tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59532464274531270022024-03-13T14:33:51.679-04:00The Silent IsleAnna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-70570439595479652632020-06-21T17:16:00.002-04:002020-06-21T17:25:29.954-04:00Unremarkable<i>Letter to a Friend</i><br />
Written February 4, 2020<br />
<br />
Today I filed for divorce. I went to the courthouse, walked into the Prothonotary's Office, and handed an elderly gentleman with white hair and a yellow tie my forms. The office smelled of breath mints and dust. It was drizzling outside, as I had requested of God and Mother Nature who kindly obliged, and I walked through the drizzle back to the car.<br />
<br />
Strangely enough, everything was entirely unremarkable.<br />
<br />
My stomach had been churning and a knot of anxiety sat in my chest; as I left, the knot started to relax.<br />
<br />
My friend, who is amazing, had gone to the courthouse with me, and we chatted on the drive home about everyday things - work, family, etc. And then she went back to work, and I drove to my soon-to-be-ex's house to give him ("serve him") the papers. We stood in his living room and talked for a moment, and then he said, "I'm sorry. If I could do it all over again, I would run to you. I would choose you."<br />
<br />
I nodded and left, because we cannot do it all over again.<br />
<br />
Now my chest cradles a great, warm sadness that I know I'll need to carry for awhile.<br />
<br />
That was my unremarkable, life-altering day, and I wanted to tell you about it because a part of me wants to wail at the sky, and another part of me feels such relief I am breathless. What amazing creatures we are - to be able to hold such weighty things within us all at once.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Me<br />
<br />
________________________<br />
<br />
<i>I share this letter because for a long time I have been silent and journeying. I am still journeying, yet I believe the time to be silent is slowly coming to an end. So here is where I must begin.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-4032978209119289482020-02-16T17:00:00.002-05:002020-03-21T15:28:07.543-04:00Through the Waterfall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A memory came to mind today. It snuck up on me--one I haven't recalled in years, possibly decades. It came so suddenly that I lost my breath for a second.<br />
<br />
I was about 13 years old and on an overnight canoe trip with my junior high youth group. We were paddling and laughing and tipping over and splashing down the Pequea. Our remedial rowing skills aside, we finally arrived at the site where we would be camping out for the evening.<br />
<br />
There was a scenic clearing by an old stone mill. A waterfall, with a drop of about 5 or 6 feet, cascaded into a wide swimming area.<br />
<br />
It was late afternoon and still time for us to go for a swim. About 6 or 7 of us waded into the water, floating, chatting, bobbing, our fingers and toes turning to prunes, the afternoon sun warm on our cheeks and shoulders. Then some adventurous soul figured out there was a capacious stone shelf behind the waterfall, with room enough for us all. We moved en mass toward the waterfall to see this hidden paradise for ourselves.<br />
<br />
As I neared the waterfall, the current became more forceful and the water deepened. I could no longer power walk through the current and had to swim. I was a decent swimmer, but the push of the water was so strong at the base of the waterfall that I couldn't quite get through to the other side.<br />
<br />
Everyone else had already disappeared and were, I imagined, cozily resting on the other side. I fought the current, smashing my knee against a submerged rock. Water, pounding from above and rushing at me, relentless, deafening, suffocating.<br />
<br />
I thought, "I can't make it."<br />
<br />
Then a hand shot through the waterfall toward me. I grabbed hold.<br />
<br />
My friend Josh had seen me struggling and extended his hand. He pulled me just beyond the crashing water so I could reach the stone ledge. I dragged myself up next to the others sitting, teeth chattering, some still panting from their own struggle, all listening to the roar of water and our own heartbeats.<br />
<br />
I was tired. My bruised knee was already turning an angry purple. But, with Josh's help, I had made it. I don't remember anything else about that ledge behind the waterfall. I remember sleeping beneath the stars in my sleeping bag around the campfire. I remember waking up damp with dew.<br />
<br />
And I remember that hand reaching out from the water toward me. A friend who saw more than his own journey. A solid grip from someone able to help.<br />
<br />
I'm sure he doesn't remember this small act. But I do. Nearly 30 years later, and I still remember.<br />
<br />
Maya Angelou said, "Every storm runs out of rain." (I do love that line.) However, with waterfalls, they keep rushing at you. Just like life. And sometimes, to get through the deluge and to be able to get to where we're going, we need help.<br />
<br />
Be brave, and take an offered hand.<br />
<br />
Be brave, and extend your own.<br />
<br />
