog address and if people ask me what I think, I’ll just smile, say nothing and hand them my blog address card!</div><div align="justify"><br />I also know there are several people who know me in the real world who are going to differ with me. I already know you disagree with me (even if you don’t know I disagree with you!) and I like you anyway! I hope we can all be grownups and celebrate the fact that we live in America where we can dissent and not end up in jail or friendship purgatory. Let’s do like the Europeans and disagree like crazy and then all go out for beer together afterward and chum it up. With us it will have to be figurative beer since I only like British ale on tap and not really that much. How about coffee? Whiskey?</div><div align="justify"><br />And if you want to argue with me in cyberworld, that’s fine too. You can even comment and tell me about it. Let’s just not call names or be reduced to slinging insults (that’s reserved for the French). Frankly, I don’t intend to have a long drawn out discussion about this. This is my manifesto and you’re not going to change my mind. It’s not that I am not open minded. I was. I have researched this situation, formed an opinion and now my mind is closed. You won’t dissuade me from my position. My job as “information bounty hunter” has served me well because my mind is geared toward gathering and synthesizing information. I have gathered, synthesized, ordered, formulated and to use an Olympic metaphor – here is my “stuck landing.”<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">So now this post is crazy long and I haven't even written about what I actually believe! So I will post my “Why I Am NOT Voting For Obama PART TWO” with the actual “meat” of what I wanted to say in a separate post. You have been warned. Read at your own risk. See, that wasn't so bad, now was it? How about that coffee? </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">(Part II is written and will auto-post tomorrow . . . stayed tuned . . . then back to regular programming!)</span></em></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-10570749408825888932008-10-02T16:03:00.002-05:002010-02-02T12:47:52.836-06:00Chica's Big Day Out (or how I took years off my kids' lives. . .)<div align="justify">One of my enduring passions is World War II, mostly because I do believe that the "greatest generation" did nothing less than save the world. The 1940s-era holds endless fascination for me, and I never tire of hearing stories from both the front lines and the home front of the courage, ingenuity and heroism. </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">So it was with great excitement that the ZamFam5 headed out to the largest WWII re-enactment in North America. It is held every September about an hour away from our house. When we arrived, we were met with all the sights and sounds of a German-occupied French village. Trying to get our bearings, we pulled off to the side of a dirt track that ran through the center of town only to have a volley of gunfire erupt mere feet away! We had inadvertently found ourselves with a front row view of one of the many skirmishes that are held throughout the day. It was deafeningly loud. Bug was so scared he turned completely white, went totally stiff and held his mouth open in a silent scream. The girls kept looking at me wide-eyed for assurance, but shouting at them didn't really convey that everything was okay. El Guapo had a priceless expression on his face that said, "Don't look at me. This is all your mother's doing!"</div><br /><br /><p align="center">Before the battle, occupying forces patrolled the streets.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v_HLhlKEP-mfmDfVPf3BlhAZ4FwQabRNYR45Qzp-PvdIQLnYJJvANuN92Naam7PXpPPc-wSK8hzD4rKmqRZ5vgsUWgkL9bQckYjN5O1XQPFpO0xuG0JZWvNckFbksEAs7ZKxnUls8Pc/s1600-h/P9273148.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433708235476892178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v_HLhlKEP-mfmDfVPf3BlhAZ4FwQabRNYR45Qzp-PvdIQLnYJJvANuN92Naam7PXpPPc-wSK8hzD4rKmqRZ5vgsUWgkL9bQckYjN5O1XQPFpO0xuG0JZWvNckFbksEAs7ZKxnUls8Pc/s400/P9273148.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center">Their friendly and casual demeanor gave no indication of the gunfire that was about to erupt in moments! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSP3ikcMlTa8eFDUMxirD3ESJVwPwSY04GVz9mrmcM8I99O59PUDpwE6jabQe8FCDNjSwyLIjFBUauJcU5HWS_Sg5SMrvAN0kGCHlsaAi_jJYioK-2pM9-NO86J1grz4xN_-L1VxGSa-4/s1600-h/P9273150.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707949526133042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSP3ikcMlTa8eFDUMxirD3ESJVwPwSY04GVz9mrmcM8I99O59PUDpwE6jabQe8FCDNjSwyLIjFBUauJcU5HWS_Sg5SMrvAN0kGCHlsaAi_jJYioK-2pM9-NO86J1grz4xN_-L1VxGSa-4/s400/P9273150.JPG" /></a><br />The gunfire reports were so powerful, you could feel the concussions on your chest. Awesome!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBnM24GV0bxkYS4RoS-gjK_EQ5c9tIUnLwZdjK8G6mXxJg5pM0roDjKVqxAK3gDFL0iiBb2UhTyyXaDcdoqbaI-Dztc0UWRAQzXZo4xTvs2qvZ1B5bJIZUUt5uj1IZK2jYQdlJfRiodQ/s1600-h/P9273160.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707940842430962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBnM24GV0bxkYS4RoS-gjK_EQ5c9tIUnLwZdjK8G6mXxJg5pM0roDjKVqxAK3gDFL0iiBb2UhTyyXaDcdoqbaI-Dztc0UWRAQzXZo4xTvs2qvZ1B5bJIZUUt5uj1IZK2jYQdlJfRiodQ/s400/P9273160.JPG" /></a>Some Allied troops had taken up in the General Store and were trying to battle their way outside. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IC_6FFYtdMDxiIAEhxklrOR3mpN2_OUQw30JPPCePhSC0n09TmyibYCrlSQluNFo_Z5h2uhGHedXFz9U-W74vLejVoaJo8AXEZYm3ZLd3fr6o7gv8kF5t-tqCzbb_QLPpaQq_tsNAvQ/s1600-h/P9273161.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707934081320354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IC_6FFYtdMDxiIAEhxklrOR3mpN2_OUQw30JPPCePhSC0n09TmyibYCrlSQluNFo_Z5h2uhGHedXFz9U-W74vLejVoaJo8AXEZYm3ZLd3fr6o7gv8kF5t-tqCzbb_QLPpaQq_tsNAvQ/s400/P9273161.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8xvzccHUqC7QSlJI14g7Ra5D_OOVvP4VOcAPb6Vkzko1cNUSVoLMFljmFjPkJy4H7k5HakjgrnpujalUV8vEkGkami4gdzi0ah9lq0-q0XZ3WmsKccQIYgY7QYwm6GcejMOARAzBv2U/s1600-h/P9273164.