tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47063300868134719422024-03-18T19:55:16.765-04:00 Catch of the DayGretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.comBlogger511125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-4265009525654823862024-03-18T13:18:00.002-04:002024-03-18T13:18:59.153-04:00 'Tis the Season<p>One thing I've learned lately, Christmas is not the only season where giving becomes front and center. Although a gracious heart never fails to find the proper time to support a worthy cause, these past few weeks in my area provided many opportunities for donors to contribute and have fun in the process. 'Tis the season for fundraisers, fun being the added benefit. Fundraisers impact the very core of a nonprofit organization's ability to function, depending on the success of raising money for specific projects. The month of March has seen many a creative endeavor to squeeze donations from already thinned-down good Samaritans. </p><p>My husband and I enjoy charity events. They prove to be a double joy, both the fun of the event itself and the satisfaction of donating to causes we support. We work hard on the first Saturdays of each month to serve a fundraiser breakfast with the Ruritan Club. Money there goes to many projects in the community. This March, that first Saturday only kicked off the several events we attended (but didn't have to work).</p><p>First up was the Rotary Club's chili cookoff with the individual entry's hotness factor conveniently displayed, ranging from blah to blazing. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-y18biOnwdQWZaKFxtfmgjy3uH6-UStpGaqOx-STbMI6cw7wkVSz7-iA2LuQatl3BFDQ-PzzB9pcXzf3TbfQRTav-5N8EsByOG_yjN8DtCaSiXMh-4nGcKHJysGII7wrr5nI8VsjQl3STT749FZOy_j-5rcCmbc43HGP_Jskt-Jb1nsUHRZBscEBFry0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="282" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-y18biOnwdQWZaKFxtfmgjy3uH6-UStpGaqOx-STbMI6cw7wkVSz7-iA2LuQatl3BFDQ-PzzB9pcXzf3TbfQRTav-5N8EsByOG_yjN8DtCaSiXMh-4nGcKHJysGII7wrr5nI8VsjQl3STT749FZOy_j-5rcCmbc43HGP_Jskt-Jb1nsUHRZBscEBFry0" width="93" /></a></div>I did find, however, some entrants in the contest claim their hotness factor to be calmer than my taste buds found. My tongue burned, but since it was for a good cause, I played along. At least I had fun going down the row and making my selection. <div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, this chef left his delicious pot of gold unspiced (is that a word?), and brought sauces in bottles with various spiciness degrees for the individual's taste:<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf90QAV8Yn-1m7LhkoJsZjOm4rTlEMpB-Ngp8EcjvAwS1z5_P3gQc4UiDlAS8dvzeym6CoZwYwGjMUxW0yg_s29bW-duzwAp4dZ3AUO7B2M2VLvh_Or_GZ-THA5xL3AnuI70n-qF1S8o92-bTx2EcPY5EZ5i_4e_wKSD78URmDLzVYjkUVEVlXkq2kCJo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="329" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf90QAV8Yn-1m7LhkoJsZjOm4rTlEMpB-Ngp8EcjvAwS1z5_P3gQc4UiDlAS8dvzeym6CoZwYwGjMUxW0yg_s29bW-duzwAp4dZ3AUO7B2M2VLvh_Or_GZ-THA5xL3AnuI70n-qF1S8o92-bTx2EcPY5EZ5i_4e_wKSD78URmDLzVYjkUVEVlXkq2kCJo" width="108" /></a></div></div>Speaking of a pot of gold, last Friday a good friend of mine accompanied my husband and me to the annual Pot O'Gold fundraiser sponsored by the local medical clinic called Helping Hands whose clients are hard-working adults who cannot afford the high cost of insurance, but don't qualify for government assistance. I wrote a biography of one founder of this organization, Dr. Jane Carswell, in the book subtitled <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dr-Jane-Carswell-Physician-Humanitarian/dp/1717108687?ref_=ast_author_dp&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.9Z7vQrc3deHZwPC6Xru1JKXdFk4ut8-PSAeZ1edxZomgZrTnPndS8c2Sj0B11sfs3Kf5HMluFkI9KVnyLSOWUu0LlbxYXUxdjR3U4762Zglz-JRE_swIfNtwnp0IhcAMZpG8JuvM3I3pRg2oWI0Wb91hgNAEWPCDbdDdojJNxce5VNNTtMJgaFs048rBe2evmxTuZEvtvg5bJSQUZfBrobDVkTKe2Xap5m9AbWt2jX0.xLm5T_XZDC1IZdo_RAJoyffPXK3x5Q5e1h6otc3kK2M&dib_tag=AUTHOR" target="_blank"><i>Family Physician, Humanitarian, Friend</i></a>. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU2ODT6q0bodQLu3jmvyD15DfqXKsuApW9hTd2oAymYliQn8eRMm5blAVbk7Vd_31srZ4ujnOatQ7MkAwbCnJA9zI0wX3sW6xu6DWKLDRJIspssZK7CReNpSy7MXrHYZo7oRSMyIPSP7Sze5AcuBxExIYlOdTU-Gwf_zDNAWIziv4aNFHT0W30nVYJmgE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="310" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU2ODT6q0bodQLu3jmvyD15DfqXKsuApW9hTd2oAymYliQn8eRMm5blAVbk7Vd_31srZ4ujnOatQ7MkAwbCnJA9zI0wX3sW6xu6DWKLDRJIspssZK7CReNpSy7MXrHYZo7oRSMyIPSP7Sze5AcuBxExIYlOdTU-Gwf_zDNAWIziv4aNFHT0W30nVYJmgE" width="160" /></a></div>For a few years now, the clinic's major fundraiser has been a Saint Patrick's Day gala. It's a chance to wear green. It's a chance to eat great food. It's a chance to celebrate the success of the clinic made possible through the many donations. My husband and I got in on the celebrating!</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg85JJ8ht1Ajes0r4omsbOEJsbtg9oH5nIx9i903N696ztGhmuqmwMGYjGBBaeWXZdRwq5z09gi9nAC5Q27bna-K5ngyXMY9wLAlrpLwc6CbFSOEJP27lgfOeb041g3i41hZlEHnRA_gZ99E_oyHeISS5NUMFvQCJ3Q7oz07sRUSkMeoK67qxpLN4YMPhI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg85JJ8ht1Ajes0r4omsbOEJsbtg9oH5nIx9i903N696ztGhmuqmwMGYjGBBaeWXZdRwq5z09gi9nAC5Q27bna-K5ngyXMY9wLAlrpLwc6CbFSOEJP27lgfOeb041g3i41hZlEHnRA_gZ99E_oyHeISS5NUMFvQCJ3Q7oz07sRUSkMeoK67qxpLN4YMPhI" width="308" /></a></div>Every NGO, nongovernmental organization, depends on donations. It's their lifeblood for continuing specific altruistic projects. Those millions of us across the country who donate help make the world a better place to live. </div><div><br /></div><div>And if they offer a fun moment as a reward for donating, all the better. I'm game.</div><div><br /></div><div>Catch of the day,</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><p></p></div></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-33869869156630293282024-03-04T06:00:00.001-05:002024-03-04T06:00:00.151-05:00A Basket with a Cause<p>Every once in a while I have the chance to use my books for a purpose beyond the usual and I recently was honored to do just that. I donated two of my fishing books to the Gamewell Fire Department to use in a raffle for the Burned Children's Fund. What an opportunity to do something right!</p><p>The North Carolina Fire and Life Safety Educators (what a grand, significant title) conference was held this past weekend. Sitting there amongst the varied items for their fundraising raffle was this basket:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVy5ucGvnl5wg6iRX63OgY5PBClyNqqtiyf4V8vzsgdGgv9XLwirjHObPm-auPP2bPSJlFDg4c8kwMCgmJyMos8YN30PCv7VYUvwq64aogTXVCHuyrNf3jsiQMD4VJmuEXrhdF0qQs1sSy7DEXOnLZZ5_i8SInNoFi9QTgRhgwugmaJsK-ivZEMv6ZkrY/s4032/Fly%20Fishing%20Basket.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVy5ucGvnl5wg6iRX63OgY5PBClyNqqtiyf4V8vzsgdGgv9XLwirjHObPm-auPP2bPSJlFDg4c8kwMCgmJyMos8YN30PCv7VYUvwq64aogTXVCHuyrNf3jsiQMD4VJmuEXrhdF0qQs1sSy7DEXOnLZZ5_i8SInNoFi9QTgRhgwugmaJsK-ivZEMv6ZkrY/s320/Fly%20Fishing%20Basket.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p>In case you are wondering what was in the basket, here's the spread, including my two fly fishing books:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYgJqt7-Yk26HIgFgw7DmoSDkNKHr8VwjvvXy5eVOHjfvPDTf4sQSJHvCcw3Wd8uD9JGlnGg-GMAo8cDr_eAbxPAOZB3HzN_Dg0EZT-BBf3rAa7L8Ew8WJMibTa1xm6IkbS86xNFth6i_WaIJttJg_Zd0GcpiPV3iGpSnY2f9O9Lnmmaqto_WZaflTV4/s3499/Items%20for%20Fly%20Fishing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2624" data-original-width="3499" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYgJqt7-Yk26HIgFgw7DmoSDkNKHr8VwjvvXy5eVOHjfvPDTf4sQSJHvCcw3Wd8uD9JGlnGg-GMAo8cDr_eAbxPAOZB3HzN_Dg0EZT-BBf3rAa7L8Ew8WJMibTa1xm6IkbS86xNFth6i_WaIJttJg_Zd0GcpiPV3iGpSnY2f9O9Lnmmaqto_WZaflTV4/s320/Items%20for%20Fly%20Fishing.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>All were ready and waiting in a basket for someone to bid on. I often wonder about my books after they are out of my control. Who is the face of the reader holding them in their hands? Was the basket a gift to someone? Did they keep it themselves to enhance their times on the creek? My email is on the back of my book. I hope that person contacts me. <div><br /></div><div>Earlier this year I donated two of my books to a fundraiser for the local hospital. I have written the life stories of two physicians in our county and gladly donated copies of them to be in their silent auction. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am humbled that my work can be used for altruistic purposes to make life a bit better for others in this world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Catch of the day,</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-3355234543450941582024-02-29T06:00:00.002-05:002024-02-29T06:00:00.133-05:00Happy Leap Day<p>Is there such a thing as wishing someone a Happy Leap Day? Ready or not, here I come with my wish:</p><p> I hope everyone has as happy a day as this goat who leapt (or is it leaped?) on his owner's car.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIHrPeEHzLi88x52tcJyENV4bL3-l6Y_MbupzAQGVj1FRWztf9fAmLNkymQtHZg0QClPKtC94Vdi9CRKRjfj9ETcFA9oeWYcgoMHhvLo9INLq7hgZN1BsGNBKZNIKcBvdkd-BbhTQcaofeoGIUQ-tkBLFrWbkqi_dZuiF63avJEw2n5VcINGBvpnVzLE/s3447/goat%20on%20car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2755" data-original-width="3447" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIHrPeEHzLi88x52tcJyENV4bL3-l6Y_MbupzAQGVj1FRWztf9fAmLNkymQtHZg0QClPKtC94Vdi9CRKRjfj9ETcFA9oeWYcgoMHhvLo9INLq7hgZN1BsGNBKZNIKcBvdkd-BbhTQcaofeoGIUQ-tkBLFrWbkqi_dZuiF63avJEw2n5VcINGBvpnVzLE/s320/goat%20on%20car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>For some unknown reason, that goat had to have enough desire to be on top of that car. Was it to escape a predator? Was it to have an observation overlook? Or was it just because he could?<div><br /></div><div>On this 2024 Leap Day, how about taking a leap of faith and doing something completely outside your box. Be like the goat. Take a leap. </div><div><br /></div><div>This cat did. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiUCcQnhVUMuOMphoohZJmiNriswxrKt-TPcoUhyb-mWhMtZ6sqvC-y8ikgZnaOzm8ttBl9Lho4e0VKMWJ02UugUi98jGC3ypZuuY4X9yOmGmsikTLSnXM-esz9xWske3lThtf9RbHWS4Og3iuykiMQJ_6mXYtzGO1hcEqXL09EthI0S-6ggI5e4jRI0/s2131/goat%20and%20cat%20on%20car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2131" data-original-width="1621" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiUCcQnhVUMuOMphoohZJmiNriswxrKt-TPcoUhyb-mWhMtZ6sqvC-y8ikgZnaOzm8ttBl9Lho4e0VKMWJ02UugUi98jGC3ypZuuY4X9yOmGmsikTLSnXM-esz9xWske3lThtf9RbHWS4Og3iuykiMQJ_6mXYtzGO1hcEqXL09EthI0S-6ggI5e4jRI0/s320/goat%20and%20cat%20on%20car.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><br /><div>Catch of the day,</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-20560713658203917892024-01-29T09:26:00.002-05:002024-01-29T09:37:19.609-05:00The Vietnam Era from a rearview mirror<p>While we were scrounging through the mounds of letters my then-future husband and I wrote back and forth to each other in the late sixties, we found these two letters:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuMt6GTD3FWqoICwtoHm7M9Xtl3kqb1gEXnFxDhBOEUm3AqyMKpWEAAolmZAy5so1aFIPBAvkFjazSrcR4_8TSTNB3NVsKkplWJOdcPuOs1mKD_MAKfBWFfVY82St93MLIR1VUEQl8ebYVcN4zV50b3OfdEikECQtMwswtiufyKMwImHW43cwpDMsYfo/s3507/Selective%20service.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3507" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuMt6GTD3FWqoICwtoHm7M9Xtl3kqb1gEXnFxDhBOEUm3AqyMKpWEAAolmZAy5so1aFIPBAvkFjazSrcR4_8TSTNB3NVsKkplWJOdcPuOs1mKD_MAKfBWFfVY82St93MLIR1VUEQl8ebYVcN4zV50b3OfdEikECQtMwswtiufyKMwImHW43cwpDMsYfo/s320/Selective%20service.png" width="320" /></a></div><p>If you are from the Vietnam Era, then you know exactly what these are. They are the letters that determined many a future of the young men of America during this time in history. Of course, it's what's inside that counts, usually a summons, or in his case a warning. </p><p>Let me back up here for those of you not of the boomer generation. When a male child is born in America, the parents are/were required to register him with the military branch called selective service. Eighteen years later he must go to the (in our son's case) post office and officially make himself available for service to his country. It's their patriotic duty. The actual term is conscription, but we called it the draft. It kicks in when not enough men volunteer for military duty.</p><p>When my husband-to-be registered back in 1965, he listed himself as a full-time student and as long as he was a student, he would not be called to active duty. Married men weren't called either, although that soon changed. Then even married men with children, who had also been deferred, were called. However, the military needed even more boots on the ground in this Vietnam conflict that we called a war and realized many a strapping young potential recruit was avoiding the draft by hanging out in college for as long as the schools would allow them. So the military powers got as wise as these "dodgers" and made a new rule. In order not to be called up, they must be in the top half of their class. Whew! </p><p>That's what one letter was about. Wingate College had sent in the rankings and he wasn't in the top half. So he worked a lot harder, stopped playing College Joe, and pulled up his grades. Then the second letter arrived to confirm his status still as 1-A, but allowed him a deferment to complete his current academic year, which he did, and graduated from the junior college in 1967.