Let's be brave together, my friends.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-27042236773358529072020-01-07T16:12:00.002-05:002020-01-21T09:12:39.700-05:00On Anger & Empathy (Alternate Title: If you want to keep screaming, please move down the hall.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Continuing in the vein of <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2019/12/on-saying-yes-and-no-and-being-brave.html" target="_blank">being brave</a>, I want to share with you something I've been pondering for a little while. Anger. It's everywhere. Angry speeches from politicians. Angry articles from pastors. Angry rants from any person with a modicum of a platform.<br />
<br />
And I get it. Truly I do. I naturally skew angry. I'm a fighter, so my knee-jerk reaction to any perceived "threat" is to get angry and fight back. I get this from my dad - which is absolutely not a criticism. It's something for which I'm profoundly thankful. It has taken time to harness (and I'm still working on it), but the tenacity and fierce determination I inherited has served me well. Especially since I now am raising 3 daughters who seem to operate in the same fiery way that I do. (Pray for me.)<br />
<br />
Lately, though, I've been exploring anger, my own and everyone else's.<br />
<br />
As I was earning my psychology degree (when I was young and dumb and possessed little insight), I heard "anger is not a neutral emotion." Okay, cool. I can regurgitate that on an exam.<br />
<br />
I also was taught that "anger is a secondary emotion". Nice. I'll work that into my next essay.<br />
<br />
Thanks for my degree. Have a nice day.<br />
<br />
Now that, finally, a nice chunk of years have elapsed since earning said degree - after 3 children, the ending of a marriage, grad school, and several careers (2 of them in the psychology field) - <i>finally</i>, I'm internalizing some meaning behind what my professors were trying to convey.<br />
<br />
Anger is not a neutral emotion. It takes sides. When I get angry, my anger blazes out against someone or something. They are the object of my anger. They are on one side; I am on the other. When I was young and got angry, it could be explosive. Just ask my sisters. When I got mad at one of them, family ties were forgotten. We were NOT on the same side. Now, raising my children, my anger is a familiar force that I'm learning to rein in because. . . .<br />
<br />
Anger is a secondary emotion. (I know there are different schools of thought on this, but this is the conclusion I have come to.) Anger is driven by deeper emotions that come from the core of who we are. Anger doesn't exist by itself and it is not self-sustaining. It must be sparked, then fueled, by something else. That "something else" comes from a deeper part of us, the part that must be protected. (I'm still trying to determine if that need for protection is innate or if we are taught that we must protect it. I'm leaning toward a learned behavior.)<br />
<br />
The deeper part of us is where those profound and more complex emotions reside: fear, love, joy, sorrow. These emotions are "shared humanity" emotions that humans throughout history have experienced. That's why I can read poetry by Rumi (writing in the 1200s) or a novel by Hugo (1800s) and still identify with the emotions conveyed; they are at the core of us all.<br />
<br />
In an email to some family members, I recently wrote:<br />
<br />
<i>I know that when my anger flairs with regards to politics specifically, it's because I feel like I'm being told that the convictions I hold are ridiculous or stupid or unreasonable - ultimately that I am (or at least my beliefs are) inadequate. One of my greatest fears is then realized: that I am not enough.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My anger is often driven by fear. If that's the case for me, who else is this the case for? And if people are driven by fear, not anger, then maybe they're not the horrible, feral humans I'm assuming they are. Maybe they're just like me.<br />
<br />
[Cue the arrival of Empathy from stage right. Uproarious round of applause ensues.]<br />
<br />
The world feels like it's on fire. Everyone seems angry. And I'm thinking that the only way that anger is going to subside and those fires to be extinguished is for people to start looking at what's underneath. I'm also convinced that anger is not a sustainable state to exist in. It either consumes or is extinguished. (This is why fire is an appropriate metaphor for anger.)<br />
<br />
There's already enough being consumed - we've got embassies attacked and drones bombing and riots happening and people screaming (or scream-tweeting). And it's not working. No progress is being made. People are not made better; the world not made kinder. (Although if better and kinder is not your goal, then by all means, keep screaming. Just move down the hall a little bit or close the door because the rest of us want to actually get stuff done.)<br />
<br />
Does examining the underbelly of anger actually solve anything? I'm going to defer to the One Candle theory. I was at a Christmas Eve service not long ago where 1 candle lit another which lit another which lit another. (I feel like there are a lot of fire analogies in this post.) The candles didn't undo the darkness of the unlit sanctuary, but it certainly pushed it back into the corners.<br />
<br />
Working within our spheres of influence, imagine the anger that could be pushed back by a flood of empathy.<br />
<br />