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707476800975154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8xvzccHUqC7QSlJI14g7Ra5D_OOVvP4VOcAPb6Vkzko1cNUSVoLMFljmFjPkJy4H7k5HakjgrnpujalUV8vEkGkami4gdzi0ah9lq0-q0XZ3WmsKccQIYgY7QYwm6GcejMOARAzBv2U/s400/P9273164.JPG" /></a>We thought the rifles were loud and then they rolled up with this baby! Percussive! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBfGchBO2CLkhDmD-LvxT4BfBeCZCwVxmwaGYGmKueJZ5kQQt0O-Plgcu94EFaZGbcckuKwTaO2BcuIM6knwLMlSfNAI9UKsZ1-D1EL8G2sVJ5zeJA1Hzd4JRl6ezH9XkKSz5fIpCMRE/s1600-h/P9273166.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 392px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707468037692770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBfGchBO2CLkhDmD-LvxT4BfBeCZCwVxmwaGYGmKueJZ5kQQt0O-Plgcu94EFaZGbcckuKwTaO2BcuIM6knwLMlSfNAI9UKsZ1-D1EL8G2sVJ5zeJA1Hzd4JRl6ezH9XkKSz5fIpCMRE/s400/P9273166.JPG" /></a> In the interest of realism, not all of the battles end with Allied victories and in this instance, the good guys were captured and marched away. Then the occupying forces packed up and rolled on down the street.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J-rtGAatDfmpcynS1Sae44Odu4WTwXlYNXlQLgSeOLVmHtSr8XBB2tSidrc7dtmIRosR-cMpHqCv1rEvxm0Cga5M_pB00Gwpf1lHtO-otiDFfhY-ul7sq69mCphQrLaQ0vwDCEJ2OTY/s1600-h/P9273169.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433707459723418146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J-rtGAatDfmpcynS1Sae44Odu4WTwXlYNXlQLgSeOLVmHtSr8XBB2tSidrc7dtmIRosR-cMpHqCv1rEvxm0Cga5M_pB00Gwpf1lHtO-otiDFfhY-ul7sq69mCphQrLaQ0vwDCEJ2OTY/s400/P9273169.JPG" /></a></p><div align="center"><div><div><div><div><br />There are home front and front lines exhibitions, as well. Here the girls are in the area showing the role of the Red Cross.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJv2HLBkM2dAuHYZz19jU48nV18lXtGkmyhnIc1JzWImWxLtUSqShLlwsdgmsHOEf20hRkObieAqK-SJOlpopDlS5Sjz64MOw0ovaZNAG2K_oAzFzAr1N5yYiYCWfJO5rVz_y-miS3acY/s1600-h/P9273179.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706854372932722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJv2HLBkM2dAuHYZz19jU48nV18lXtGkmyhnIc1JzWImWxLtUSqShLlwsdgmsHOEf20hRkObieAqK-SJOlpopDlS5Sjz64MOw0ovaZNAG2K_oAzFzAr1N5yYiYCWfJO5rVz_y-miS3acY/s400/P9273179.JPG" /></a><br />Everywhere are period vehicles and folks in costume. So authentic.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6MjB6mzKd-Bn2IyRqx5SPdRb9NgAJiAzVeQDlbC1tr_FHTk7oOFr9JlPjnWxbJ6DZuaxK-qtqTHZmmNSW0Wip5kKi6vBuIOmf23JwJbShyWS2Ud0P07J4-0si3RH_QEpE6kytPbglfc/s1600-h/P9273197.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706851556860946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6MjB6mzKd-Bn2IyRqx5SPdRb9NgAJiAzVeQDlbC1tr_FHTk7oOFr9JlPjnWxbJ6DZuaxK-qtqTHZmmNSW0Wip5kKi6vBuIOmf23JwJbShyWS2Ud0P07J4-0si3RH_QEpE6kytPbglfc/s400/P9273197.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZuJGmTGNlsLkv9NFAsy6bvY7s7ME2zMnf2zJqms53zUweFKkizgW3pd5qJORQMeeCiQ7gkK-DZKAj9Mat9c_0BQWTGLWVWm5Hunktgr_qYmidUXf4IFieLxMhjJoad2vaBAIS_3ImlA/s1600-h/P9273198.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706843070689698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZuJGmTGNlsLkv9NFAsy6bvY7s7ME2zMnf2zJqms53zUweFKkizgW3pd5qJORQMeeCiQ7gkK-DZKAj9Mat9c_0BQWTGLWVWm5Hunktgr_qYmidUXf4IFieLxMhjJoad2vaBAIS_3ImlA/s400/P9273198.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyPwgBy9aOdciTbnGYwrhGJBgW1eEsrrSqqx5m36C40LUm8Qa0iOO-70JfxIDIeei5NnTZfK_rznqAatr4m1AooldyAFt3seGO-kj2l1sT25ZnPI_yR7QGKdtUith_Q81fZBIzZlpFxE/s1600-h/P9273200.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706345591610066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyPwgBy9aOdciTbnGYwrhGJBgW1eEsrrSqqx5m36C40LUm8Qa0iOO-70JfxIDIeei5NnTZfK_rznqAatr4m1AooldyAFt3seGO-kj2l1sT25ZnPI_yR7QGKdtUith_Q81fZBIzZlpFxE/s400/P9273200.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlhHeHt2Y00Auc7vqZmo127uAJ7dkI6R3Fw4MRXXJg5y7mueRoPt98ua4vz1QjtKBqiY2h3TjQGHS0s19TXKzRrTB-Onsah1nR6t7WFdLQRubDi-0XLhc52HmSD_fRub8QryUZDlQSkA/s1600-h/P9273202.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706338444429570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlhHeHt2Y00Auc7vqZmo127uAJ7dkI6R3Fw4MRXXJg5y7mueRoPt98ua4vz1QjtKBqiY2h3TjQGHS0s19TXKzRrTB-Onsah1nR6t7WFdLQRubDi-0XLhc52HmSD_fRub8QryUZDlQSkA/s400/P9273202.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><div>This could be on a street corner in 1944. Love the uniforms!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0psieYwV-pQjEAnPMVnyhW09j_Unv8Aa4vBIhBCDFsiGYrgnWKrT8dHI7hdoovyFiGDFzzY2ZX9JWnEEppq3rok2FChrW70rt2ThU_SZmVTzAOnroiY_N5swZTlv-dRsMv5_c0TqfTE/s1600-h/P9273203.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 234px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433706333219525570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0psieYwV-pQjEAnPMVnyhW09j_Unv8Aa4vBIhBCDFsiGYrgnWKrT8dHI7hdoovyFiGDFzzY2ZX9JWnEEppq3rok2FChrW70rt2ThU_SZmVTzAOnroiY_N5swZTlv-dRsMv5_c0TqfTE/s400/P9273203.JPG" /></a><br />The front lines area is divided into Allied and Axis zones. Visitors hike through the woods to view various encampments. Can you imagine living like this?<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lVaOoNTqsfozsyPfh-hahKZ2_2EZq2A6OPWLBkLPZQOgyIeNM85AUuXs3Q0fGMDps-BeDm7PmHa0bKeeo5pXWtZ9NTZ38B_UfWvQyYwzdm7XNLM0GmujuvYljT1UvZABRjSv8MTW8uE/s1600-h/P9273204.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705917357290658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lVaOoNTqsfozsyPfh-hahKZ2_2EZq2A6OPWLBkLPZQOgyIeNM85AUuXs3Q0fGMDps-BeDm7PmHa0bKeeo5pXWtZ9NTZ38B_UfWvQyYwzdm7XNLM0GmujuvYljT1UvZABRjSv8MTW8uE/s400/P9273204.JPG" /></a><br /><div>There are many impressive military vehicles.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzxDX6BVrv93K_9u2l0thcLekerTLSq7qG5qIi9blLELnISRy64Zbl2G9pIYEWtD6RrUyutHO4UsblMyOY0ud_ZGM5nLE0SyNqtYo1cClSBbVT3VMlkUKpN4_Cjawv9dpmDUB8Q9YiSg/s1600-h/P9273211.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705903656338818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzxDX6BVrv93K_9u2l0thcLekerTLSq7qG5qIi9blLELnISRy64Zbl2G9pIYEWtD6RrUyutHO4UsblMyOY0ud_ZGM5nLE0SyNqtYo1cClSBbVT3VMlkUKpN4_Cjawv9dpmDUB8Q9YiSg/s400/P9273211.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77Rm690dH29E-ObsfgoK5ueQWQfCWuDoW5eIgH0TLfgUK7ChvWTCTsNnXTHSx8-qbz732vIW_evvlBLiArQj_GZtJX0XocCOdO6RHXp7iXkI0nPYGyTrehAQOYApARlXzd990Tkzmz-A/s1600-h/P9273212.