</p><p>Although he was accepted to Appalachian State Teacher's College as a junior in the fall of 1967, he still had to have his medical examination during the summer and was on his way to full-time military service call-up. Then the rules changed again and he received a deferment because he was accepted in good standing at the school. </p><p>We married the next fall, September 14, 1968, and shortly after, the rules changed again on who would go to war. In the wisdom of those military powers that be, or maybe perhaps the wisdom of the government officials, they decided upon a lottery system. That seemed fair to them. Put all the birth dates in a hat and draw them out one by one. Those drawn first would be called first, and all the way to 366 days (leap year babies had to go too). First date drawn was September 14. Wow, we had just married on that date, but praise the Lord, anniversaries didn't count. Only birthdays.</p><p>My husband's birthday is January 23. Lucky draw number 118. Check out the <a href="https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/User:Itai/1969_U.S._Draft_Lottery_results" target="_blank">link here </a>and compare your date. Would you have been called up? I'm not speaking to women here...which was a real bone of contention during the women's lib movement and equality for women. </p><p>My brother had already joined the Army and served in Vietnam as a helicopter repairman. I had pushed any memories of his military service to the back of my mind until I read through these then-boyfriend letters and saw references to writing to my brother. I also talked about the Christmas break from school just before he was shipped out to Vietnam and my emotions about that. I understand my mother's dread more now that I am an adult parent.<br /></p><p>The war protests on the television tube bypassed me thanks to the no television rule in our dorm. We had to go to the lobby downstairs and watch whatever of the three stations available. Appalachian State was far into the mountains, isolated, and conservative, so no live protests. We even passed rumors about a top-secret military installation under the gymnasium there on campus. True or not, I never learned. </p><p>In the end, my brother survived but he carried the war, and those friends he saw die, with him in his mind and in his heart. My husband was needed in service more to the school system with a teacher shortage than to the army, so he maintained a deferment as long as he was a teacher.</p><p>Years later I purchased a Prisoner-of-War bracelet when I was at the Vietnam Wall in Washington, DC. I wore it faithfully, especially during a particularly difficult two years at work. I figured if this brave soldier endured his trials, I certainly could endure mine. It's tucked away now in the back of my jewelry drawer, just like my memories were tucked back in my mind. </p><p>Reviewing memories is a difficult process at times, but seeing the past in a rearview mirror might be what makes a difference in driving into the future. </p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-75582426289697029942024-01-20T06:00:00.001-05:002024-01-20T06:00:00.139-05:00Shredding the Past Away<p>Even though Christmas was different at our house on the year without a Christmas tree, we still had a joyous time. Of all the practical gifts available in this world, my husband gave me a stackable washer/dryer. I countered and one-upped him with a paper shredder. Yep, romance sort of took second place...sort of. Read on!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbR9gZahJt8W_KFWp0VioXmLYZy1U7AgSEpkYtfSrTvwBcSjwBzoXO6IyTFsIHvY9wtfE-7yqHNkRs7Yk7OxdSUJwwbgElPsHxQOERhg0Q7rnuMCLX-LJmZcxnuli6n9-otvky3mI2P__z2HQFz1trJBI4PI5_VFJlUnXWZqH3oYtjKD02XlhHa8V0d8/s1349/shredder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="1349" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbR9gZahJt8W_KFWp0VioXmLYZy1U7AgSEpkYtfSrTvwBcSjwBzoXO6IyTFsIHvY9wtfE-7yqHNkRs7Yk7OxdSUJwwbgElPsHxQOERhg0Q7rnuMCLX-LJmZcxnuli6n9-otvky3mI2P__z2HQFz1trJBI4PI5_VFJlUnXWZqH3oYtjKD02XlhHa8V0d8/s320/shredder.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a story behind this shredder. Stay with me here.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For years we have told each other that we needed to move the washer/dryer upstairs to the main floor, but we never actually did it. Instead, we dutifully walked up and down the steps to do the laundry in the basement. Nine months pregnant? I walked around outside in the rain to get to the basement carrying a basket of clothes on my hip. Those were the days, my friend!</p><p>I thought they'd never end. Up, down, carefully holding to the banister, watching not to trip over the dog, pulling the door at the top of the stairs shut so the cat couldn't get downstairs. And repeating all this to search for that one stray sock that just didn't make it back upstairs. </p><p>Until...back in September, I broke my leg. Those days had to end, my friend. We knew the day would come, yet we didn't expect it to happen so fast. </p><p>We called a contractor for advice and we started the process. Our four-bedroom home is now a three-bedroom home with a laundry room on the main floor. Yippeeee! It all sounds so easy now that we are nearly finished, but let me tell you it wasn't. And that's where the paper shredder comes in.</p><p>This fourth bedroom turned laundry room happened to be filled with all kinds of boxes and bags and crates of accumulated married-life junk. Before the contractor could even start, we had to clear out the room completely, no small task. Our very lives unfolded before our eyes. Since we hadn't moved from the house for over fifty years, the piles astonished us with odds and ends of memories.</p><p>One thing in the piles was a box of letters, not just any letters, but letters to me from my husband back when he was a student at Wingate Junior College and I was a student at Appalachian State Teacher's College. Yes, we're that old because both schools are now universities. We had just started dating and the letters were filled with cute comments about love and life that we have no intention of their ever seeing the light of day to anyone but us, especially not our children who will be the ones to clean out this mess once we kick the bucket.</p><p>So I bought a paper shredder and a bottle of wine, and on Christmas Day we opened the box. We spent the afternoon reading letters aloud to each other, laughing at how immature we were and tearing up as we read about boys on his dorm hall being called up to the draft and VietNam. We time-traveled by the songs of the sixties that he mentioned in his letters and the movies he wrote about that we had long since forgotten. Many of the people he mentioned are no longer living, but they came alive in his descriptions of their corporate antics as college sophomores. </p><p>We did save a few select letters that show our children how much of a true romance we had, but the rest are gone. No regrets. </p><p>Mainly because then the contractor started.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsXALZdDUlrog9WOAa1PMPcObQm0wdATUHxewpZRZRZaXw9q_R67vOuly3FROcmwAIxgfNBXBqvELT2u1u6_Ou0FziexgbsPDEFKC_bCJ-zkpvWW5cg5pHJcfyx2OJV-9ow3sLhAgb5t5f0giX6YDy-BrI2b6kM2e4RIbiZSHpcc57NTOr6493iSJDrQ/s1349/washer%20during.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="1349" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsXALZdDUlrog9WOAa1PMPcObQm0wdATUHxewpZRZRZaXw9q_R67vOuly3FROcmwAIxgfNBXBqvELT2u1u6_Ou0FziexgbsPDEFKC_bCJ-zkpvWW5cg5pHJcfyx2OJV-9ow3sLhAgb5t5f0giX6YDy-BrI2b6kM2e4RIbiZSHpcc57NTOr6493iSJDrQ/s320/washer%20during.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A glance at the room during construction</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>This week, the washer was installed. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZToKVSMv2W9LNaCMHqBw5-d07nnuNzafLpu9_ptcs7GrVv8enXxgJKkzbTyoAMD6IRRLLRIB4tyYIMzaHAMoJrLtwd3iKxmGzh0K-lc5-g4Hukp1eWTs1D7HxEU3aVxw8mMNAI9BX1EQ5rHEFgJnAq7_kI02g7ANYabJ1o-VTSV6KrIOovUj0ot84S0/s607/washer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="273" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZToKVSMv2W9LNaCMHqBw5-d07nnuNzafLpu9_ptcs7GrVv8enXxgJKkzbTyoAMD6IRRLLRIB4tyYIMzaHAMoJrLtwd3iKxmGzh0K-lc5-g4Hukp1eWTs1D7HxEU3aVxw8mMNAI9BX1EQ5rHEFgJnAq7_kI02g7ANYabJ1o-VTSV6KrIOovUj0ot84S0/s320/washer.jpg" width="144" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>It's n<span style="text-align: center;">ot all that great a picture, but I'm in love with it, and with the man who gifted it to me (to us really) for Christmas. We have a few things to tweak in the room, but we're already using this new blessing. </span><br style="text-align: center;" /><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;">It's a wonderful life!</span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;">Catch of the day,</span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></span></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-73032516340831007632023-12-23T08:46:00.001-05:002023-12-23T08:47:19.553-05:00O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree<p>I belong to a wonderful writer's group called Foothills Writers. This year for our Christmas celebration we decided to do something different. Well, the delicious food we shared was the traditional, but the comparisons to Christmases past ended there.</p><p>We regifted for our Dirty Santa. You read it right. We brought gifts that we had received from others through the years that we had finished with and were ready to pass along. I had a myriad of such to select from, like shopping in one of those specialty boutiques. Swapping (and Dirty Santa stealing) these gifts resulted in many a laugh.</p><p>One other thing, we each were asked to write a Christmas poem. I anguished about this for days. Should it be one of jolly joy, or of reverent faith. When we read our poems aloud to the group, I found a little of both. Mine mingled a little of both as well. It was from the heart and pretty much explains this year's Christmas cheer. </p><p>Here it is, for your Christmas entertainment:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><img height="443" src="https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/AvHp6ADxFLlkNhalkabexekaLOBzYH_pV5fSsKT9xtKkqh7BJ3L9XK0_lhY_XZ6XRctR8fiCFFHpACk5pKl8tJ7Wy_5qQpwIIUP94M0tvPSM0RmqshKp_fZw5pJwRNq-l1rujSisdFR4aHXzTsWZbeQ" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="200" /></div><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> A CHRISTMAS POEM</span></span><p></p></blockquote><p><span> </span><span> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Never did I think there’d ever be </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A year without a Christmas tree.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But this year, it’s not meant to be.</span></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p></span></blockquote><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Never did my dad neglect to chop a backfield pine</span></p></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Though it made my mamma sweep the needles everytime.</span></p></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He untangled strands of bubble lights</span></p></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And strung them round to our delight.</span></p></span></blockquote><span id="docs-internal-guid-9ddd2482-7fff-77ca-e9da-a92534c93b79"><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My father’s death took out her joy</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But the hope of Christmas it did not destroy.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Never did my mom not have the spinning light</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">To shine on her silver tree at night.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><span><br /></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Never did we newlyweds neglect to have a tree</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It might have been a Charlie Brown, but it was fine for me.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Our meager gifts we placed beneath</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And on our door we hung a wreath.</span></p></span></blockquote></span><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The babies grew and began to trim.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Year by year through thick and thin</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">We never didn’t have a tree</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But this year, it’s not meant to be.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Off to college they both went</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A welcome home tree was our intent.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It cheered them to know they were home</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">No longer did they have to roam</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The tree was where it was meant to be.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s shining lights saying come in, let’s see.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Their lives they led apart from us,</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Without the tree they would have made a fuss.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Soon our grands were doing the trimming,</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Hot chocolate mugs for them were brimming.