I'm interested in better, calmer, kinder conversations. The kind of conversations that connect people at a core level. I'm still learning how to be brave. I'm still learning how to <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/12/open-letter-to-my-8-year-old-upon.html" target="_blank">whisper</a>. I'm learning how to have, as <span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87);"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brené</span><span style="font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></span>Brown puts it in her book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Braving-Wilderness-Quest-Belonging-Courage/dp/0812985818/ref=sr_1_2?crid=2AOH3ABGM0Q9I&keywords=braving+the+wilderness&qid=1578418608&s=books&sprefix=braving+the+wild%2Caps%2C212&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Braving the Wilderness</a>, a "strong back, soft front, and wild heart".<br />
<br />
And I'm hoping there are others of you out there who want the same. Let's be brave together, my friends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-45499243073192636202019-12-18T14:51:00.001-05:002019-12-19T10:40:25.815-05:00On Saying "Yes" and "No" and Being Brave<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
Greetings, dear friends,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It is the holiday season and there are so many messages being delivered about goals and resolutions for the new year. Just today I read two different articles--one on the freedom of saying "no" and one on the power of saying "yes". It leaves me pondering. And it's the time of year I like to ponder (even though my pondering-time is limited). Here is my ponder:<br />
<br />
There are moments when we need to step forward and say, "yes." I did that not long ago. My daughter is in 8th grade and plays basketball for our school, and they were looking for an assistant coach. I have always wanted to coach my daughter's basketball team, just as my dad did when I was in school. This is my last chance to coach her before she moves into the high school. Did I have time? No. But I could move things around and say "no" to other things so that I could say "yes" to this. So I did. I said yes. And it's crazy and exhausting and I have to remind myself that it's only for a season (literally), but it was a "yes" worth saying.<br />
<br />
And because of that "yes" I have said "no" to other things, other commitments, other requests. It was hard to say some of those "no"s.<br />
<br />
But here's what I'm pondering. Saying both "yes" and "no" takes courage. It's a clear, decisive commitment one way or the other to something. Will I coach my daughter's basketball team? Yes. Will I take on teaching the extra class at the college for extra travel money? No. Will I accept the dinner invitation? No. Will I drive across town to see a friend, even when I'm exhausted? Yes. <br />
<br />
Will I leave my current job to start a new one?<br />
Will I end a dysfunctional relationship?<br />
Will I send that query letter to that agent?<br />
Will I stop eating crap that makes me feel miserable?<br />
Will I invest in a new, unknown relationship?<br />
Will I stop and be silent instead of being constantly on the move?<br />
Will I put my phone down and be present?<br />
Will I exercise?<br />
Will I . . . ?<br />
<br />
Yet, regardless of the "yes" or "no", the real questions is: Will I be brave?<br />
<br />
Being brave looks different for every single person. No one can tell you what your brave is or what answer to give that requires courage. Maybe the brave thing is to say no, and not open yourself up again to the person who has repeatedly hurt you. Maybe the brave thing is to say yes, you will continue on in a difficult job because that is where you are called to be just now. Maybe the brave thing is getting up in the morning and saying yes, I will face this day. Maybe the brave thing is saying no, I am not okay and I need help.<br />
<br />
This past year has been a year when I have pondered being brave. Because when we are brave, we are not allowing ourselves to make decisions out of fear. Fear can be healthy, but I have observed that most decisions made out of fear are the wrong decisions--whether staying in a toxic relationship or running away from a bear (although 1 is decidedly more life-threatening).<br />
<br />
The brave decision is often the right decision. Let's be brave, my friends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-26869544718340182502017-12-02T15:31:00.002-05:002017-12-02T15:34:57.737-05:00Traveling: a poem<div class="MsoNormal">
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Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
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<br />
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Droves of geese, headed south, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The noise<i>—</i>such<i> hernk-</i>ing!—<o:p></o:p></div>
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builds ‘til I no longer hear <o:p></o:p></div>
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the traffic nor whir of machines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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The sound pulls me to the garden<o:p></o:p></div>
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where I look up, dizzied, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the sky full of undulating “V”s.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(My, there are so many.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Songbirds in tree boughs<o:p></o:p></div>