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705466306083314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77Rm690dH29E-ObsfgoK5ueQWQfCWuDoW5eIgH0TLfgUK7ChvWTCTsNnXTHSx8-qbz732vIW_evvlBLiArQj_GZtJX0XocCOdO6RHXp7iXkI0nPYGyTrehAQOYApARlXzd990Tkzmz-A/s400/P9273212.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>This officer was impressive and realistic with his dapper uniform and dour expression.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAPk8a8HA8vxHq6LHoZfASeyhZYs4MUu-TY9bv8r03U9IIuPb1j53pJnQEEduOLW0LWFpSooSOrUdFS7rD_vPZYNqDxgz5S6_ATUpGuLfMTrSa3ycvSTHoOysEx60VsfLghtVWeTuxbA/s1600-h/P9273219.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705464163208162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAPk8a8HA8vxHq6LHoZfASeyhZYs4MUu-TY9bv8r03U9IIuPb1j53pJnQEEduOLW0LWFpSooSOrUdFS7rD_vPZYNqDxgz5S6_ATUpGuLfMTrSa3ycvSTHoOysEx60VsfLghtVWeTuxbA/s400/P9273219.JPG" /></a></div><div></div><div>Not a real fan of posting pictures of my girls with a N**i, but the horse in the picture is a movie star. He played John Adams' horse in the HBO miniseries. (If I ever run for public office, I might have to remove this one -- can you imagine what someone could write?!)<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGd_FlM6rSHEK-WANfOvYLrbtE6XpY6uHxJwh-zqKgRcPYKbenqkBLnpwHgS8b3jsnSTdgCpL-6FhN9udqvoihoGbhDH0we4dNAuhKJK8nvwM0bjTHl0b8RX00hQYF_IvD5_mX63cN7Z0/s1600-h/P9273141.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705455516262178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGd_FlM6rSHEK-WANfOvYLrbtE6XpY6uHxJwh-zqKgRcPYKbenqkBLnpwHgS8b3jsnSTdgCpL-6FhN9udqvoihoGbhDH0we4dNAuhKJK8nvwM0bjTHl0b8RX00hQYF_IvD5_mX63cN7Z0/s400/P9273141.JPG" /></a> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 220px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 301px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433716419734493330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWcu5QM03ezDVutvbLKMxuvCkJ7N5NOYeMWk40Z9HJRe8JggZGJUc4R53_mM97FI_DlY7Qv-lVuYahW3cEjpE-cY2BrY28c3DH0ntZyqhSdOhlEK38v_6i9B8IvFC-UfPn51g8B3KFbgo/s400/john+adams+horse.jpg" /><br />This is my favorite picture of the day (thanks, El Guapo!) because it so perfectly captures that even though conditions were most difficult, British will, order and patriotism still thrived. Brilliant.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433705910118998130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp20jzggSfQyN0r9gY0c_y9QX_J72Iit6bzZp499xfufmMbty8TP07O7dCrJkCw2SbBSXoUzDCoZlWVbZc2FcC-yb0N9chMWdjsZH1TeooJIFJS_7GTi3XUDaVvFdLomLthqYETY0-iIc/s400/P9273210.JPG" /> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-31523208737623815092008-09-18T16:02:00.006-05:002008-09-18T16:54:34.540-05:00Walking on Broken Glass<div align="justify">I often listen to the pastor from Moody Memorial Church on a local radio station. After I have gotten El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Guapo</span> and Bean out the door to work and school, dropped off Bear at preschool and am ready for a strong cup of coffee and some breakfast, Erwin <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Lutzer</span> comes on. My favorite breakfast is eggs, and it's funny that even if I hear him at some other time of day, I suddenly will get a hankering for eggs as soon as I hear his voice. We have spent that many mornings together! He has a distinctive voice that El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Guapo</span> is not very fond of, but I have come to find such a sweet familiarity there, it is like sitting down with a beloved friend over coffee each morning and getting eloquent and humble teaching.</div><div align="justify"><br />A few weeks ago he spoke about Paul admonishing us to walk circumspectly and to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">illustrate</span> what this looks like, he gave the following word picture. When he took a trip to Africa, he noticed that most houses and buildings had high solid fences around them. To offer further security, bottles and glass had been broken and then embedded in the top of the concrete to discourage people from climbing over. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247473159861757938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklO-8tc07ONKCTf4iZZHnDpmnieSXXH6HmG7RvhobYPxGk5MDXMJToWDe1v1vOzlA8K06uGC4CFbtxVfFRxWI1bebxnX45s78VV01dZPttNh-Ogth8ucl622Gu3Dgd-QpGg2Zpon9oqA/s320/glassjags1.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">He then vividly recalled seeing a cat walking across the top of one of those walls. As it walked along the jagged shards, it picked its way carefully, mindful of each step, placing each paw in a safe spot. It was hard for the cat to always find a foothold, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Lutzer</span> was impressed when the cat reached the end of the wall and leaped gracefully down, with nary a scrape or cut. He had traversed the broken glass unscathed!</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247474315208277138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguS0tAoEIUTCw2xc3-uh2fYwsJlZGF-UnKiSOx8iOXE0Fv-Tl1HLI6TkEbh4JWNdUpYkZ9-2GWaEF9cYTcsrQQ0utOtuRM0UssEOq20wmzb49DPiy5HaqMACCNHctMINzTFhPykpc4X3c/s320/cat+walking+wall.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> <em><span style="font-size:78%;">(Imagine glass shards on top!)</span></em></p><p align="justify">Of course, the parallel is that we should walk in our own lives as carefully, contemplating each step and choosing the wisest course. I sure need to practice that more! How my life would change if I could just not open my big mouth as much, but use more restraint and reflection! I tend to be more like this:</p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247481588839651394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r944BS29M0MpCOr7TYlwiTGD3JH5bqqFUY7CKl7QWHNe9KnfSDEopwbalFAxMwtOrqJUA50VhAJ9QZDgaBfB-Q8dZ57Lby-zVUWhNdEN5P_SOvM-yoP23DwEUQGYHzH_oESlAbqTahg/s320/running+dog.