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But alas, they too have grown and gone</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And now we two are back alone.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">This year remodeling is our gift</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Nothing about that can be swift.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">So amidst our mess and moving the clutter</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">We’ve failed to have a single flutter</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Of pine needles and light strings</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And ornaments that joy will bring,</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Full of memories of years past</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Joys and love that long will last.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"></span></p></span><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A ceramic tree we chose to light</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It brings color and joy each night.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But still it isn’t quite the same.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In fact it seems a little lame.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Never did I think there’d be </span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A year without a Christmas tree.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Yet the spirit of Christmas still lives on</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In the night and early dawn.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s not the usual, but it will set </span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Our focus on the One who paid our debt.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The tree reflects the joy we know.</span></p></span><span><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And sets our hearts at last aglow.</span></p></span></blockquote><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Merry Christmas, y'all!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div></span></span>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-81621486895572879072023-11-23T11:33:00.000-05:002023-11-23T11:33:31.255-05:00Thankful<p>On this 2023 Thanksgiving Day, I am more thankful than ever. I've always felt blessed with my loving husband and children, but something happened to me this fall that has shown me even more what blessings they are to me.</p><p>In early September I fell and broke my leg, only I didn't know it was broken. I thought I had twisted my ankle, so I walked on it for ten days until I finally listened to my friends and went to the emergency room for X-rays. Bingo. Broken.</p><p>The next day I was at an orthopedic surgeon's and the next, into surgery. Talk about thankful! Physicians and nurses and X-ray technicians were the answers to my prayers. They patched me up and sent me on my way with very specific instructions to not put weight on it.</p><p>That meant renting a knee scooter and being thankful such an invention was ever thought of. That also meant my husband became a constant caregiver. I never can say thank you to him enough, or thank you to God enough for sending him to me those fifty-five years ago. We celebrated our fifty-fifth anniversary of "for better or for worse" during this not-so-better time. My children stepped up and cared for me when he wasn't available. Blessings all around. They pushed me in a wheelchair to my various activities once I was able to be out and about.</p><p>Friends, too, took their time pushing me around or catering to my every need. Wow, they were so patient. I went through being a participant in the Mitford GetLit writing conference and a book launch/book signing, all with being good and obeying the doctor's order to keep the weight off my patched leg. </p><p>A friend of mine from Florida makes a yearly journey to be dazzled by the fall leaves (with the rest of the million or so leaf peepers). She carted me around, wheelchair in the back of her car, as we went about our normal tour of local wineries and curvy mountain backroads. Was it just me, being so thrilled to be alive and out in the world after weeks of staying in the house, or were the leaves the best ever?</p><p>We made a stop at a wonderful gift shop in Spruce Pine, North Carolina, the Market on Oak Street. They carry my books there and I replenished their supply. I also posed for this picture.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4x8oTSsQM6adh-Vx5ZZ0mQ2Rx9CnNvk1WJCR638kN_oA29NbeQ99W_jqDxBLn7MfbIwDEfmrvgOaUVQdSOQiLBXNurK-43GdkJc9cXHn0MIcGbRGfnRL18vXFpiX0jTrfdqiQSkOVsf98IR4BN-ow0bn2EJbO3iAISfPAa_NnGxmfXEhIK3i2vETm448/s2048/boot%20on%20oak%20market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4x8oTSsQM6adh-Vx5ZZ0mQ2Rx9CnNvk1WJCR638kN_oA29NbeQ99W_jqDxBLn7MfbIwDEfmrvgOaUVQdSOQiLBXNurK-43GdkJc9cXHn0MIcGbRGfnRL18vXFpiX0jTrfdqiQSkOVsf98IR4BN-ow0bn2EJbO3iAISfPAa_NnGxmfXEhIK3i2vETm448/s320/boot%20on%20oak%20market.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>There I am in all my glory, hanging out in my air boot in the children's corner of the store. If you look on the shelf, you'll see how they displayed my books. I'm blessed that others see something of value in my work.</p><p>For a special blessing, my Florida friend (Sara) drove us to a winery meet-up with my Ohio friend (Inez). I tried to hide the wheelchair best I could in this picture:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKE-IhuI5byKBggEYTgtiziKqhDM8OKbW8y8ev7w-MPaNq_XSXRqIJM_t5i10FFeRrijEBtBS3dgU7hYhztoQPVfBad4m2i1YZAlV4BAhqLhbXr4Cop6UR7B29koAjZs-5DFsBJ8D34yy-EiLepvxXtACyDsg9oXYpfTTYCcrvZ9HT9FiIgP5ria7Pwk0/s960/With%20Inez%20and%20Sara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKE-IhuI5byKBggEYTgtiziKqhDM8OKbW8y8ev7w-MPaNq_XSXRqIJM_t5i10FFeRrijEBtBS3dgU7hYhztoQPVfBad4m2i1YZAlV4BAhqLhbXr4Cop6UR7B29koAjZs-5DFsBJ8D34yy-EiLepvxXtACyDsg9oXYpfTTYCcrvZ9HT9FiIgP5ria7Pwk0/s320/With%20Inez%20and%20Sara.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>My husband and I started our Christmas shopping right after the doctor gave me the okay sign to start putting weight on it, boot still on leg, however. First stop, Mrs. Hanes cookie store:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEoEn63PCNoP9haZRedxWbP0fGq-SRWCLNuKOkaLZe7lHgg7FmxjemlhjHUW_CM_KKkZM62L8RSaTVCCqIntcjk_vQDqFOijBR6U8IrzhT_WJb1x6WjeerM1Cy5f8dqNVm4s0RXlyGvMS8fJyauaN6nclKIwgLMwenRG7PvwUKPNsPecxsPyny8ewmQc/s2048/cookie%20factory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEoEn63PCNoP9haZRedxWbP0fGq-SRWCLNuKOkaLZe7lHgg7FmxjemlhjHUW_CM_KKkZM62L8RSaTVCCqIntcjk_vQDqFOijBR6U8IrzhT_WJb1x6WjeerM1Cy5f8dqNVm4s0RXlyGvMS8fJyauaN6nclKIwgLMwenRG7PvwUKPNsPecxsPyny8ewmQc/s320/cookie%20factory.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><p>Now I'm off the boot, a blessing of its own, and nearly back to normal. I've learned much since this first happened on September 9th. I've learned to be thankful daily, not just on Thanksgiving Day. I've learned to appreciate the plight of handicapped individuals as they move about in society. Staying home would have been so much easier, but I forced myself to suck it up and go on with my life. I admire those people who, despite the cookie that life crumbled on them, persevere and fight on. I now have a greater empathy for them. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.</p><p>Catch of the day, </p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-89926569625844755842023-10-29T06:30:00.028-04:002023-10-29T06:30:00.136-04:00A Week to Remember<p>In honor of my upcoming seventy-fifth (yes, 75!) birthday, I have ventured into a new style of publishing, Kindle Vella. Actually, Vellas aren't new. They are stories that are released in episodes on a serial basis, a publishing technique used by Charles Dickens years ago, and more recently by Jan Karon, and even more recently by a gaggle of authors, including my Foothills Writers friends. My earlier Vella, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Prompt-and-Circumstances/dp/B0CHPLC8YF?ref_=ast_author_dp" target="_blank">Prompt and Circumstances</a>, was my first dabbling into this platform. </p><p>Let me introduce my newest Vella - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CKZLJMGB" target="_blank">The Great Donora Smog and Other Grand Stories: A Memoir of Sorts</a>. It's the story of my hometown, Donora, Pennsylvania, framed around my perspective. A tragedy happened the week before I was born. I missed it all, but I've heard about it since I was a young child. I've also researched it for years and now I am ready to share my story with you, one episode at a time.</p><p>Like print books and ebooks, a vella has a cover. I chose a photograph I took of my daughter walking behind my husband through the fog.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZlKfj3cROZwGlbu0fm06zv55pOzrty0P6Q4NHxsjclO88vodDrb9WDIrhQ15r-mVksGAn6s9uGLNFu7N2S08bb-kT1ccuQCnphGDQPQOFAsT7CiVp3thUaWA9mKveTBxZnvqiSCmkvofRw9frLokSJeG91MOhWVRyd_JdZMw-0P1_Kk2AEhFtj_NaZ4/s3264/donora%20fog%20original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZlKfj3cROZwGlbu0fm06zv55pOzrty0P6Q4NHxsjclO88vodDrb9WDIrhQ15r-mVksGAn6s9uGLNFu7N2S08bb-kT1ccuQCnphGDQPQOFAsT7CiVp3thUaWA9mKveTBxZnvqiSCmkvofRw9frLokSJeG91MOhWVRyd_JdZMw-0P1_Kk2AEhFtj_NaZ4/s320/donora%20fog%20original.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay, so this picture was taken far from Pennsylvania at a favorite spot of mine, Max Patch, in the mountains of western North Carolina, but it conveys an aura around fuzzy images in the distance. The reality of the day I took the picture was that I really, really wanted my daughter to see the spectacular view from the top of this mountain on the Appalachian Trail. Unfortunately, the fog had set in and the view was not even ten feet, much less ten miles. She didn't see anything!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Toward the end of the Donora Smog incident in 1948, people couldn't even see their hands in front of their eyes. The fog they walked through, however, was a smoggy mixture of evil chemicals that killed over a dozen residents before it lifted. Therein is my vella. That and related family stories involving my greats and grands, and how I came to be born in a city in the Monongahela River Valley, and how I came to be raised in North Carolina. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Add to that picture the title. Voila! The cover:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusJEjZ2lIy-XwxC64bm0fsJ4_2lPf1saGsXKwLRJSR1iD2K-YT-adgC3xzRjHX3bg6IuutMvf_E9ky6JPDcMv3ySSNLDDLOQ5imDaRRldo37ESQ3pe3cgI_XNsk4WMDh-mrU3VBKztnaTWjPxSEu9AuDAEZF1SDNaLHedzUC_AKMqDYUIT7M1EOd_pf8/s311/cover%20with%20correct%20words%20arrow%20removed.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="260" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusJEjZ2lIy-XwxC64bm0fsJ4_2lPf1saGsXKwLRJSR1iD2K-YT-adgC3xzRjHX3bg6IuutMvf_E9ky6JPDcMv3ySSNLDDLOQ5imDaRRldo37ESQ3pe3cgI_XNsk4WMDh-mrU3VBKztnaTWjPxSEu9AuDAEZF1SDNaLHedzUC_AKMqDYUIT7M1EOd_pf8/s1600/cover%20with%20correct%20words%20arrow%20removed.PNG" width="260" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I included the phrase, A Memoir of Sorts, because it is and it isn't my memoir, not in the traditional sense. It's sort of my memoir. I've mixed in various snippings of my life that I actually remember, but much is from life stories of my ancestors told to me over and over, or memories of those who told me about living through the tragedy in my interview with them, or from research I found published by accomplished scientists and journalists. The week I wrote about in my vella was so significant that the Weather Channel featured it in an episode of "When Weather Changed History." It changed my history, of that I am sure. I can't wait for you to read my episodes and see how!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In order to access them, you must have an account with Amazon.com. It's that simple. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CKZLJMGB" target="_blank">Click on the link here</a> and it should take you directly to episode one, which is free to all. So are episodes two and three, which you can access through your account. At the end of each episode is a thumbs up. I would appreciate your clicking on it so Amazon/Kindle knows I have readers. Also please click on "follow." That would be so kind!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When you end episode three (the one about my father's side of the family) you will reach a gate that must be unlocked, and to do that you need tokens. You will be able to purchase tokens there on the spot. Follow the directions; it's that simple. Each new episode charges a number of tokens based on the number of words, a token per hundred words, rounded down. 622 words takes six tokens. So does 698. The cool thing is that each token costs a penny. A penny!!! So if unlocking the upcoming episode costs six tokens, that means six cents. Best entertainment ever for the cost! Fifteen tokens, fifteen cents. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You purchase in lumps of $1.99 for two hundred tokens, so you'll have plenty to use on this vella. You will be able to finish it entirely with tokens left over to browse other vellas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The best element of the Vellaverse is that authors and readers have a means to interact with each other. At the end of each episode is a comment section for you to talk to me, visit with me, ask questions, tell me your experiences. Please do!