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notice the noisy travelers<o:p></o:p></div>
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overhead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The robin and chickadee are not geese,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The air fills with bird noise—<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SquawkCheepWarbleChirpScree</i>—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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when we encounter those traveling.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We cannot shorten the road, but<o:p></o:p></div>
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Such a journey to undertake.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Persist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Be brave.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Do all the birds along the path call out?<o:p></o:p></div>
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So it seems, <o:p></o:p></div>
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we carry <o:p></o:p></div>
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each other <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-153181302561847492017-01-21T19:21:00.001-05:002017-01-21T21:23:46.344-05:00On Missing the March<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today was a big day for women across America. For men, too, but today was about women. I watched as loads of my friends trucked to Washington, D.C. - some in pink hats, others with homemade signs, still others with the names of women sharpied on their palm who were not able to make the journey. I constantly refreshed my Facebook feed to see rivers of women jamming the subway to join the sea of women already marching. And that's all I got to do. Watch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I watched with a little bit of envy and a whole heap of sadness because I also wasn't marching.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eventually, I was so overcome with what I can only describe as grief that, instead of working on my novel (which is my standard Saturday morning appointment), I turned on a <i>Will and Grace</i> marathon and tried to laugh myself into forgetting. But here I am at 7 PM, still unable to rid myself of the knot in my stomach, and feeling I must put this grief into words. Words that won't, most likely, be received with much enthusiasm. And will, even more likely, be just another voice in the cacophony of voices already sounding. But here I am. And here it goes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today I was watching, not because I was unable to attend. I didn't have a previous engagement (apart from my novel - who would have been enormously understanding if I cancelled). I could have easily made the 2 hour drive to get to our great nation's capital.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I watched today because I was not welcome.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When first I heard about the Women's March, I was pumped. I wanted to see what it was all about. I went onto the <a href="http://www.womensmarch.com/" target="_blank">website</a> and read through their Unity Principles. Human Rights. Check. Ending Violence. Check. Reproductive Rights. <span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Che—wait. What? I read further. "We believe in Reproductive Freedom . . . This means open access to safe, legal, affordable abortion. . ." Evidently if you have any qualms about abortion, you aren't invited to the party. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Because of my faith and my belief that every single human life matters - even the unborn - I don't get to participate in a movement that I care deeply about. Abortion, I believe, is a human rights violation that stems from women's rights violations.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Okay, maybe I could overlook this. Maybe I could still participate. Then I read this:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">So if anyone who does not support abortion wants to be involved, it causes harm and prompts horror? It seems this march isn't for all women. Inclusivity is actually exclusive. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As reported by </span><a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/01/pro-lifers-womens-march/513104/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';" target="_blank">Emma Green in The Atlantic,</a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> the Women's March organization stated, "The Women's March platform is pro-choice and that has been our stance from day one." So today's</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> march is evidently only for women that agree on certain points. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Quite honestly, I'm not interested in arguing the points of pro-choice vs. pro-life. Mostly I'm not interested in arguing because arguing has never changed a mind or built a bridge. (Though it's destroyed a bunch.) I'm interested in the fact that a march promoting tolerance and unity and peace and equality has categorically alienated millions of women in this country. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">What a collosal missed opportunity.