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="justify">You know, running headlong, tongue lolling out, stepping in who knows what! So even though I am a "dog person," I guess I need to be more of a "cat person," if only in this one way: to ask God for wisdom at each juncture of my day and to put into practice those things that I SAY I believe, but don't always act on. I guess this is the journey to authenticity that I'll be on for the rest of my life. <br /></p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><em>"Be very careful then how you live -- not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity." -Ephesians 5:15</em><br /></div><br /><p></p>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-36016082831647802522008-09-11T16:40:00.006-05:002008-09-11T17:08:06.068-05:00ZamFam Road Trip: Part 4<div align="center"></div><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243499686932466962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7XB_gG31ef5-__i4rGnnt3OMBkdaXWLKd0FAEyOowrKRURbDL-mZ_89mJL7DRlEI6303rMSfKyqyGzXkJP8vqfnd2zRjelBSRflaU64octkPVwcs6PzVjpPo-YNZ9fwXD3TwopA2Xv4/s320/P7192996.JPG" border="0" />See, Bug did actually have fun on vacation. This is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">chillin</span>' East Coast style! Can you believe those eyelashes? They cast shadows! And you heard it here first, folks. That outfit is prophetic. My boy is going to be a world class baseball player (mostly because I have forbidden him from playing football!)</div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243497496649320434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="223" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTavma__df-VNMQYOhsijnQ5_DxH5O2yPOBIqVTdAKU7aaU0aunDMswhh1wA0eKe339P4uLDpBD5JqUobZ6981DQjy54V9s0P_4lbnIdoqv_8I7BfU8auNROongclZ9SlC2_pPVqDUryY/s320/Uncle+Randy%27s+sundaes.jpg" width="327" border="0" /> Uncle Randy's world famous, gut-busting sundaes! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Yeee</span>--<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ummmm</span>!</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244883897227810530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUeS8nReI6MwgRqIgispt6vWyQUKJsEOq1c_5KDxnV-9kg_XspnfAq8AIagMbrSHhZffF73b4hTHOsUH9lVhx02ijVfDvIbumsdlnytzegAYQnutRb42mDN825Iv7_VBEHUFpAnqfYvVA/s400/Zams+at+Washington+Monument.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="justify"><br />The proud American (extended) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ZamFam</span> at the Washington Monument. We went to Washington, D.C. for the day to walk around the monuments in the mall. The theme of our trip seemed to be insane humidity and crazy heat, but we had an awesome time. We walked our feet off, but even in the heat, D.C. was moving and invigorating. We are definitely going to try to get back and spend MUCH more time. There is a definite atmosphere about Washington that exudes power and drive.</div><p align="justify"></p><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6z88iv7zDMzikxlb4JdmwOiJw6OVtkStvUEeJghv1ggdtFbfusR1Fo-plhp2jde5HTCzFvUlNEMtIztevVLNqF9Tiuqn96FHXUY6AhhkvXkfYNSTK-UyT0gLvMTi_67xuuT3Yqeprp28/s1600-h/Korea+War.jpg"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243497505368798210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 333px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="223" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITpYjMvS2Hj9BTScKOCEaMweBqsqIch6kQokoLkhScO_fTu_k7A1HOVGooeLsmin00URlnRFRc_386WGJyMM4BczcnQMtdHR0Jvhv9915okKWjV6r2Go-L30bV_FS48v-QXWCcZEirBA/s320/WWII.jpg" width="326" border="0" /></p><p align="justify">If you know me for about ten minutes, you will know that I am a World War II buff. This memorial was the main reason I wanted to visit Washington. It alone was worth the visit and exceeded my expectations. I found it so incredibly moving that I left everyone at the reflection pool and walked around by myself with tears streaming down my face and a huge lump in my throat. I must have looked strange to some people (I wouldn't really pass for a WWII vet!), but I didn't care.</p><br /><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244839323600839362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZOmHrBG8xAfkw1Dc4o5RKzNX9tO6v0Opwh71UTAZ5pJxOZUfWoKgFJWkJoATUQO7VNgK6q2idunf5bUNEwij1tTufKxQeflVYAqeJcZnm1N88qWnoc0ww5R6ZxYKTDOM1t2InyJsBX8/s320/view_from_washington_monument.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="justify">This is the view of the memorial from the top of the Washington Monument. It is one of the most gorgeous, well-designed public spaces I have ever seen, full of symbolism, gravitas and import -- so befitting the people and events it memorializes. It is amazing to me that this memorial is so new, that we didn't have a national monument prior to 2004. Fittingly, it was begun in September 2001 and was funded primarily through private donations. (Tom Hanks and Bob Dole spearheaded the fundraising. Thanks, Tom and Bob! -- Yeah we're on a first name basis.)</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243499683205094738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqQ9hoOmaCP3iQYspd8L9hcWnhwI8pLPMpTceRxtO5enoqlmhUI_CdDkO4-LiiEOV5VJHJyxBupfMgjYnyjIIX_LYqJU0MBYUlY07AsCm6KY65pJByCRPPIfSnuK8svc9qBAH2J6Ejw4/s320/field+of+stars.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="justify">"HERE WE MARK THE PRICE OF FREEDOM" (and here is where the tears flowed even more freely). This is a reflection pond with the above inscription in the foreground and a field of blue studded with gold stars in the background. Each of the 4,000 stars represents 100 American lives sacrificed (400,000) in the war that saved the world from tyranny.</p><br /><p align="justify"></p><br /><p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5KzU9aPcyOeK82jPh7xjesEOP34uXUjEvHG_a6765vtYCxM9ROFLB4HpHKdLLKbulzWqUNycadRw9yJzlv0b1nHWy3nPYFCMW4G2nQD_nHfLYQBwuzoWwRVZo45jgX6xT9dU5G5REok/s1600-h/WWII+Pacific.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244883074045936306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5KzU9aPcyOeK82jPh7xjesEOP34uXUjEvHG_a6765vtYCxM9ROFLB4HpHKdLLKbulzWqUNycadRw9yJzlv0b1nHWy3nPYFCMW4G2nQD_nHfLYQBwuzoWwRVZo45jgX6xT9dU5G5REok/s320/WWII+Pacific.