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just in case, here's the link again, <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CKZLJMGB" target="_blank">The Great Donora Smog and Other Grand Stories: A Memoir of Sorts.</a> </b>Do drop in!</div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><br /><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-11919888859520173982023-09-30T08:11:00.001-04:002023-09-30T08:11:41.678-04:00Cover Reveal<p>It's COUNTDOWN week to launching my newest book, <i style="font-weight: bold;">Fly Fishers of the Caldwell County Area</i>, and I'm getting excited. This book has been years in the making, ever since its predecessor (<i style="font-weight: bold;">Fly Fishermen of Caldwell County</i>) came out in 2015 and people realized we had left off their family members. The word got out, and here it is...well, here it will be at the book event on Friday, October 6 from 5:00-8:00, I better say p.m. because only these fly fishers would consider having an event at five a.m., on their way to the creek. No, this will be at the HUB, the old Hudson High School Building, on completely dry land, and in the evening.</p><p>But first, allow me to reveal the front cover. TA-DA!!!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjKUy2ZZIK6Bgmgm-NFC2c36SfcngfZgmmaU28d72N3GtiyALzzewNW3i576L9uoSAiIEJMZXDuTKd8x1Xq6IRg_Jf9B4XWvNgxiH7HIg61pcUhHopSauxWojTi6zeSQTV_e84oLSBmwjCR48pyVJQnKZlMqW7OHTkzs5m2kH5cP2TOk1A1ldkMi330A/s577/18%20Fly%20fishers%20of%20the%20Caldwell%20County%20Area.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="378" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjKUy2ZZIK6Bgmgm-NFC2c36SfcngfZgmmaU28d72N3GtiyALzzewNW3i576L9uoSAiIEJMZXDuTKd8x1Xq6IRg_Jf9B4XWvNgxiH7HIg61pcUhHopSauxWojTi6zeSQTV_e84oLSBmwjCR48pyVJQnKZlMqW7OHTkzs5m2kH5cP2TOk1A1ldkMi330A/s320/18%20Fly%20fishers%20of%20the%20Caldwell%20County%20Area.PNG" width="210" /></a></div><br /><p>Unlike the first book, this newest one includes the women who fly fish in the area. We wanted to emphasize the family-ness of the sport and showcase that theme starting from the cover. We chose this photograph of Peyton Beane, granddaughter of Ron Beane who first came up with the concept of a book about individual fly fishers. </p><p>Join us next Friday as we celebrate the fishers and the life stories we captured in the book.</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-41448090120357344572023-09-22T16:36:00.000-04:002023-09-22T16:36:48.075-04:00Coming Soon!<p>Soon after our book, <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fly-Fishermen-Caldwell-County-Carolina/dp/151172062X?ref_=ast_author_dp" target="_blank">Fly Fishermen of Caldwell County</a></i></b>, was released, co-author Ron Beane and I realized we would need to do a follow-up book to fill in the rest of the story. Each time we crossed paths we said, "Next year." Then covid came along. Finally, another fly fishing author, Alen Baker, approached me and with a nod from Ron, we began working on book two. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Fly Fishers of the Caldwell County Area. </i>The subtitle tells it all: <i>Life Stories of the Men and Women who Fly Fish in and Around Caldwell County, North Carolina.</i></p><p>Book one was mainly about those legends of fly fishing here in the county. I never claimed it to be a "how-to" book. I always considered it a "how-they" book. The stories were beautiful testimonies to the featured men. </p><p>This new book ventures into the streams to tell the stories of the next generation of fishers, men and women alike. It is more family-oriented, showing how the fishers pass along their passion and their skill to the children and grandchildren in their lives. </p><p>I'm showing a teaser here, the back cover. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQPEsRhCBBrItGvrcvwMLKhiFQE8Bzg_OGLq7zxh2NEQHHg1V9el4sRk6CPG4R10J0AWOGinyHdTB2js9NHTNVJNxqrJOJm_FqeMwOjzKOu-gm8pAhUFc9hvrAtg6zavyMDwsuoeD_3_W0O49j6zUtMhOfpE-b2f2Lz27bFCoZqtWQx3kSPfZ01c217A/s592/aa%20back%20cover.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQPEsRhCBBrItGvrcvwMLKhiFQE8Bzg_OGLq7zxh2NEQHHg1V9el4sRk6CPG4R10J0AWOGinyHdTB2js9NHTNVJNxqrJOJm_FqeMwOjzKOu-gm8pAhUFc9hvrAtg6zavyMDwsuoeD_3_W0O49j6zUtMhOfpE-b2f2Lz27bFCoZqtWQx3kSPfZ01c217A/s320/aa%20back%20cover.PNG" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p>The front cover I'll release next week. I can't wait for you to see it!</p><p>We're having a celebration soon, a book launch that will give a proper send-off to the book. <b>October 6</b>, from 5 to 8, during the First Friday event at the HUB, Hudson Uptown Building, in Hudson, NC. Whether you're a fisher or not, please come and visit with those who wrote their life stories. They have some whopper fish stories to tell!</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-53548566440180286122023-09-09T21:08:00.004-04:002023-09-13T19:01:01.780-04:00A Different Kind of Writing<p>I'm experimenting with something new in my writing life. Kindle Vella. It's actually a long estabised kind of writing that the likes of Charles Dickens once employed - serial writing. His novels started out as weekly newspaper installments, as did Jan Karon's Mitford series, book one.</p><p>Now, Kindle Vella offers writers a chance to publish in online episodes rather than print or ebook formats. I'm game!</p><p>For several years, I've planned to write my life story, but I'm not ready for that yet. First comes these dabblings into various situations I've experienced. Then will come the biggie, in my second vella coming in October.</p><p>My writing career has been enhanced, I'm sure, by my being surrounded by other writers. I'm in a critique group whose members write children's books. I am also with Foothills Writers, a mishmash of talented people who have taught me so much about the writing process. </p><p>Our weekly sessions are well-planned. For the first thirty minutes, we meet and greet and eat whatever lunch or goodies we packed. The last part of the day is the core of the meeting, a skills lesson taught by one of us. Between those two elements, we have what we call, the prompt. As we enter the room we can see the prompt of the week written on the board so we can ponder the topic during mealtime. Sometimes I struggle just to come up with a response to the prompt. There was one, Boxers or Briefs. Major flop for me. </p><p>Our lessons for the past weeks have been about Kindle Vella, and the leader challenged us to create our own vellas using the prompt responses we've written over the years. </p><p>I present to you my vella: "Prompt and Circumstances." It's been my learning curve and already I see things I need to adapt. Link to it <a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CHPLC8YF">here.</a></p><p>Each vella has a shrunken version of a book cover to use as a logo. I wanted something pompous to match the title, something that exuded confidence and variety. I knew exactly the photo I wanted and went searching for it in my photo files, one I had taken several years ago at the Divine Llama Winery here in western North Carolina.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-1Rh1GYrVMSphERnYflZLJ1OqayMkdb3cwpup0O-U3DkVZG0Keofe9XwT1D20HbMzYHGB4LszTezbElli6VckUuS0md5xgrnHiOtN29BKLl6kAvI77Coy0-L6UTCZApN9mjD0Zf8CIO4QWe2NWsr4Nem5OyxYzxxa320tyh8t_x--GId5waLUfJPAIA/s1541/llama%20cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1541" data-original-width="1226" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-1Rh1GYrVMSphERnYflZLJ1OqayMkdb3cwpup0O-U3DkVZG0Keofe9XwT1D20HbMzYHGB4LszTezbElli6VckUuS0md5xgrnHiOtN29BKLl6kAvI77Coy0-L6UTCZApN9mjD0Zf8CIO4QWe2NWsr4Nem5OyxYzxxa320tyh8t_x--GId5waLUfJPAIA/s320/llama%20cover.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><p>With this regal fellow watching over the episodes, I can't go wrong. Today I'm inviting readers to join me in this new venture. The concept is simple. Read an episode at a time. The first three episodes are free. Only at the fourth level must the consumer pay, and here's how that works.</p><p>The consumers purchase tokens from Amazon to unlock each upcoming episode, and they don't need to have a Kindle to access it. Two hundred tokens cost a dollar ninety-nine, which means each token costs a penny! My episodes cost anywhere from six to fifteen tokens, mere pennies! Any leftover tokens are kept in reserve and applied wherever and whichever additional vellas the reader chooses. I only have five episodes posted at this point, so you'll have plenty of extra tokens to explore the vella universe.</p><p>If you are game, please go to my vella, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CHPLC8YF" target="_blank">Prompt and Circumstances, by clicking here on the link</a> and start reading. The first three are free, so give them a try at no expense. At the end of each, there is a thumbs up to let me someone has been reading. There are also places to comment and interact with me so please go for it if you wish.</p><p>You might find out all kinds of things about me!</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p>PS Here's another llama from the winery I almost used for the cover, but decided against. He was too perky! I needed regal.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuKrb_hExYKR4I9oZlOng2S-sAEJ-ij33zEmvx45dbfqWpyghnSj5CaTqT2s8xF91tvJ7Gb_T57lJAg1HARIFQEXrnVN2lV421yfhdx1kba2sGnSVwnaV8qRC_wkN1v0JLy1zYhBvtJBz6P-zXRg51OYjWw8JfYEaattSWqWglyFeS9yrIefbKFHuDDU/s1449/baby%20llama.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1449" data-original-width="1114" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuKrb_hExYKR4I9oZlOng2S-sAEJ-ij33zEmvx45dbfqWpyghnSj5CaTqT2s8xF91tvJ7Gb_T57lJAg1HARIFQEXrnVN2lV421yfhdx1kba2sGnSVwnaV8qRC_wkN1v0JLy1zYhBvtJBz6P-zXRg51OYjWw8JfYEaattSWqWglyFeS9yrIefbKFHuDDU/s320/baby%20llama.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-1433051837808271862023-08-04T06:30:00.004-04:002023-08-04T06:30:00.148-04:00Cover Reveal<p> I'm excited to share the cover of my newest nonfiction book, <i>Separated by Oceans but Connected by Love, </i>(coming soon). </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiArgX16e4ajb1_XygTjIB9qSkIO-o3FZRlAhNQ7VA9E-0kNL4mmt4OELpeiHWMt6diKwEWagzAqSAaaH0AgQfuHNieIX0lC17YS3PqbumzN4Ib492GHIkFmRMsS7mSSXMrXbhLEAa50GNSQIcfjniu2iPDGPQSbNgWxoBqWgWQs7eMY94IEUYJItYmmZU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="108" data-original-width="293" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiArgX16e4ajb1_XygTjIB9qSkIO-o3FZRlAhNQ7VA9E-0kNL4mmt4OELpeiHWMt6diKwEWagzAqSAaaH0AgQfuHNieIX0lC17YS3PqbumzN4Ib492GHIkFmRMsS7mSSXMrXbhLEAa50GNSQIcfjniu2iPDGPQSbNgWxoBqWgWQs7eMY94IEUYJItYmmZU" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>It is made up of several elements I've shared with you before, and a few I haven't. </p><p>The <a href="https://gretchengriffith.blogspot.com/2023/06/now-you-see-it-now-you-dont.html" target="_blank">background:</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmR5q9jDB46CVK0upDWmKvggD6cS0udj92uVbGloSzuiTmb6NHI4pCHv7ktrjnseTMzcKMgQhSBABwsnBMmb1a0nCmtH5rGOrRH39JFbBVDZHj-4ICfiviCbraaIhh6RUgK7NOzugxOY3GKny_v7E8CktmQp33xU3Hu357x-W3R3g9-KM2Zu6gX6X36s/s4032/cover%20background%20preferred%20-%20Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmR5q9jDB46CVK0upDWmKvggD6cS0udj92uVbGloSzuiTmb6NHI4pCHv7ktrjnseTMzcKMgQhSBABwsnBMmb1a0nCmtH5rGOrRH39JFbBVDZHj-4ICfiviCbraaIhh6RUgK7NOzugxOY3GKny_v7E8CktmQp33xU3Hu357x-W3R3g9-KM2Zu6gX6X36s/s320/cover%20background%20preferred%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>The <a href="https://gretchengriffith.blogspot.com/2023/07/artists.html" target="_blank">portrait:</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIBKRmSDT89qLRkQGEXhIBJn8N-J9sFl-xxfqHXmuXI7EsEXQVkE2cqW-D8jMUxKD2mEOLZS94SSeF4JOH7nWayFeOwl1jo7QZAW-gyLnTiRlgUoeRdcY_yUateV6czfsDFcrP5p8QrARpR3KmMGLsm_GAaYlKCnB3DDYmzIK22_KSGrajREPA9ghF3Q/s2676/Chino%20pic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2676" data-original-width="2225" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIBKRmSDT89qLRkQGEXhIBJn8N-J9sFl-xxfqHXmuXI7EsEXQVkE2cqW-D8jMUxKD2mEOLZS94SSeF4JOH7nWayFeOwl1jo7QZAW-gyLnTiRlgUoeRdcY_yUateV6czfsDFcrP5p8QrARpR3KmMGLsm_GAaYlKCnB3DDYmzIK22_KSGrajREPA9ghF3Q/w174-h209/Chino%20pic.jpg" width="174" /></a></div><br /><p>Put them together and TA-DA, the front cover:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlH8C8EihYPyvXTx_QwQ3CcWjjT3mHX_JI9efOXa1pieRuUKHKd1jMnb7fr9mTU0JZECBfU5itGMJgw91akyrXyZXYWvHDGr9lATaauAwyNRSFgnfkPcxBRi7LWvROHrNmOhLO_b4yNNQ5kfFEV-KlBmRl9qD9kO-rCOs9guLP4QfDdacT03RBG6SnsY/s314/final%20cover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="223" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlH8C8EihYPyvXTx_QwQ3CcWjjT3mHX_JI9efOXa1pieRuUKHKd1jMnb7fr9mTU0JZECBfU5itGMJgw91akyrXyZXYWvHDGr9lATaauAwyNRSFgnfkPcxBRi7LWvROHrNmOhLO_b4yNNQ5kfFEV-KlBmRl9qD9kO-rCOs9guLP4QfDdacT03RBG6SnsY/s1600/final%20cover.png" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The back, you've not seen. It shows the climax of the book, where a sister, Wongalee, meets her long-lost family. That's the whole story in one back page, the search for her father.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPJAC-acfZxCe9ttHW1O8Nj493WJnJ-EmP9aCWlZaE3Km90FIBO2Pn91TB_6G6rfBoSPqFHoo0OE-nutckA_ORaDkYsF039cs3TqWKbiq4AievnMmsywJ45kLtci14D-vHFQV_j9080HNiKDX4Z2fl-8b5tJeUB8_W4TWbncFHLKEhOp7beIBcWBq94DY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="340" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPJAC-acfZxCe9ttHW1O8Nj493WJnJ-EmP9aCWlZaE3Km90FIBO2Pn91TB_6G6rfBoSPqFHoo0OE-nutckA_ORaDkYsF039cs3TqWKbiq4AievnMmsywJ45kLtci14D-vHFQV_j9080HNiKDX4Z2fl-8b5tJeUB8_W4TWbncFHLKEhOp7beIBcWBq94DY=w205-h309" width="205" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't wait for you to hold it in your hands and see the beauty of the book and read the wonder of the story.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-26978363752177353272023-07-28T09:02:00.000-04:002023-07-28T09:02:26.186-04:00Artists<p>There are artists. And then there are Artists. In my latest nonfiction, <i>Separated by Oceans but Connected by Love</i> (available soon)<i>, </i>I introduce two Artists, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erwin_de_Vries" target="_blank">Erwin de Vries</a> and <a href="https://teltingcollection.com/" target="_blank">Quintas Jan Telting</a>. The two of them were contemporaries with my main character Humphrey Tja-A-Lien. All three were from Suriname. All three were adventurers. All three came and went and came and went in each other's lives. Both artists drew sketches of Humphrey that the family graciously allowed me to include in the book. In fact, one portrait of him is on the cover. This one:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJlfe4KbTMXzhUF7I3jZtSsQ8-fEMLITqjos0hEQTT3ldwn5paayNXdNajG0srxw55Ikkqpp8X1YzVpo1SAGZn8SaO2x5N-VDCWB3W0Z1upDdAGjDnE5CVbLuW13dhWaesAoh5CKN3j8EWWSyISh1vjjhClyrrpNYG0BaqG5EJUGzAWLjz8apZXTVKy8/s2715/erwin%20de%20vries%20USE%20FOR%20COVER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2715" data-original-width="2231" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJlfe4KbTMXzhUF7I3jZtSsQ8-fEMLITqjos0hEQTT3ldwn5paayNXdNajG0srxw55Ikkqpp8X1YzVpo1SAGZn8SaO2x5N-VDCWB3W0Z1upDdAGjDnE5CVbLuW13dhWaesAoh5CKN3j8EWWSyISh1vjjhClyrrpNYG0BaqG5EJUGzAWLjz8apZXTVKy8/s320/erwin%20de%20vries%20USE%20FOR%20COVER.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">by Erwin de Vries</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It currently hangs in the home of one of Humphrey's sons. De Vries is considered by some as the "Rembrandt of the Caribbean." In his inscription in the bottom right corner of the picture, de Vries signed it "to Chino" using the nickname for his friend. You'll have to read the book to see why he called him that. Long story.</p><p>Another part of the long story is Humphrey's connection to Qunitas Jan Telting. As young adventurers, they stowed away on a ship and went ashore in New York City back in the late forties. Jan returned to the ship. Humphrey didn't, and that, dear readers, is the gist of this book. The two met again in Amsterdam where Humphrey worked at the Van Gogh Museum. In my research, I ran across a post on the <a href="http://AFRICANAH.org">AFRICANAH.org</a> site about Telting that included a powerful quote from him, "I am an artist, and being black, I find it my duty since I have a gift to create, to create with a purpose..." Create he did - this sketch of Humphrey that found its way here to his daughter in North Carolina:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrFAXVP4-kXZxpR9XCjgK-xkRSL5UfswruKCz-sn1NbDPDW__bPIK1pzKdEuUH1m31fAmtVHzSXLezWpOjOd2Ia0YDo25_B1t8AJ5s-WCq_S8rce1dS4wnnfAzWiD_0YhqoXI7O5mqpZMulFc6sAx1oRfuMj8KpWk6wBPNY7VqiYvn2vSXfekYvm7p70/s2584/portrait%20sitting%20adjusted%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2584" data-original-width="1720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrFAXVP4-kXZxpR9XCjgK-xkRSL5UfswruKCz-sn1NbDPDW__bPIK1pzKdEuUH1m31fAmtVHzSXLezWpOjOd2Ia0YDo25_B1t8AJ5s-WCq_S8rce1dS4wnnfAzWiD_0YhqoXI7O5mqpZMulFc6sAx1oRfuMj8KpWk6wBPNY7VqiYvn2vSXfekYvm7p70/s320/portrait%20sitting%20adjusted%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">by Qunitas Jan Telting</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The dedication in the corner, enlarged:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3sZAJ9UD6rQ1LA_44lqW-8EB-HHAJIW48Thckb4a5b4Tw0DMDdYUhmJBv7zyiB7dxWe7iNemLmO-YiWLSVfytliAN4E3XHZ8wTHCrfIYuZ-cZX7hstQlV7crMAP5a2rnL1eoqIwvQl0PNjuzUKBPkOyA57FoP5R-rGKkkT_bbSnuxkfObLX-PX2gNF8/s1737/portrait%20corner%20cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1614" data-original-width="1737" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3sZAJ9UD6rQ1LA_44lqW-8EB-HHAJIW48Thckb4a5b4Tw0DMDdYUhmJBv7zyiB7dxWe7iNemLmO-YiWLSVfytliAN4E3XHZ8wTHCrfIYuZ-cZX7hstQlV7crMAP5a2rnL1eoqIwvQl0PNjuzUKBPkOyA57FoP5R-rGKkkT_bbSnuxkfObLX-PX2gNF8/s320/portrait%20corner%20cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You'll just have to read the book to understand that inscription!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-30232852891501318642023-06-24T21:02:00.000-04:002023-06-24T21:02:44.946-04:00Now you see it, Now you don'tOnce upon a time I could look at a picture and know it showed reality. Those days are over. Now I wonder about every picture. Is it real?<div><br /></div><div>Take for example the background picture I'm using on the cover of my upcoming book (soon to be released). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TD3SZQFO-zQnN4bOcMVizy4dGCb1g0UyGoD0ZZrAn8MT2jf5nys-geYS32xBqHU8uAwu8LS7WvQl8QzSycPMQnfEvUcM-02ZAuEFW4mUHxjL4uh51_x9Htan3HVCVMkTS7n5ID36RdicG4u3p4TftO9HayeN0c_ynI_DFGzTMhMDTLbPCzpyt8wjQjs/s4032/sea%20cover%20;original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TD3SZQFO-zQnN4bOcMVizy4dGCb1g0UyGoD0ZZrAn8MT2jf5nys-geYS32xBqHU8uAwu8LS7WvQl8QzSycPMQnfEvUcM-02ZAuEFW4mUHxjL4uh51_x9Htan3HVCVMkTS7n5ID36RdicG4u3p4TftO9HayeN0c_ynI_DFGzTMhMDTLbPCzpyt8wjQjs/w363-h272/sea%20cover%20;original.jpg" width="363" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I took this photograph last fall at Oak Island, North Carolina, when I was on vacation with my family. The colors fit the mood I wanted to set for my book cover. The ocean plays an important part in the book, in fact, the word "ocean" is in the title. So bingo. That fit what I wanted. </div><div><br /></div><div>I began to add layers. Text. Other pictures. But the fisherman didn't quite fit into the time period, the fifties, when my main character left. So I got rid of him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a close up of my first tampering efforts. The man is gone. Poof.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_4c0RyngL7zaFxl8p-2xkvLFdYZILxs37a8kJXNc62BA2oJGxc5VCv8XhiIkVzYKxVLfxuA9OONS-MVXdY-pgQQ9zZMYOTXot31xykJY778fce1hdNW13xRTp1xf5dbkVygFyLMgyEdvam1egvz35gGgi7HWeLbfswOQYpSJYxwC8TKfY9s3t0Ckn2o/s2179/cover%20background%20preferred%20-%20Closeup.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2179" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_4c0RyngL7zaFxl8p-2xkvLFdYZILxs37a8kJXNc62BA2oJGxc5VCv8XhiIkVzYKxVLfxuA9OONS-MVXdY-pgQQ9zZMYOTXot31xykJY778fce1hdNW13xRTp1xf5dbkVygFyLMgyEdvam1egvz35gGgi7HWeLbfswOQYpSJYxwC8TKfY9s3t0Ckn2o/s320/cover%20background%20preferred%20-%20Closeup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I left the beach chair because I knew it would be covered by the featured portrait of my main character. (I can't wait to tell you more about that!)<div>Then I realized the man's fishing pole was still visible. Look carefully at the edge of the water and you'll be able to see the pole floating around as if it is Harry Potter's wand.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I tampered more. I erased the fishing pole. I also deleted a light that was in a building on the right, but I still left the beach chair. <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vzrcUYJlFXJQ-rZtBHdbCBfrnBjsYIOwkRnasPeB_zSImDcwrtWpXObfMTq2xEeTzn6w_fAHyVDjYFvo9IHBYqDCKJkLZTZ2C7BfkLkEeTcq90QfGC3L2pSza3jl9QpqpGEntwP5efxsWOJF-hxhIInJqg7OH-GbSYS_Y7N-R-RnU2LDAfJT6728_ig/s4032/cover%20background%20preferred.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span></span></a><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vzrcUYJlFXJQ-rZtBHdbCBfrnBjsYIOwkRnasPeB_zSImDcwrtWpXObfMTq2xEeTzn6w_fAHyVDjYFvo9IHBYqDCKJkLZTZ2C7BfkLkEeTcq90QfGC3L2pSza3jl9QpqpGEntwP5efxsWOJF-hxhIInJqg7OH-GbSYS_Y7N-R-RnU2LDAfJT6728_ig/s4032/cover%20background%20preferred.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS18EzYiHDPReSlMThWC4bLC0ge9LvYCOsj2791tWZhBWM6TPIHP1fmf9bxqSghM7Fl_g5jTYlsXE569heJS-3bAZHh_YJiAhgE-rGauN4LKbcJWcMloWg4jUHEhOCAZF6ZKATgohgoqKm8lWx1Z7GfCbyrbXA4DA25pKMPjFe5xhVqbjFt2qzTlPG47U/s4032/cover%20no%20pole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS18EzYiHDPReSlMThWC4bLC0ge9LvYCOsj2791tWZhBWM6TPIHP1fmf9bxqSghM7Fl_g5jTYlsXE569heJS-3bAZHh_YJiAhgE-rGauN4LKbcJWcMloWg4jUHEhOCAZF6ZKATgohgoqKm8lWx1Z7GfCbyrbXA4DA25pKMPjFe5xhVqbjFt2qzTlPG47U/s320/cover%20no%20pole.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A</span>nd there it is. A picture that fits my needs exactly as the background of the book cover. The fact that it isn't real doesn't matter in this case. I got what I needed.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>But still. If I can play around with a picture and eliminate a person as if said person never existed in the picture, then wow, is it real? This tool is not a toy despite my joy at being able to alter reality to fit my needs. Imagine the future with photograph manipulations as the norm. What can we believe?</div><div><br /></div><div>Scary.</div><div><br /></div><div>Catch of the day,</div><div><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-7362690689256332612023-05-01T06:54:00.000-04:002023-05-01T06:54:40.385-04:00<p> For the second year in a row, I participated in a charity event that is dear to my husband's heart, a fundraiser for All God's Children group home. I sponsored a hole in a golf tournament this organization held. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5NAHlEywqRmPveojrQ9yOxpCdX4z2IRJzpjZiEVc2ypb3wFLwifsjVze5vgLwMHcZDds4_6_nmYIS-dZ7qG9bk5xSSeZleFB_6IKefHM6lSge4J3jOFjcTXHAGtnQbqmH9fgbiKNVRYrnLWOsN1mkIZLheOAQdoS8vReK4WIfX7G4NJv-o2RuEgP/s3264/All%20God's%20Children%20my%20sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5NAHlEywqRmPveojrQ9yOxpCdX4z2IRJzpjZiEVc2ypb3wFLwifsjVze5vgLwMHcZDds4_6_nmYIS-dZ7qG9bk5xSSeZleFB_6IKefHM6lSge4J3jOFjcTXHAGtnQbqmH9fgbiKNVRYrnLWOsN1mkIZLheOAQdoS8vReK4WIfX7G4NJv-o2RuEgP/w150-h200/All%20God's%20Children%20my%20sign.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><p>Back during covid, I played a lot of golf and even wrote about it in a blog titled <i><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/2/blog/post/edit/4706330086813471942/6500321769190535106" target="_blank">Golf Saved Us</a> </i>and it did. When all else closed, the golf course stayed open. Walking the course was not only exercise but a mental release from the tribulations around us. So when I chose this as altruism for my hard-earned money, I had a connection of appreciation for the sport as well as to the purpose of the event. </p><p>Years ago my husband and I were licensed as foster parents and we were blessed to house, and home, three children. The experiences of nurturing these children have remained in my heart. I had to give back.</p><p>All God's Children is a home for foster children who have been taken from their natural families and placed into a less traumatizing environment while the adults in their lives get themselves together. My husband has been involved with it from the beginning when a friend offered his ancestral home to be the residence for a family setting, ancestral being the operative word here. The house needed much repair and teams of workers from across the county stepped up and stepped in to remodel it to the required standards under the laws involved with foster care institutions.</p><p>Support has come from a wide range of individuals, businesses, and churches:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj-sEqG6KmQmQMB_SEna7eBZELYPqhEhLGxlq-0oi-Z8FkObWAGVrh00kRCeuWQM3ZA--1ezYVTSHD9Ge4HAloYSA3QBYPyYcYe4MWWw8IHB1voBpf0_ZC1RPvuHNPS8ONsOmJwOhxo1F0h4MK8A1nkOQ65hohgIoOtFAwJX7GU07eBAGOienV_DD/s3264/All%20God's%20Children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj-sEqG6KmQmQMB_SEna7eBZELYPqhEhLGxlq-0oi-Z8FkObWAGVrh00kRCeuWQM3ZA--1ezYVTSHD9Ge4HAloYSA3QBYPyYcYe4MWWw8IHB1voBpf0_ZC1RPvuHNPS8ONsOmJwOhxo1F0h4MK8A1nkOQ65hohgIoOtFAwJX7GU07eBAGOienV_DD/s320/All%20God's%20Children.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>In case the print is too small, I zoomed in for you. There I am between First Methodist and Rudisill's Grocery.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96hOxmVH4wkAzg3ELOosDmRLTwaqNNTiIntuQFTZbYlPiKBZlvKSNYaehLSkvTkDHBZgYQ3-02--VvDBKSTLOuROEpvgfRn9Oh8_Pt6A17C0W2GQ6iqaTl4s_G6zKnTgSm4WlXKe-b-LEYqLX8QKgFUuknmoaILueSmX4XnT8E-ryvsYGGmUQNOoo/s1589/All%20God's%20Children%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="1228" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96hOxmVH4wkAzg3ELOosDmRLTwaqNNTiIntuQFTZbYlPiKBZlvKSNYaehLSkvTkDHBZgYQ3-02--VvDBKSTLOuROEpvgfRn9Oh8_Pt6A17C0W2GQ6iqaTl4s_G6zKnTgSm4WlXKe-b-LEYqLX8QKgFUuknmoaILueSmX4XnT8E-ryvsYGGmUQNOoo/s320/All%20God's%20Children%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br /><p>One thing I've learned. It takes a village to raise a foster child!</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-51061615772757831972023-04-17T06:30:00.001-04:002023-04-17T06:30:00.198-04:00Into the Swamp and Out<p>My husband and I recently went on a side trip to the swamps of <a href="https://www.nps.gov/cong/index.htm" target="_blank">Conagree National Park</a> in South Carolina. My jokes and frets about being eaten by alligators were unfounded, I'm pleased to report. We stayed on the boardwalk on a safe two mile hike through the swamp.