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4wQ77ntShH6rMw6LGv4xZ_EI1jOODMMRdscO59uVyxKeCLVwwtLeMETnse4oGbgdHGWig7ESQYJvtmvKAWH8WXWAaiukm4-fLqCbGP-Dx6VrGJSdkOwfH20QxzUpvtPp389x-Qy9AFU/s1600-h/WWII+Atlantic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244883310376647954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4wQ77ntShH6rMw6LGv4xZ_EI1jOODMMRdscO59uVyxKeCLVwwtLeMETnse4oGbgdHGWig7ESQYJvtmvKAWH8WXWAaiukm4-fLqCbGP-Dx6VrGJSdkOwfH20QxzUpvtPp389x-Qy9AFU/s320/WWII+Atlantic.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The oval is flanked by two <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pavilions</span> representing the two theaters of war -- the Pacific and the Atlantic. In the center of the memorial is a large fountain which drowns out street noise and offers a fitting background for contemplation. Fifty-six large columns offer the roll call of the nation -- one for each state and territory that united in the effort. The wreaths on each pillar are of oak and wheat symbolizing the nation's industrial and agricultural strength which were essential to the success of the global effort. There are also quotes and inscriptions throughout the memorial from key battles.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgPWgMCnohZDWA8o7CcLX-QbHyabH-YXOxvq7EzKYbRmqsjSPxNe2jx_zszXWoEKLW8oeltscf41n6SQkrLGThiPhg-S2ZCozT0Ea5CA3qa4fuzDy8Pg2MlqaDTlWj7TySNzs0ohfHTg/s1600-h/WWII+Wreath.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244839879556229154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="186" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgPWgMCnohZDWA8o7CcLX-QbHyabH-YXOxvq7EzKYbRmqsjSPxNe2jx_zszXWoEKLW8oeltscf41n6SQkrLGThiPhg-S2ZCozT0Ea5CA3qa4fuzDy8Pg2MlqaDTlWj7TySNzs0ohfHTg/s320/WWII+Wreath.jpg" width="227" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69HF06yTHr2ysH8E9QetlaTfJUqEyqR6P6ERksVdTD47_hqUja5YwGhRh7DxcH4ItuFa3qUDifiUFkrdRW_7bMbotmH5NO68sFMMxA9iiGGkx9sCLeHAfsrDWml4KTcacbuglOv87cTs/s1600-h/WWII+Medallion.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244839800462949442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="190" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69HF06yTHr2ysH8E9QetlaTfJUqEyqR6P6ERksVdTD47_hqUja5YwGhRh7DxcH4ItuFa3qUDifiUFkrdRW_7bMbotmH5NO68sFMMxA9iiGGkx9sCLeHAfsrDWml4KTcacbuglOv87cTs/s320/WWII+Medallion.jpg" width="249" border="0" /></a> On the floor of each <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pavilion</span> is a large medallion of the WWII Victory Medal that all who served received. Suspended from the ceiling are four bronze victory eagles holding laurel wreaths. So spectacular! I had a headache when I left because I was swallowing so hard trying not to just burst out weeping. I'm sorry my picture descriptions sound so "guidebook-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ish</span>." I just cannot convey how meaningful it was for me to visit this memorial. Never before have so few sacrificed so much for so many. (And just imagine my poor nephews who were with on this trip. They would offer the following advice: never go on a vacation to Washington, D.C. with your aunt if she is a history teacher! If you think this is bad . . . ) </p><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYihURXCOMdefLetExZoDKTHuoFDJrMWt-tN9WUDNodOgGnNEuKknIIbVts2pafeOG4l26N0660v1DnJW9hZbdCjKbtAvqT1fiWgR7RfQ5_C_WGt3sPYf-s5mFm2p7gg_Cocww9np9h_U/s1600-h/VWM+Statue.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244865699167293842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYihURXCOMdefLetExZoDKTHuoFDJrMWt-tN9WUDNodOgGnNEuKknIIbVts2pafeOG4l26N0660v1DnJW9hZbdCjKbtAvqT1fiWgR7RfQ5_C_WGt3sPYf-s5mFm2p7gg_Cocww9np9h_U/s320/VWM+Statue.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7h-jlN0hF_Me0YaoPsHyiK1sqjlAwk-plvEmNhNQyABmLx1WSfs_RYB186GGELg5qWxOgXE6fmHeTQUq74-Df1FFZRoePf-CCPi_BO2e1sqPEi4sHtrjoCZP-7XPLQX0Kt2OSVm_cWY/s1600-h/LostButNotForgotten.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244865547056608610" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7h-jlN0hF_Me0YaoPsHyiK1sqjlAwk-plvEmNhNQyABmLx1WSfs_RYB186GGELg5qWxOgXE6fmHeTQUq74-Df1FFZRoePf-CCPi_BO2e1sqPEi4sHtrjoCZP-7XPLQX0Kt2OSVm_cWY/s320/LostButNotForgotten.jpg" border="0" /></a>We also went to the Vietnam War Memorial. The famous Wall is beautiful as it is not a wall just jutting out of the ground, but is a graceful arc that starts thin, culminates at over six fee tall and than narrows back down to a few inches. It is built into the side a small rise and has the name of each soldier who was killed, captured or missing in the war. If the name has a diamond after it, that soldier is confirmed dead. If there is a cross after the name, that soldier is MIA or captured. There are over 1000 names on the wall designated as MIA/POW. I found this mind boggling, as did Bean, who poignantly asked, "Why did people invent war?" Good question.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SgIClubqFzqkY0GChZEpYDzC0Xl37fa7yzQFxvH1wxe4TUBr4vQxJkRB-jpJllBjLIZEK7PhyT46ZWZfk_xjL8OUToDD5T6xu9qEDr2t1L1so-EiNTz0p9lWIDltGWanaa9UIAqR1pA/s1600-h/Korea+War.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244869431002808882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="192" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SgIClubqFzqkY0GChZEpYDzC0Xl37fa7yzQFxvH1wxe4TUBr4vQxJkRB-jpJllBjLIZEK7PhyT46ZWZfk_xjL8OUToDD5T6xu9qEDr2t1L1so-EiNTz0p9lWIDltGWanaa9UIAqR1pA/s320/Korea+War.jpg" width="292" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItP6RAkq6nAF7-7lto0CqzyLevBk-0IjqO4DDjx6FMEgTk_Ne3Ys6PteS37iXiG1_JwjXN1O919sTDCMZvYhgND7LSBtHycy8dlh3aa3NGRBg5jNgTz_yam5BjJZk6fSMDTCIOeKlSzc/s1600-h/freedom_is_not_free.