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcpk3TeS62fiQFBz_BVgRTd20xmDu-ZJwTzJuX_uZ6vXCh4rxMiDWhRhPWVigSzfk5wRASPLvfBbzn3_jnsggp4EymQjB0Xd1LqsnOBJGPnJMB4e4aoc1982cVMW-BHKooIq0K7qk3DeM69GW_shZNBJ5XKNpbJ7AmeJuBw29-9MClgZMsLMEi40Nk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcpk3TeS62fiQFBz_BVgRTd20xmDu-ZJwTzJuX_uZ6vXCh4rxMiDWhRhPWVigSzfk5wRASPLvfBbzn3_jnsggp4EymQjB0Xd1LqsnOBJGPnJMB4e4aoc1982cVMW-BHKooIq0K7qk3DeM69GW_shZNBJ5XKNpbJ7AmeJuBw29-9MClgZMsLMEi40Nk=w410-h185" width="410" /></a></div><br />It's another world out there! I expected water, and I got water. After all water makes a swamp. I expected creatures, and I saw none. They probably saw us as we wandered, but they kept quiet about it. What I saw mostly was healthy, happily growing trees. Cypress trees to be exact.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDCGK8jDPhufQR_oXCgbjLTyS-pA_oPkD8GnMLJ-KQxKMTt3iiKB1q3cY_CdxWMDIP8Pk61VVLewJOzUR7cmDCcD5_mTRjMdohXgdyUqwd7Tbr9meCkcNO5xVtcISu0PPIsn76F0OoBlXHWcm6CNMqaYYGE20j2gKvTSX5rEjFbffIZdkpvoQEltTF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDCGK8jDPhufQR_oXCgbjLTyS-pA_oPkD8GnMLJ-KQxKMTt3iiKB1q3cY_CdxWMDIP8Pk61VVLewJOzUR7cmDCcD5_mTRjMdohXgdyUqwd7Tbr9meCkcNO5xVtcISu0PPIsn76F0OoBlXHWcm6CNMqaYYGE20j2gKvTSX5rEjFbffIZdkpvoQEltTF" width="320" /></a></div><br />Those are knees around the bald cypress tree. According to wikipedia, the function of these knees is not certain. One idea is that the knees provide aeration for the roots. The knees provided a strange kind of beauty for me, one that set my imagination reeling at the idea of tiny swamp gnomes rising out of the mud and swirling a macabre dance around their mother tree.<p></p><p>We came into the swamp at a great time of year, the all clear time. Nary a mosquito in sight. The welcome center's mosquito meter keeps up with biting conditions. Imagine being there on the continum above ruthless. War Zone!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQXIxon47u_WozuHvPfvvqCC8611cJTZYFtZzQYuyMmvY_wUwDmFa6uSIjNyqN0S1SzlO7s3gY8LDlNTQ0JVdewiskiCwfYYbC1crvgUb9akUQUW8jLCnQrGXFL-M0e9qoOuWA3lLSp96OY_x3VImEwDEol-8Uop4K4iirl_uqpC2KiZgxKQRzDv7n" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQXIxon47u_WozuHvPfvvqCC8611cJTZYFtZzQYuyMmvY_wUwDmFa6uSIjNyqN0S1SzlO7s3gY8LDlNTQ0JVdewiskiCwfYYbC1crvgUb9akUQUW8jLCnQrGXFL-M0e9qoOuWA3lLSp96OY_x3VImEwDEol-8Uop4K4iirl_uqpC2KiZgxKQRzDv7n" width="320" /></a></div><br />For several years while our son was a cadet at the Citadel in Charleston, we drove on Interstate 26 past the brown sign advertising Conagree National Park, but never had the inclination to stop and smell the swamp roses until this spring. Brown signs are notoriously apart from main roads and the curious must often drive miles out of the way. Attending park rangers award the wanderlust who do show up in their facility with a stamp like this one. We surely earned it, and I added to my collection.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwVAKN-7VNeSP-VElV4h9V_2lKJkqbcZr2HXjwm9eh6M0EUSU50paiQZ-Zs3Xsz2kvmyffRP4MZYQT7R3Rcl68C5j2S18Yu_4gvoh0KKJADWLzyxFWunFFcuv0QcU4fhyOfRCVPWYn23Astls8Ab8XBBjs1Sv2CL9oZpYrZV3yBnp1X1W19niaR5CD" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1286" data-original-width="1206" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwVAKN-7VNeSP-VElV4h9V_2lKJkqbcZr2HXjwm9eh6M0EUSU50paiQZ-Zs3Xsz2kvmyffRP4MZYQT7R3Rcl68C5j2S18Yu_4gvoh0KKJADWLzyxFWunFFcuv0QcU4fhyOfRCVPWYn23Astls8Ab8XBBjs1Sv2CL9oZpYrZV3yBnp1X1W19niaR5CD" width="225" /></a></div><p></p><p>I became a brown sign enthusiast years ago and wrote about my experiences in a collection of stories compiled by Randell Jones. It was later made into <a href="https://www.randelljones.com/6minutestories/2020/3/11/the-brown-sign-challenge-by-gretchen-griffith" target="_blank">an audio version here</a> in his six minute stories. Give it a click and a listen. And while you are at it, check out Randell's series of books in the Personal Story Publishing Project. Mine is published in the 2019 book, <i><a href="https://www.randelljones.com/" target="_blank">Exploring</a></i>. Wait until you read the other fantastic stories!</p><p>If you ever find yourself on Interstate 26 in South Carolina, or even Interstates 77, 20, or 95, take time to make a slight detour. You'll find the swamp between those four major roads, on a forsaken path in the depths of lowland country. You'll not be disappointed. Just check the mosquito meter before you go!</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-11908980182839900972023-04-10T07:00:00.005-04:002023-04-11T06:18:04.459-04:00Back on Facebook Again<p>I'm back. Did you even miss me? I've been on a self-imposed exile from Facebook during the days of Lent and I'm here to tell you that I came out the other end with a new appreciation of time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_vBRbRpwqtYDQnBxnWFmjuK1ZmIoG0H3fzPflz5CHFoJYOdLElSdYrkv276S6bdCbBpaH2m6F5IbsZ1qFfn-uNsZYpEC2OS0TSDmBPga53bPdF-1tteIKTkmZ6gQpf7vYzoIZfpF9C3qZeRo3gWV-VPbnM_r4Gga4p_ALuErGUhRQsIU0An3WBJ1/s384/for%20scbwi%20extra.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="384" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_vBRbRpwqtYDQnBxnWFmjuK1ZmIoG0H3fzPflz5CHFoJYOdLElSdYrkv276S6bdCbBpaH2m6F5IbsZ1qFfn-uNsZYpEC2OS0TSDmBPga53bPdF-1tteIKTkmZ6gQpf7vYzoIZfpF9C3qZeRo3gWV-VPbnM_r4Gga4p_ALuErGUhRQsIU0An3WBJ1/s320/for%20scbwi%20extra.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Time was at the root of why I chose to avoid Facebook as my Lenten discipline. About a week before Mardi Gras the powers that be (who seem to know absolutely everything about me) sent my timeline chart showing how many hours I had spent browsing through their wonderous social media format. I'll never reveal this embarrassing amount, but suffice it to say the bottom line forced me to take a new look at how I spent my hours. Sure, I enjoy keeping up with friends I've accumulated along the way, but were those video clips of cute puppies and grouchy old cats and strangers falling on ski slopes...you get the picture...robbing me of more noble pursuits? </p><p>I clicked my final click just before my husband and I attended Ash Wednesday services at my church. Once the minister painted a cross on my forehead with the ashes of last year's Palm Sunday celebration, that was it. I was changed. My goal was to immerse myself in spiritual readings, and I did manage to follow through with some of that part of my Lenten goal: replacing frivolous with mindfulness. </p><p>The surprise is, I didn't miss Facebook. I read a few books. I wrote a few books, well, I tried, anyway, and actually finished one. I slowed down. I smelled the proverbial roses since the seasonal ones weren't yet in bloom. I watched the local news and the thirty-minute evening news, but I didn't read people's comments on Facebook telling me what I should think about the news. That in itself was a blessing.</p><p>Okay, so I did miss wishing Happy Birthday to my friends. If you were one of those I slighted, consider yourself wished. I also missed a few event announcements that friends had shared with everyone but me. Instead, I received after-the-fact, in-person comments, "Why weren't you there? You would have enjoyed it." Drats. And I missed sharing my life with all of you. I went on an adventure to the swamps of the South Carolina low country that, rather than immediately telling you about, is now the topic of a future blog.</p><p>I assumed I would pick up my cell phone and jump right back into the thick of things when I came home after Easter morning services, maybe even in the car on the way home, like in the old days. But no. That didn't happen. I spent a little time scrolling to catch up with my friends, but the puppies and cats and unknown children hunting Easter eggs, not one click.</p><p>I've earned time back and I'm going to savor it. Thank you, Lord.</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-79915822776713648852023-02-21T06:30:00.034-05:002023-02-21T06:30:00.198-05:00Until later<p>I'll be taking a timeout from social media starting tomorrow. It's the discipline I chose to honor for Lent. I spend way too much time on Facebook that I could spend doing more faith-based activities, like reading scripture or holding devotions. That's the plan.</p><p>Often I arbitrarily pick an item like chocolate or red meat to deny myself during the forty days of Lent. I learned very quickly that forty days is a long time, longer still when Sundays get added in. Forty seems to be a Biblical number of enduring. Noah and the animals lasted forty days on the ark. Moses and the Israelites wandered for forty years. Jesus was tempted in the desert for forty days. </p><p>Today is Mardi Gras, the traditional day we believers squeeze in any last-minute chocolates or red meat or other delights we might have chosen to deny ourselves until Easter. I'll certainly follow suit and today view the last memes of prancing puppies or mischievous cats that my friends invariably post.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLoQ3ty0ih3Rl884o6R0JHe0kqbk688ibL_eLFhZwVtz4PssKf44FjBYqSCSu6XzrmQcnD9aYtISiqO4QEHMNJodaEXi1r9JUw93dUsPUV_Vd8lJRiDHWMpoH15PdFozzd7xt93Vbh_jqJ0HVqYyvfYQLNGjJK-uOYawttpBxprFTAPrMYwpAM8RIZ/s1585/old%20fashioned%20meme%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1585" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLoQ3ty0ih3Rl884o6R0JHe0kqbk688ibL_eLFhZwVtz4PssKf44FjBYqSCSu6XzrmQcnD9aYtISiqO4QEHMNJodaEXi1r9JUw93dUsPUV_Vd8lJRiDHWMpoH15PdFozzd7xt93Vbh_jqJ0HVqYyvfYQLNGjJK-uOYawttpBxprFTAPrMYwpAM8RIZ/s320/old%20fashioned%20meme%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take a look at this postcard meme from 1910.<br />There's nothing new under the sun. Just sayin'</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Will I be able to do this? Can I overcome the temptation to peek just once? I'm nowhere near Christlike and fall short way too many times, but surely I can resist the ping of my cellphone telling me there is something juicy on Facebook that I just can't miss. There will be one way to do this and one way only.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> Prayer. </p><p>When I come out the other side, it will be time to celebrate the resurrection of our Christ. </p><p>Talk to you then,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-57988829266569737362023-02-07T08:20:00.002-05:002023-02-07T08:46:55.882-05:00Morning Rituals<p>Today is the first day of my new morning ritual, not that I chose it or anything. It was forced on me by a change at the newspaper office. First, they converted to only three days a week, which was disappointing enough. But their latest decision is a whole different ballgame. No more delivery boy. From now on, our newspaper will arrive by the US Postal Service. Starting today. It's morning, and I have no newspaper waiting for me to wade through as I eat breakfast. Drats. What now?</p><p>We've received the morning paper ever since we moved into this house. It has been a part of my daily ritual. When I heard the unmuffled sound of the car bringing the paper in the wee hours, it gave me a certain comfort. All was well with the world; the paper had arrived. My routine could start. Even during my career/motherhood busy years, I always found time to read the paper before I left home for the day. Finding the rolled-up paper on the driveway in the freshness of the morning was my husband's chore, and he did it with such efficiency. Sometimes it was in the wet grass, tossed there by a substitute delivery boy who didn't realize the irritation of reading soggy newsprint. On rare occasions, a neighborhood dog took a little chew of it as he went about his rounds, and we read the paper shred by shred. Eventually we purchased a delivery box and aligned it with the mailbox at the corner of our lot.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCMs31Yf97gl34j3mv_PSuJlHkPQ2kIAW0UiowpzUjpzMqkXI7HDWW6ZeLpKMozebKK4s3M64UbIOcfKnv_iP3-3WYKrKEk6ttOKo_NsFfpXeJ2kTnShJ1b4y63wnGSCPuPZv3f4fIv0nMuGoac5_eFdlw9dSptZbrKDPYX8al7k3VjM7O-MPR5X8/s4032/box.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1816" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCMs31Yf97gl34j3mv_PSuJlHkPQ2kIAW0UiowpzUjpzMqkXI7HDWW6ZeLpKMozebKK4s3M64UbIOcfKnv_iP3-3WYKrKEk6ttOKo_NsFfpXeJ2kTnShJ1b4y63wnGSCPuPZv3f4fIv0nMuGoac5_eFdlw9dSptZbrKDPYX8al7k3VjM7O-MPR5X8/s320/box.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><p></p><p>I guess now the paper box can go the way of other obsolete artifacts that have come and gone in the history of our married life. However, this is different. It marks the end of an era. More than that, it marks a change in the way I approach the day. I'm not so sure I'm happy about it.</p><p>I remember when the change came to my parents. It was as unsettling to them back then as it is to me now. We lived near Winston-Salem, North Carolina, which had two newspapers at the time. The Journal and The Sentinel. One was morning and one was evening. We subscribed to the evening paper and hearing the paper's thud on the drive was key to my family's clockwork. My brother and I competed as to who could get to the paper first. He usually won. Reading the paper was my father's way of decompressing from his workday. It was my mother's afternoon joy before starting supper chores. We bonded over the comic section that my father read aloud to us.</p><p>And then the two papers merged. No more evening paper. No more family rituals because our mornings were hectic enough without bonding over Little Orphan Annie. That era ended and life went on.