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244869913056207314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 173px" height="193" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItP6RAkq6nAF7-7lto0CqzyLevBk-0IjqO4DDjx6FMEgTk_Ne3Ys6PteS37iXiG1_JwjXN1O919sTDCMZvYhgND7LSBtHycy8dlh3aa3NGRBg5jNgTz_yam5BjJZk6fSMDTCIOeKlSzc/s320/freedom_is_not_free.jpg" width="296" border="0" /></a>The Korean War Memorial was also incredible. "The Forgotten War" is memorialized by a fitting inscription: "Our nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met." As a former history teacher, I knew the dates of the Korean War (1950-1953), but until I saw the memorials all together, I didn't realize the ramifications of the fact that the Korean War was just a short five years after the end of World War Two. It was also one of the first major tests of the newly formed United Nations (not a real stellar legacy if you ask me -- considering the present situation with North Korea) and the first time US troops went into battle as UN forces. In three years of conflict the US lost over 36,000 soldiers in addition to 92,000 wounded, 8200 MIA and 7100 POW. </p><div align="justify">Statistics like these and those from WWII and Vietnam really put the Iraq War in perspective for me. Any casualty is one too many, but on this day of remembering patriots, we really should think about all that our troops have accomplished in Afghanistan and Iraq and with some of the lowest troop casualties of any war the US has ever fought.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><p align="justify"></p><div align="justify">I have a few more pictures from D.C., but I will post them in one final "Road Trip." Our trip to the nation's capital was amazing and with family living so close to it, we plan on many returns. I'll leave you with one final picture for today:</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243497498388608658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBlr8dLNjzHAZO5q7Ii6YjcEkJ9rACnmLChuK-Mo9vdjqf4FU2QDrclEA4jBAOYilatHtNSTkdvqR7ljMFh-ylAeQL_GzcDNnxtMZM8zVefTlEsXgD4G595s75SKj0akefQ8MGRQzvis/s320/Mall.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">America. Land of the Free. Home of the Brave.<br /></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left">Waxing ever patriotic,</p><div align="left">BC</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><p></p></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-76084206424269632772008-09-11T13:22:00.004-05:002008-09-11T13:32:10.040-05:00Never Forget<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsxRuT9WNTdtc6aPxO4ssCdKTKfmmNby9vx33FDWV2rYC2ST9N13xPu9Ydn8NQ9hpreWWoMKwSZq2o22EgY2_18jKWwKoYnaTKezYq6wN84QgCZh3qahej1T77q1JcbDeopjxM7veO1I/s1600-h/iwo-9-11-final.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244832978206084882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsxRuT9WNTdtc6aPxO4ssCdKTKfmmNby9vx33FDWV2rYC2ST9N13xPu9Ydn8NQ9hpreWWoMKwSZq2o22EgY2_18jKWwKoYnaTKezYq6wN84QgCZh3qahej1T77q1JcbDeopjxM7veO1I/s400/iwo-9-11-final.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">Do you remember where you were on September 11, 2001? Do you remember what you were thinking and feeling? Do you remember what you were afraid of, afraid for? Do you remember who you wanted to be with, who you wanted to call, who you wanted to embrace? Do you remember the bravery, the heroism, the patriotism? </div><br /><br />Pause for a moment of reflection. Fly your flag. Give a loved one an extra hug. Call your mom. Kiss your kids. Praise God for simple blessings. Thank a hero. Never forget.<br /></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-61104847370168824192008-09-08T16:00:00.001-05:002010-02-01T13:32:16.471-06:00Bear's First Day of Preschool<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mX89ef2fSkbwKxqt6EEQgKQHKQ3Cizkd3HiqxXEOgfmpNY_C8EkSEumdwcZ1UQNxSNwY_eHupLvLkhuKsP9anAwcP7sL7dkiS8PsbTRRzZGyDB7jfITZKD-VrdFSvt3H9aBpGf9mqVI/s1600-h/P9033140.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305745618253093762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mX89ef2fSkbwKxqt6EEQgKQHKQ3Cizkd3HiqxXEOgfmpNY_C8EkSEumdwcZ1UQNxSNwY_eHupLvLkhuKsP9anAwcP7sL7dkiS8PsbTRRzZGyDB7jfITZKD-VrdFSvt3H9aBpGf9mqVI/s320/P9033140.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KIHG00Rakf9JhTC9mbV1mNrrmSPTC1OBY9cs9W1C-boIyIC_vJiOvoLs_Uxp0NFY1Q5CATsjklhGgM9NHPcfksK3ETklI_c0PckUTQHPdLxDF1htH7dlCfurqZU5w6jt94sL6lLQPeI/s1600-h/P9033135.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305745616853661314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KIHG00Rakf9JhTC9mbV1mNrrmSPTC1OBY9cs9W1C-boIyIC_vJiOvoLs_Uxp0NFY1Q5CATsjklhGgM9NHPcfksK3ETklI_c0PckUTQHPdLxDF1htH7dlCfurqZU5w6jt94sL6lLQPeI/s320/P9033135.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-25228460503673247312008-08-25T22:03:00.005-05:002008-08-25T22:25:05.835-05:00ZamFam Road Trip: Part 3<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmeuQNgag-UAD-CuqW-cQdZUDWsw0zSZ1pjUTLRjubHH0Z5ap777diF6OxUBCM4N8gNGFaBamTerXAkWCco9DzFDz-hHH9vz8ELhUnA7Luno1DzN9FNo_FTm3AgEor8H8Il1pp7tftYY/s1600-h/P7192972.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238657103368524050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmeuQNgag-UAD-CuqW-cQdZUDWsw0zSZ1pjUTLRjubHH0Z5ap777diF6OxUBCM4N8gNGFaBamTerXAkWCco9DzFDz-hHH9vz8ELhUnA7Luno1DzN9FNo_FTm3AgEor8H8Il1pp7tftYY/s320/P7192972.JPG" border="0" /></a>After getting to Baltimore around 3:00 a.m., we went that Sunday afternoon to an Orioles game at Camden Yards, or as the locals say, "Dah Yahds." I'm not sure if it's always as hot and humid as it was the week we were there, but all week was in the nineties and it was close to 100 degrees at the ballpark. We had a great time anyway, even though the Orioles lost to the Detroit Tigers. Most pleasant was how easy it was to get to the park and how clean and gorgeous it was. Other highlights were the <strong><em>air conditioned</em></strong> gift shop and the free hotdogs after last call in the seventh inning!</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238657099239027714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1mH9pr57HoYC8QLiZOuSvlyHYJ7sVoPUfagI3Bv77iZAHGcZhPwLIgWxSVO2uxeINr6ubeUCpbPabp5mftb3JbfrPQFgU_F9k5RjnQjpril5OUdbssHL1tHu0nBBJ3Ueq7jQHV68FaRM/s320/O.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">Here's Bean keeping cool at Dah Yahds.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238657094048163154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jIxc_i92_6WpLkRLSATiP38NVWVsCSr-x1uVvcCy4fudAIRTEu5Nmj5N-gW78Wv93kCY1ovh1BZeqt1-2GZc2KXvmrI5F0MM6_FmXSs2YkJjvi2NhkT7PQl46ib7kLlSwbRi4VL-kR0/s320/E.jpg" border="0" /> <p>Here's Bear trying to keep cool.<br /></p><br /><br /><p></p><p></p></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238659139594077778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNyKH2YnsFBE4hZ_PCPT_kD60Nvmf76t4SRGkDb3sdUHtWq7RdgfG_U3ESq1ta2yqXKcB6P_t1hqVDz-YKKP241ISNx0my-4KogwdP1EeZPhB74knoR9NPmMjadpgiriJWDg4ENFxjm4/s320/b.