</p><p>Now it's my turn to change. So many of our friends dropped the paper years ago and relied on television or word of mouth to garner the latest news. Not us. We wanted it in our hands to point things out to each other, to clip pertinent articles to pass along to those very friends who had dropped the paper. Most satisfying of all, I worked the crossword puzzle and my husband worked the Suduko puzzle. Daily. Faithfully. It set the day off for us both, and now what? That routine is over. </p><p>I'll have to rely on Facebook for interesting tidbits to share with friends as we walk laps. In fact, my entire morning ritual, sans crossword puzzles, will have to rely on my smartphone. Working a crossword puzzle on a screen is not my way of gearing up for the day. So I will adapt to getting the paper when the mail arrives after lunch and working it then. It will just take some time to reconfigure my brain. I will not follow suit with others and drop the paper. Small-town local papers are essential to democracy and I will do my part to support that institution. Just like my parents, I will adapt.</p><p>It's the early morning crossword puzzle that I grieve the most. Sipping Earl Grey tea while wordling just isn't the same.</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-45890268756486952922023-01-23T07:49:00.001-05:002023-01-23T07:49:56.494-05:00A Sad Find<p>In the spirit of Look-What-I-Found-While-I-Was-Looking-Something-Else-Up, I unearthed a sad story that seems to epitomize the tragedy of young lives lost in battle. I had been searching for information about a family in Caldwell County, North Carolina during the Revolutionary War when I found it in one of my go-to books for local history. These were written by great historians of our county, WW Scott and Nancy Alexander. They caught stories, just like I do, and they published them for future generations to learn about the past, just like I do.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhx3HKlyc5PzW3sZ47GydS0DDor5MiPQo_EtHFJbJmZvQlDEigJi40hBTgkOrUGIhboVB3cFCz8MWTBDh69mkoDsFu31Ap52rP7MhLbwv4XkJuAZLq2Xu7AohAGrZj_N1lzudGpFi6lUlotCUB3pVB207ZAHH4O01rpqfZAJugRGW2fSB1r2LmveNxN" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1816" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhx3HKlyc5PzW3sZ47GydS0DDor5MiPQo_EtHFJbJmZvQlDEigJi40hBTgkOrUGIhboVB3cFCz8MWTBDh69mkoDsFu31Ap52rP7MhLbwv4XkJuAZLq2Xu7AohAGrZj_N1lzudGpFi6lUlotCUB3pVB207ZAHH4O01rpqfZAJugRGW2fSB1r2LmveNxN" width="108" /></a></div><br />In his <i>Annals of Caldwell County,</i> author Scott didn't format it to be in chronological order, but instead chose to arrange it as if he would have collected his wits for the day and plopped down a new story he caught. Just like I do in this blog. <p></p><p>So he has an article about the Confederacy early in the book, followed by visiting his neighbors in the 1930's (which is when the book was first published), followed by the colonial times, and then a few Revolutionary War stories inserted at will. Reading for what I wanted involved page by page reading (or is that an excuse since there is an index...which didn't even have the family name I was researching).</p><p>I became enthralled by these stories, but the saddest of all, probably the saddest of nonfictions I've read recently, was on page 42, the story of Captain John Thomas Jones, born in 1841. He was at the university in Chapel Hill when he left to join the Twenty-Sixth Regiment, Company I, of the Confederacy. A born leader, he soon became a second lieutenant, then captain, then major, and finally lieutenant-colonel. He fought in several battles, most famously at Gettysburg. </p><p>Later, at the Battle of the Wilderness, May 6, 1864, he stepped up when his colonel was wounded and led his regiment "in a charge against overwhelming numbers." Do the math. He was twenty-three years old. And mortally wounded in this "charge against overwhelming numbers." </p><p>The surgeon who attended to him told him there was no hope and he would die from his wound. He later reported the death scene, "With a most yearning expression he replied, 'It must not be. I was born to accomplish more good that I have done.'"</p><p>My heart melted. He didn't live long enough to accomplish his goals. His life was snuffed out, taken from him like a candle in the wind.</p><p>And that is what war does.</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-40912565192133896242023-01-06T08:05:00.000-05:002023-01-06T08:05:53.257-05:00A Pot Full of Orchids<p>Orchids were never on my radar to look at, much less raise. </p><p>But.</p><p>For over a year now, I've been tending this one pot of orchids. I inherited it from my Aunt Lorraine, my Salvation Army connection that lived with us the final months of her life. I watched her care for it and when she could no longer walk, or no longer cared to care, I took over. </p><p>My joy has been in watching it bloom this year after her death. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPL_3mgkXFsA_KoCjRtRe5DmZ7meqwCaI7mk-iSySul9-Jen9v0W2SCvpGeE31KeStQFb2KueF3fzdVpWGbQl0dKoLU69LxgbG2dyqHD-F2Cw1nqQtqBJzc6VBbFnMdeQk9TMmtj0kbyMQxVmQgAAmIbX4QMWzHFnxGzIy5LZCLttWgLqxo4Q9pNx/s1937/orchid%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1937" data-original-width="1721" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPL_3mgkXFsA_KoCjRtRe5DmZ7meqwCaI7mk-iSySul9-Jen9v0W2SCvpGeE31KeStQFb2KueF3fzdVpWGbQl0dKoLU69LxgbG2dyqHD-F2Cw1nqQtqBJzc6VBbFnMdeQk9TMmtj0kbyMQxVmQgAAmIbX4QMWzHFnxGzIy5LZCLttWgLqxo4Q9pNx/s320/orchid%203.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><p>We're up to three blooms now with a promise of more to come. I posted pictures on my facebook account and some of you have been watching the journey with me. One friend even sent a link to caring for the plant. Check out this <a href="http://phalaenopsiscare.net/Doriataenopsis_Sogo_Gotris.html?fbclid=IwAR2YbC8GN6nte2ISimAXVT_cmLY1MPMQGRRz1rT_Sd8ldUQmC0fg2XHnfuQ" target="_blank">Phalaenopsis Care </a>website. The pictures and circumstances of growing my orchid fit exactly with mine. I was most excited with the statement that the plants will be in bloom for months. </p><p>It's really been quite easy following Lorraine's instructions: Water once a week, using only one cup. She made sure she measured exactly one cup, and so do I. Let it sit for one hour, and believe me, Lorraine timed it to one hour. Then pour the water out. And that's it for all the care I did. I set it in the kitchen window where it receives a little morning sun. </p><p>Now I'm reaping the benefits of beauty while I'm remembering the beauty of family ties. Wouldn't Lorraine be happy!</p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-54964187294776407742022-12-12T13:01:00.001-05:002022-12-12T13:01:22.321-05:00Nativity<p>I wish all of you had the same chance as I did last week to view an exhibit of hundreds of Nativity scenes from around the world. I was blown away at the creativity of the artists in their interpretation of the birth of the Christ child. Since I am partial to Peru, where I once lived, let me share this one first:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqeLy-rhAzidnogvOWLwqD53yo7N__rs6jIddoPbckiNbChi89YKbtI4npApzpehNzHXWUlq73p0sylBsiHGzyn8jHJMUHdpUqXcHDSTO-2wJHsTJKBumTsAPCQUfE01FhJGnYpSb59qLCwVQOg8FbHpAIvX2lXLHk1aY3DjURV1crHxGdxdvIQnd/s465/xmas%20peru.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="342" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqeLy-rhAzidnogvOWLwqD53yo7N__rs6jIddoPbckiNbChi89YKbtI4npApzpehNzHXWUlq73p0sylBsiHGzyn8jHJMUHdpUqXcHDSTO-2wJHsTJKBumTsAPCQUfE01FhJGnYpSb59qLCwVQOg8FbHpAIvX2lXLHk1aY3DjURV1crHxGdxdvIQnd/s320/xmas%20peru.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And since my daughter lives in the southwest US, here's one from there:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJW7Am-8lCR_IgzZbyMdBOekVcCUpR1F71bC0oet2RgugpmERfTSADYtkJIRsEq7ST-Lh6T9Colv6Az5uTqbXO2QnieHN_o5lHYDzyq6GSagmuRIv7EP72qW_z-FZ2iFtHFFtr8px6s-JCkLwErp4EPcLXVXr0J2ZxcOeXvqMgdT_F6hA-548ZqeSh/s1092/xmas%20southwest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="1092" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJW7Am-8lCR_IgzZbyMdBOekVcCUpR1F71bC0oet2RgugpmERfTSADYtkJIRsEq7ST-Lh6T9Colv6Az5uTqbXO2QnieHN_o5lHYDzyq6GSagmuRIv7EP72qW_z-FZ2iFtHFFtr8px6s-JCkLwErp4EPcLXVXr0J2ZxcOeXvqMgdT_F6hA-548ZqeSh/s320/xmas%20southwest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">What I appreciated most was the wide variety of navities ranging from </div><div style="text-align: center;">simplicity:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJfJ-YldEDcQ4bt2PwJf4BUSg2zdwZeBP3g3TDCHzSCwhljSUpqTVExh6lXFNNcvW7cFLHPb2kxiaSmzSMecY8V-B7SFoVSSfk8aN0voDcck24EwqgoOMgRVJ_mF3ZDxxXpQRld31fd1eOQd1RNFeb1MlhXLBAy6TUfBniTEjQjIFPppf_ZPJ-hkS/s403/xmas%20wedgewood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="353" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJfJ-YldEDcQ4bt2PwJf4BUSg2zdwZeBP3g3TDCHzSCwhljSUpqTVExh6lXFNNcvW7cFLHPb2kxiaSmzSMecY8V-B7SFoVSSfk8aN0voDcck24EwqgoOMgRVJ_mF3ZDxxXpQRld31fd1eOQd1RNFeb1MlhXLBAy6TUfBniTEjQjIFPppf_ZPJ-hkS/w203-h232/xmas%20wedgewood.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To more complex: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn13CEr2QiPZEc3Eevdq_t-VsB-exBVOdBp1RUQqCnV6dZvyY5Ox2gnatALK6SXNd9TkFMEFriBIVso2T7aDy_8qbC7eb26hxfusKb27DwS5jqte55mGrNIo0WwYvKWxyf1AjOrUtcJIihxH7n8oZYi4vmacUARxtqZ8w2fc_iGP99v9eHbhjCzAIv/s976/xmas%20bancock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="976" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn13CEr2QiPZEc3Eevdq_t-VsB-exBVOdBp1RUQqCnV6dZvyY5Ox2gnatALK6SXNd9TkFMEFriBIVso2T7aDy_8qbC7eb26hxfusKb27DwS5jqte55mGrNIo0WwYvKWxyf1AjOrUtcJIihxH7n8oZYi4vmacUARxtqZ8w2fc_iGP99v9eHbhjCzAIv/s320/xmas%20bancock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To whimsical:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTB9hqkx8ZrIykU6tg5aP78JiYmZZRYobEAhYJTsi_iBvYvlme0710CQoyMvucu6urn916AgZGm4UUj79IuOgyzrh-Akz5jLM1F0aSmVL-xYRU-gCfT2My5iD5xSZktEJOkNrF0dIFoJ2YNnndCgowlcGZNkYVicnhbdF6zBXQPQjclY8fMT89ekB/s1062/xmas%20bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1062" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTB9hqkx8ZrIykU6tg5aP78JiYmZZRYobEAhYJTsi_iBvYvlme0710CQoyMvucu6urn916AgZGm4UUj79IuOgyzrh-Akz5jLM1F0aSmVL-xYRU-gCfT2My5iD5xSZktEJOkNrF0dIFoJ2YNnndCgowlcGZNkYVicnhbdF6zBXQPQjclY8fMT89ekB/s320/xmas%20bears.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And how about this one from Mexico that takes the nativity to a whole other level:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8vM9FJH9ioMGh0U2azd0DOAKG2By_frLJGhIQa67eABJM0pk_JZC7FL1JOF4qEroy76T0VwzF5byd-8JmCKsDMyKDFTZNW4T3zzyNv8kydN3vP-nYGFmkVeRyGbC1DOIiGr_niBIiuXhKf-zoYcykvJrWSY37PVe42NjHKrBQU8v9SnPI3N_VFqN/s2767/xmas%20auto%20parts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="2767" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8vM9FJH9ioMGh0U2azd0DOAKG2By_frLJGhIQa67eABJM0pk_JZC7FL1JOF4qEroy76T0VwzF5byd-8JmCKsDMyKDFTZNW4T3zzyNv8kydN3vP-nYGFmkVeRyGbC1DOIiGr_niBIiuXhKf-zoYcykvJrWSY37PVe42NjHKrBQU8v9SnPI3N_VFqN/s320/xmas%20auto%20parts.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One of my favorites was this one from Kenya made from recycled soda cans:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOe7QvZk66_rmxXHvH10Hz2tLX5IWXIooJcSmo-jsJNxuUlA62O889l-cDwglRVJtYD-_w-VnMZHbjqc7hNBsq_hYTYZet_UPhpCKO0ptPUet9I_hVtJGI9AtqgQ7FjToDLbKbNX5To7t0satevz6WBN0yJJnqlKeQqD64Dsu1Kt8t5YNJJXic6rC/s1600/xmas%20soda%20cans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="1600" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOe7QvZk66_rmxXHvH10Hz2tLX5IWXIooJcSmo-jsJNxuUlA62O889l-cDwglRVJtYD-_w-VnMZHbjqc7hNBsq_hYTYZet_UPhpCKO0ptPUet9I_hVtJGI9AtqgQ7FjToDLbKbNX5To7t0satevz6WBN0yJJnqlKeQqD64Dsu1Kt8t5YNJJXic6rC/s320/xmas%20soda%20cans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Just to show you better, here's a close up of the Coca Cola shepherd:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7muKI_XQKby1g9H3iED2iWQQJSpAVU8Z1UG5X1CFa8eLztOz2N5nz9i52p4p8is0b0GwqBwFQmPhL8_wrsR-fe-JJGva0o2sL-qzCgkNgWqVAK74RstZF3SNHt4t_sp60HEpm9c4knW1sC4hUvdPhdsi1Rw5p0x-nJRBf5ndudXOz1yn0H3r6ZedY/s412/xmas%20soda%20cans%20shepherd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="187" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7muKI_XQKby1g9H3iED2iWQQJSpAVU8Z1UG5X1CFa8eLztOz2N5nz9i52p4p8is0b0GwqBwFQmPhL8_wrsR-fe-JJGva0o2sL-qzCgkNgWqVAK74RstZF3SNHt4t_sp60HEpm9c4knW1sC4hUvdPhdsi1Rw5p0x-nJRBf5ndudXOz1yn0H3r6ZedY/s320/xmas%20soda%20cans%20shepherd.jpg" width="145" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>There were so many more I could share with you, but I want to save enough for you to enjoy on your own next year. The amazing collector of all these has plenty more at home (over 400) and hopefully she'll bring them back to the Hudson Uptown Building here in North Carolina. In gazing at these magnificant representations of the birth of a holy figure, I came to the realization that God reaches people through all kinds of art. If presenting his Son to the world in a lowly manger one night in Bethlehem was His choice, and if artists throughout the world received a God-given gift of a creative mind, then we can praise Him and His Son through any path that speaks to us in special ways, such as these.<div><br /></div><div>And for those who prefer comic book/graphic art style to hear the nativity story, let me give a shout-out to the artist of my <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08PFRLDJ7/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i4" target="_blank">Marshmallow Stew</a></b>, Cheyenne Kimberlin. Her simple representation of the birth of Christ is as powerful as any of the above.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVn-k7ROSDErvHIZU6BhBzqPR5TcvkLBfgZL4xai9e41kTxvv6W7VPa6JUs2c-EgeizdzF_XiZ8P3nI3ScsRZSOepIitPRLmKZDMvp99QG3xMSiRtcQeGXKPtDGYPL6ghTs8947ZbIcwrLg-HYG1aWANwijV1zYZwH5YXTz5hGIM41r_9Dj7b_8gX/s448/xmas%20marshmallow%20stew.