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">Again here's Bug having a rockin' time. He loved every outing, as you can tell!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTPpjGb17jx18LaQ8L3FqCgrm6fv3YpXW-vraT9gGGeS-tfWTta4K7zxmJWQ026zs6gSIvmoDZiWXlh0yTwXalmx0nJ7ynD1WugdbSe_uAmol0xG5eC5NUk-hhaQfaLTSVOz2TmRzRiw/s1600-h/P7192984.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238657111208048146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTPpjGb17jx18LaQ8L3FqCgrm6fv3YpXW-vraT9gGGeS-tfWTta4K7zxmJWQ026zs6gSIvmoDZiWXlh0yTwXalmx0nJ7ynD1WugdbSe_uAmol0xG5eC5NUk-hhaQfaLTSVOz2TmRzRiw/s320/P7192984.JPG" border="0" /></a> Bear kept asking, "Why are they called the Oreos?"</p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJu2SdlQGfUzah_OCg6MChV-ap6WvEfwYjIxR0pjtQsLwWOik5rCNdCCtMv3KU1-0qTfx19gffuJWCTnvGnn072Hw7XILqy5YVp4qZdHKbBAMErr0J1JTjk7KbLPCgTtArRDvMkgYqk2w/s1600-h/s.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238657116528182018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJu2SdlQGfUzah_OCg6MChV-ap6WvEfwYjIxR0pjtQsLwWOik5rCNdCCtMv3KU1-0qTfx19gffuJWCTnvGnn072Hw7XILqy5YVp4qZdHKbBAMErr0J1JTjk7KbLPCgTtArRDvMkgYqk2w/s320/s.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"></a>Here's our godson passed out on his daddy's shoulder. A good time was had by all!</p>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037849206810512451.post-31800338513047795482008-08-25T10:31:00.020-05:002008-08-25T12:20:57.469-05:00Don't Drink The Kool-Aid<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2q8I_krP9w60XPnELbVxGvEuVbyvQefZ7L-OM0mVpfhVq8lz82GUH7gjDPdcj57_ag3FIaOCSgw3RbE1EKUUJg8mdosJLT_ytpQLxdUK8ViCly71ckDevbRm7o2bBadT7iVa_QQwbTk/s1600-h/olympic+rings.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238500504819959058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2q8I_krP9w60XPnELbVxGvEuVbyvQefZ7L-OM0mVpfhVq8lz82GUH7gjDPdcj57_ag3FIaOCSgw3RbE1EKUUJg8mdosJLT_ytpQLxdUK8ViCly71ckDevbRm7o2bBadT7iVa_QQwbTk/s320/olympic+rings.png" border="0" /></a> <p>At the risk of sounding like a wet-blanket, a curmudgeon, or you can insert your own insult here, I am interrupting the report on our ZamFam Road Trip to opine on the Olympics, specifically China hosting them. </p></div><div align="justify"></div><p></p><p><div align="justify">I look forward to the Olympics every two years, mark the opening and closing ceremonies on my calendar, and lose tons of hours of sleep in between. (I am so looking forward to a Winter Olympics in our hemisphere if only for it being closer to our time zone!) But it was with mixed feelings that I thought about China hosting the games this year. Actually to be totally honest, my feelings weren't/aren't that mixed. Actually, I feel pretty strongly about this great "coming-out party" for China, and I have to say, "DON'T DRINK THE KOOL-AID!"</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HRirsyAtHzb9SKtyT-S9TRHV9EULcYwRQWGSF16PueWpxVt-eJSOzQCZBA2OFjJKEbxImu60eTaT9i9ySpqVzqjp7tXMPfIP-bud4U5IeUPCUjrB2ET7uXv9F1Qyzhl8elsbjrJySTA/s1600-h/water+cube.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238500207396794802" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 199px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px" height="157" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HRirsyAtHzb9SKtyT-S9TRHV9EULcYwRQWGSF16PueWpxVt-eJSOzQCZBA2OFjJKEbxImu60eTaT9i9ySpqVzqjp7tXMPfIP-bud4U5IeUPCUjrB2ET7uXv9F1Qyzhl8elsbjrJySTA/s200/water+cube.jpg" width="200" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMLyqUh4eJppW8ghyphenhyphendIfXH_GrB9AuEh93uU7pT1aod3WsUT2A2waDQzKOYwwwx5yDMzuYi-VMU4S_5bSZtv2L3YTMfo_r3OBQUrfDGZGtKm3eM1Fdfpbg01baI2_IsyezsOb92ZITqgs/s1600-h/bird's+nest+beijing.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238500096292002066" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="162" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMLyqUh4eJppW8ghyphenhyphendIfXH_GrB9AuEh93uU7pT1aod3WsUT2A2waDQzKOYwwwx5yDMzuYi-VMU4S_5bSZtv2L3YTMfo_r3OBQUrfDGZGtKm3eM1Fdfpbg01baI2_IsyezsOb92ZITqgs/s200/bird's+nest+beijing.jpg" width="200" border="0" /></a> </p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div align="justify"><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">To be sure, the opening and closing ceremonies this year were phenomenal, incredible, jaw-dropping spectacles of which I enjoyed every minute. Fantastic, bravo, well-done! The venues are architectural wonders, marvelous to behold. The Bird's Nest is spectacular, and the Water Cube defies description and invites cliche. </div><div align="justify"><br />When you have over a billion people at your disposal (literally--as in they tap your shoulder and you goose-step, er skedaddle, as fast as your slippers can take you) and a government machine with over $40 billion dollars to throw in Beijing's direction, this is what you get. I feel bad for London having to follow in Beijing's footsteps and yet, I will revel in whatever a free and democratized society has to offer the world because it is much more than an uber-controlled display of power, ahem, Olympic stage show.</div><div align="justify"><br />While the Games went off without a hitch and NBC gushed about all things Chinese and Barack Obama said he could understand why businesses would see this Olympics and the sanitized Beijing and want to move there, don't be fooled. Pick your poison. Whether you are liberal or conservative, you can find a bone to pick with China in the human rights category: China has no freedom of speech, the press, religion or movement; China admits to executing about 10,000 people per year (the figure is almost certainly higher and is the 7th highest per capita in the world after the likes of Saudi Arabia and Sierra Leone); the one-child policy causes gender imbalance, forced abortions and sterilizations and untold heartache--think of the parents who lost children in the recent earthquake--they were all one-child families; the annexation of Tibet; the saber-rattling toward Taiwan, a free and democratic Asian nation which cannot compete in the Olympics as "Taiwan" but rather as "Chinese Taipei;" the organ harvesting and "extrajudicial" execution (read MURDER) of religious prisoners that has recently been confirmed by both Sky Television and <em>Christian Science Monitor</em>. And that's me just getting warmed up, but I'll stop for now.</div><br /><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238499811406014802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUNI_eqpYHQa_C93hPJVIpE4plprA2S0Ds7dJMrPksnuPJur9_9rY5YFOWe9QSZfWGmCB73Eo1SYge5Cb2h-Kq7K8BXhyphenhyphenINP_5gF3-AK5Ac9r6Dvhe3y_xcFu4wPXUUYwjW_eovLJ8W4/s320/human+tower+beijing.jpg" border="0" />Sadly as I watched the closing ceremonies last night with the spectacular five-story human tower, I couldn't help but think about the biblical Tower of Babel and man's arrogance in the face of God. This was China, a godless society, shaking its fist in God's face and saying, "See what we can do without You. We are powerful. We are sovereign. We are mighty." A fearsome sight to behold, indeed. But what can you expect from a country that venerates a man responsible for the deaths of 40 million countrymen, who was willing for up to half of China to die for the cause of Cultural Revolution and technological advance? Of course I speak of beloved Chairman Mao, the man whose visage graces every street corner in China. Holding the Olympics in Beijing is akin to holding them in Germany if Germany were still the Third Reich and Hitler a beloved grandfather figure. </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-ls6XDgZSb-r0nBLRnwRNzT91yANw6jgqqtIJbMJ2bvuAJqBRIKwG5DPrvrcu_UFOp7BLzR7xAXVXOhqMscLhmHO-5i6a28yX1Lx0jEzvE8-r1a6so-PqTPxSVW9fpJQZqKAWd1RFuI/s1600-h/hitler.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238499437355361202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px" height="213" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-ls6XDgZSb-r0nBLRnwRNzT91yANw6jgqqtIJbMJ2bvuAJqBRIKwG5DPrvrcu_UFOp7BLzR7xAXVXOhqMscLhmHO-5i6a28yX1Lx0jEzvE8-r1a6so-PqTPxSVW9fpJQZqKAWd1RFuI/s200/hitler.bmp" width="178" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">Yes, I know that the Olympics <em>were </em>held in Munich in 1936, with Hitler as Fuhrer, but please go back to your (un-revisionist) history books. As they say, "Hitler made the trains run on time." This man, inventor of the Volkswagen ("car for the people"), lifted up a depressed and repressed German people after the punitive effects of the Treaty of Versailles virtually guaranteed a future conflict with an awakened Germany. I am not defending Hitler by any means! We have 20/20 hindsight; prior to the 1938 Kristallnacht attack on Jewish businesses, the world was woefully blind to the true nature of Hitler (although he spelled it out rather clearly in <em>Mein Kampf</em>!). <em>Time Magazine</em> was so dense, they declared Hitler "Man of the Year" in 1939. Just a short nine months later, he would invade Poland and start World War Two. Bravo, <em>Time</em>!</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">All this to say, can you imagine if Hitler had won (the horror!), we're now 60 or so years later and holding the Olympics in Germany with pictures of good ol' Adolph smiling benevolently from every corner? The venues would be spectacular to be sure. Albert Speer's <em>Inside the Third Reich</em> (he was Hitler's architect) shows the grand plans that Hitler envisioned in a revived Roman Empire. Gorgeous buildings, gridded streets, broad avenues, parks, gardens, monuments, zoos, beautiful homogeneous people everywhere. . . .</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4R3prqX26L4GUjZN7vk1iQa7RHjBLGqKbGalZmwPn3fRNKUQrdE4t-2GJMAfpqkJyRy_BSjVlTJAz8-1mtM6roW1J3hy3jgkv4aoRd7huAK8B1cfRrxFCjIfgxPHhCZ44WRTYoh36y4/s1600-h/mao.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238498761754922098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px" height="214" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4R3prqX26L4GUjZN7vk1iQa7RHjBLGqKbGalZmwPn3fRNKUQrdE4t-2GJMAfpqkJyRy_BSjVlTJAz8-1mtM6roW1J3hy3jgkv4aoRd7huAK8B1cfRrxFCjIfgxPHhCZ44WRTYoh36y4/s200/mao.jpg" width="131" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">The people's Republic of China was established in 1949. Mao died in 1976 -- <strong><em>thirty two</em></strong> years ago. Needless to say, as much as I like Bob Costas, I wanted to gag every time I saw him sitting in front of the background that had Mao smiling down over his shoulder. And kudos to President Bush. Hey, I'm disappointed in him too. (Some of you hate him, I know.) At least he had the, um, <em>guts</em>, to speak out about Chinese human rights. And China told him to mind his own business. Well, we should be minding our business, by not sending it China's way. We are arming our enemy. Yes, enemy is a strong word, but I am old enough to remember when Communists were considered a threat, not cozy bedfellows, and people who loved freedom would not dream of sugar-coating the truth to swallow a lie. To borrow a description from Jesus, China is a "white-washed tomb" clean on the outside with a dirty secret inside.</div><p><div align="justify"><br />Look, I enjoyed the spectacle of the ceremonies, marvelled at the architecture of the venues and revelled in the competition of the Games. There were just too many "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain" moments for me. Please don't accuse me of being xenophobic. I'm just saying, let's not be fooled by the eye candy we were <strong>meant</strong> to see. There was a special protest area set up by the Chinese government for people wanting to speak out at the Olympic Games (far away from venues or international camera crews). Seventy seven groups filed applications, none were granted. That says it all.</div><div align="justify"></div><p></p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">So, now back to regularly scheduled programming until I go off on something else. I actually have a political piece I have been developing for several months. When it hits my blog, it will probably hack off so many people, my readership will be cut in half. So here's to the two people who read me. I'll really miss one of you in the next couple of weeks!</div>Biblioteca Chicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16186353712526546788noreply@blogger.com3