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVn-k7ROSDErvHIZU6BhBzqPR5TcvkLBfgZL4xai9e41kTxvv6W7VPa6JUs2c-EgeizdzF_XiZ8P3nI3ScsRZSOepIitPRLmKZDMvp99QG3xMSiRtcQeGXKPtDGYPL6ghTs8947ZbIcwrLg-HYG1aWANwijV1zYZwH5YXTz5hGIM41r_9Dj7b_8gX/s320/xmas%20marshmallow%20stew.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><br /><div><br /></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-43170622772204038382022-11-28T06:30:00.003-05:002022-11-28T16:07:30.355-05:00Happening This Week<p>I've been digging through winter clothes. Yes, it's that time, but not because of what you think. Winter comes later. First comes the Christmas Trail.</p><p>The church I attend presents an outdoor Christmas pageant at our church park, Lelia Tuttle Memorial Park. The location is perfect. In fact, we wrote the script to fit the trail we carved out through the woods. Well, more like we chose scripture from the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, to present the story of Christ's birth in an open air worship experience. Visitors meet at the shelter and divide into groups. Guides escort the groups past scenes telling...no, not telling, showing...the beautiful story of the birth of the Christ child. </p><p>It's happening. This weekend, Friday December 2 through Sunday, December 4.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmhriM2xVBM1SvGtczX6Z9SfFVBSS8mhM04JzBIRqXZb_ZhYzvBOnxRGf6QPUCtkh-1rm0SIF5pyCSOIUkzGS1hoemHunyqFrhNnIYgVanm2RQBZ4vztgzwjFeNeHW8oSEASFDodrHyIUqlv74tdbZ3xRRHJVNjwpkekVhr5QexnGL9_Mx3ScvsP_G" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="1170" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmhriM2xVBM1SvGtczX6Z9SfFVBSS8mhM04JzBIRqXZb_ZhYzvBOnxRGf6QPUCtkh-1rm0SIF5pyCSOIUkzGS1hoemHunyqFrhNnIYgVanm2RQBZ4vztgzwjFeNeHW8oSEASFDodrHyIUqlv74tdbZ3xRRHJVNjwpkekVhr5QexnGL9_Mx3ScvsP_G=w400-h210" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It hasn't happened for two years. Thanks/no thanks, Covid!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because we were unable to have the Christmas Trail, I came up with the bright idea to write a book about it, a comic book. One very talented young lady in our congregation, Cheyenne Kimberlin, illustrated it. Her very talented computer saavy father, Scott, helped me with the technicalities, and believe me, self publishing a comic book requires saavy I didn't have.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The premise of the book is based on a true happening, when two girls mistook the guide's comment of "marshmallows, too" to be "marshmallow stew." I took it from there and didn't let the truth get in the way of a good Christmas story.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_jiLZdnPMUwq_PF_hRiNFn0zoPVni9Oljn_Wc_D-hYD9zYmfG8pzfZ6iDuC0MrsJc3R17c-3-27iJFZLVEOx6XZDQo5aUUWExIEB3c8CaeGPeOdTUSFfx8zmPHBu5fIfVm5LMN9u3WgBah8QzCm-LjZWhQjd-ChMXInSvSF2feEJwCx80i6Fp9ryy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="496" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_jiLZdnPMUwq_PF_hRiNFn0zoPVni9Oljn_Wc_D-hYD9zYmfG8pzfZ6iDuC0MrsJc3R17c-3-27iJFZLVEOx6XZDQo5aUUWExIEB3c8CaeGPeOdTUSFfx8zmPHBu5fIfVm5LMN9u3WgBah8QzCm-LjZWhQjd-ChMXInSvSF2feEJwCx80i6Fp9ryy" width="159" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The story of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus follows the same story as what is presented in the trail and that follows what is presented in holy scripture. Cartoon replaced reality.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOlXDvPRBa3UhaO_jRxskFpSpNOk68dj_OQSZylDAbQES9w4i4tmYyusLq0ip7lgz3Ms-MCeWLTT2O-4WeybKlWYlXUIxpQJrczHRX9ZZiSbhpJLg-ymnrV2amW3k2wA8jKhbwieZghSLeKsh-XhkquKP9g2ZrjnJ0_7tJ27XWqX2rrCjs3siiUrEp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="391" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOlXDvPRBa3UhaO_jRxskFpSpNOk68dj_OQSZylDAbQES9w4i4tmYyusLq0ip7lgz3Ms-MCeWLTT2O-4WeybKlWYlXUIxpQJrczHRX9ZZiSbhpJLg-ymnrV2amW3k2wA8jKhbwieZghSLeKsh-XhkquKP9g2ZrjnJ0_7tJ27XWqX2rrCjs3siiUrEp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE5rU81WGMuhM_pJuTtUxTEXre2-GKhbYGj2TZL4Q4GOHuua3vD2l7NXEe1gnBZgOnhS8qdGJtux5UPK5zbgob6hJAEzVHCfJ9acu36_EtnWsl6Zh9RpzDy24Kd31rKifIKzWZyZXXI8Ay1QP7kZPS3ml5SSM6efiM9TBmr89Z2JzcxXcXuKea9Oud" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="884" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE5rU81WGMuhM_pJuTtUxTEXre2-GKhbYGj2TZL4Q4GOHuua3vD2l7NXEe1gnBZgOnhS8qdGJtux5UPK5zbgob6hJAEzVHCfJ9acu36_EtnWsl6Zh9RpzDy24Kd31rKifIKzWZyZXXI8Ay1QP7kZPS3ml5SSM6efiM9TBmr89Z2JzcxXcXuKea9Oud" width="221" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now that we are back to a new post-covid normal, we are once again doing live performances. Isaiah begins with prophecy. We meet Mary, Joseph, (six different of each, by the way) Elizabeth, a Roman soldier, shepherds, inn keeper and wife, angels and wise men.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Come if you can. December 2, 3 and 4, tours start at 6:30pm, leave every seven minutes until 8:30.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> And. There will be marshmallows, too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-47826752947155493812022-10-15T06:31:00.072-04:002022-10-15T06:31:00.203-04:00Job 19:23-24<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: center;"> <i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: center;">Oh that my words were now written! Oh that they were printed in a scroll, t</i><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">hat they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever!</i><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Job 19:23-24</b></p></blockquote><p>My morning devotions recently came from the book of Job in the Old Testament, and these particular versus really struck home with me as a memoir writer. Job wanted to write a book!</p><p>Well, he didn't get the chance, but fortunately someone else wrote it for him, and here we are thousands of years later reading and digesting and discussing his book.</p><p>If that doesn't give me permission to write other people's memoirs, nothing else will.</p><p>I didn't start out doing this memoir thing. I just wanted to write stories. My first book came to me by way of a friend at church who asked me to collect stories about the schoolhouse he purchased. A few books later, a fly fisherman literally rang my front doorbell with a box of research in his hands and asked me if I was interested in writing a book with him. From that, others came to me with their stories. What an unforgettable experience I've had sitting behind my computer these past ten years. I've been blessed to meet all kinds of individuals, and often those very people were not the ones I was writing about, but rather their friends and relatives sharing life stories. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodr_XfDV4U2SdUzYIBIyI3h_XNRjYsAc8x7pdfMZI2zCVgRyaTYgndNQYhSGJGVrZsl4xIWiTYCpuNyMhd2sM3quK7nm52Hf8HWDLaR-_TV02FPxRLvRz3vwfnhcJ39exB8gw3awJlIbCyow_ncVE-4BWst9kjgvvbajCZXjIzckipLF2e3l6PqTp/s2100/aa%20banner%20nc%20local%20histories%2010%20book%20covers.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2100" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodr_XfDV4U2SdUzYIBIyI3h_XNRjYsAc8x7pdfMZI2zCVgRyaTYgndNQYhSGJGVrZsl4xIWiTYCpuNyMhd2sM3quK7nm52Hf8HWDLaR-_TV02FPxRLvRz3vwfnhcJ39exB8gw3awJlIbCyow_ncVE-4BWst9kjgvvbajCZXjIzckipLF2e3l6PqTp/s320/aa%20banner%20nc%20local%20histories%2010%20book%20covers.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There they are, all ten of my memoir books. Behind this banner is a lot of sweat and even a few tears with people as they shared their stories with me. Turns out this work is nothing but preservation in its highest form. These people existed and mattered during their lifespans, no matter how humble or exalted the life they lived. They were privy to a history only they could tell, and tell they did. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I label a few of these local histories biographies rather than memoirs, the ones about Dr. Jane Carswell and Dr. Marjorie Strawn (who were friends, by the way) and her husband Bill. The memories in those books came from others, as all of them had passed away. Same probably for Claude Minton, as his book was written after his death. (What a fun time I had with that moonshine wagon wheel story!) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Am I finished? No. Emphatic No. I will work with someone after Christmas, already in the plans. So many stories. So little time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Catch of the day,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="background-color: white;"><br /></p>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4706330086813471942.post-12803686810555687002022-10-03T07:00:00.036-04:002022-10-03T07:00:00.209-04:00Interior Art<p>When I was formatting the interior of <i style="font-weight: bold;">The Physician and the Forester - Marjorie and Bill Strawn</i>, I knew I wanted somehow to add a distinctive touch to the text that Marjorie and Bill would have been thrilled about, but I just didn't know what. And then...it happened.</p><p>In the process of selecting "Linn Cove" for the cover art, I browsed through picture after picture done by Matthew W. Strawn, the artist (and son of the Strawns). The book itself is filled with family pictures to accompany the text, but wouldn't it be a joy to also include his artwork as well. With Matt's help, we selected nine pieces, one for the beginning of each chapter. Aha moment, I used the title of the picture as the title of the chapter. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlu0PrTQQk9OZBKPTHL8nGqLkpPJ1hg1FUNuh6cLUQjp1xer6Fawurdi1vJ5jUzGMJcJFolEwoDza493PTWCBRPX8WSWH3e8Ofc0ceKtfYILjnDqyiafeTbqL98JeK4_4R9AQUs5nldqXViDZ8xdmy_g4HYYRmFEwecUl_rZ2Grzt0I74tfg1Oes5r/s2019/chapter%20picture%20Beacon%20Heights%20I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="2019" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlu0PrTQQk9OZBKPTHL8nGqLkpPJ1hg1FUNuh6cLUQjp1xer6Fawurdi1vJ5jUzGMJcJFolEwoDza493PTWCBRPX8WSWH3e8Ofc0ceKtfYILjnDqyiafeTbqL98JeK4_4R9AQUs5nldqXViDZ8xdmy_g4HYYRmFEwecUl_rZ2Grzt0I74tfg1Oes5r/s320/chapter%20picture%20Beacon%20Heights%20I.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>"Beacon Heights I"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Chapter 3</i></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnJh-BSKlSKos-kwpT9VPrXxNaIQ8V1l3NoUAO1NeE-7Ii_5sid-htC4Mqv-O-cMs4te3CmPp4HupUAnYTmPJFwjGx07Y-GJSIocYzaT2xj7rNPzT40ugWsixruOqlPIljAAagNnq_9zzarGn4wlXRYvosFqCyEvYePqbXH9w1cweViuFelqEp7swq" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="699" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnJh-BSKlSKos-kwpT9VPrXxNaIQ8V1l3NoUAO1NeE-7Ii_5sid-htC4Mqv-O-cMs4te3CmPp4HupUAnYTmPJFwjGx07Y-GJSIocYzaT2xj7rNPzT40ugWsixruOqlPIljAAagNnq_9zzarGn4wlXRYvosFqCyEvYePqbXH9w1cweViuFelqEp7swq" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>"A View of Table Rock"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Chapter 4</i></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Since Bill Strawn spent so much time in the forest, I of course chose a few pictures showing the land he was assigned to protect. And not to neglect Marjorie, I included a couple particular to her, such as this flower that she proudly grew.<i> </i><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0ig989L2LGN4isH4JjYslLgLS3h3jEsjBRzaAr7tSctfXRSfF30gcNJ9Xm7Drb2gKYrs4uwdxFgKCLQNOheF8249ZWpDV3rhdB23F2s8UkJm9AWPBBPnaGpD435YO_JnwMSFdUa3_SacMaY0TJUXeL-NLdUU23HgVA-TzGhZ1FwmHouMVyagGag1/s2219/chapter%20picture%20Night%20Blooming%20cereus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2219" data-original-width="1405" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0ig989L2LGN4isH4JjYslLgLS3h3jEsjBRzaAr7tSctfXRSfF30gcNJ9Xm7Drb2gKYrs4uwdxFgKCLQNOheF8249ZWpDV3rhdB23F2s8UkJm9AWPBBPnaGpD435YO_JnwMSFdUa3_SacMaY0TJUXeL-NLdUU23HgVA-TzGhZ1FwmHouMVyagGag1/s320/chapter%20picture%20Night%20Blooming%20cereus.jpg" width="203" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Night Blooming Cereus"<br />Chapter 7</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p>Matt trained at the Ringling College of Art and Design in Florida and has graced the world with beauty ever since. He is the master of detail. His studio is upstairs in the HUB, the building where the book launch will be, so I visited and asked about the chapter pictures we chose. He gave me a lesson on his his technique. It's called etching and the process is fascinating. I asked him to put it in writing so I could share and here's what he wrote:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Etching is a print making process where a drawing can be reporduced by using a zinc or copper plate, coating it with an acid resist ground. By drawing into this specially formulated ground with a metal scribe, exposing the metal and then etching that drawing into the plate using a mild acid, that drawing can be printed on paper using a roller press. </p></blockquote><p>Okay, it's a little over my understanding, but suffice it to say, the end product is beautiful. He teaches classes, in case you are interested. And joy, he will have prints of his work to sell at the book launch! And originals of the paintings. I did remind him not to sell the cover painting, "Linn Cove" yet. That is destined to be on display October 7. </p><p>Catch of the day,</p><p><b><i>Gretchen</i></b></p><p></p></div></div>Gretchen Griffithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00218259974490265609noreply@blogger.com2