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">A few years ago I spent time with a friend who had chosen to have an abortion. She told me, "I felt trapped. Like I had no other choice." I believe that's how most women feel when they choose abortion, trapped. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">But what if their job allowed for paid maternity leave.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">What if there was a safe place for a woman in an unsafe situation to go so that she could actually raise her child.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What if a woman was paid the same wages as her male-counterparts so that she could provide for a growing family.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">What if a woman had access to decent, affordable healthcare. (I realize this opens the contraception can of worms. I also am not interested in going there and arguing either. Because it's beside the point.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The point is: if we could address the other <a href="https://www.womensmarch.com/principles/" target="_blank">Unity Principals stated on the Women's March page</a>, abortion could potentially become a non-issue. These other women's rights violations (in the workplace, in government, in immigration, in the breakdown of civil rights) create a human rights violation (abortion). Call me optimistic (I've never pretended to be otherwise), but I'm convinced that together we can affect change that surpasses what those who marched today and those who watched could even imagine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Would it be easy? Absolutely not. The road to anything worth having is never easy, simple, clear-cut, or even distinguishable at first. But it's a road from which we need to cut back the overgrowth blocking the entrance and start to travel. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Because we are women. We know how to play together without bullying someone out of the sandbox. We are all of us strong. powerful. passionate. worthy. And we are capable of greatness together.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Just imagine for a minute the force we women would be if we joined together. Imagine the inundation of women our capital and our new President would have seen if this hadn't been an exclusive march. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">So now, instead of grief, I'm actually feeling angry. Because our fight for women's rights could have been so much bigger. Millions of women sitting at home and watching could have been marching alongside our sisters. Because, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, social class, or political persuasion, we all want the same thing. We are all looking for better. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Right now I'm sitting at my kitchen counter writing this. Next to me are my 2 youngest daughters playing with paper dolls. And the only thought in my head is that I want more for them. I want better for them than a country full of women that tells them they have to fit a mold for their convictions to matter. That they have to agree to the enclosed checklist to be allowed to participate. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">All of us want to raise our daughters in a country that values them as much as their brothers, offers them the same opportunity, grants them the same freedoms and privileges, and recognizes their contributions, thoughts, words, dreams, and, yes, even their bodies as valid, worthy, and beautiful.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We want to live in a country where inclusivity is, in fact, just that. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">You may not agree with me. That is completely okay. That's the beauty of it all. We can still be friends even if we disagree. And I have many friends marching today who don't agree with me. And I love them fiercely, just as they love me (or so they tell me). And I am hopeful that one day I too will get to march alongside them.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><i>(I should add that if your disagreement turns to mean or disrespectful comments on my blog page, they're going to disappear. Because I believe I made it clear that I have no interest in arguing. And we are bigger than insults. Thank you, friends.)</i></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-57420062915680830332016-11-11T11:38:00.001-05:002016-11-14T12:44:04.780-05:00An Open Letter to Our President-ElectDear President-Elect Trump,<br />
<br />
It is finally over, and it has just begun. After months and months of an ugly, beleaguering election race, you have achieved your goal. You are our 45th President. Half of our country's citizens are happy, relieved, euphoric and share in your victory. The other half are shocked, angry, and grieving at the news of your ascent to the White House. So much so that they are rioting, signing petitions, and marching the streets in protest of your election. All of these things I'm sure you know.<br />
<br />
Here's what I know: 100% of America - and much of the world - is watching you. Some are scrutinizing you in hopes of catching any slip or flub or flaw. Others are smiling, applauding, and eager for the fulfillment of all the promises you made. But most of us are silent and watching. We are watching to see what kind of leader emerges once the media shuts up, the riots quell, the confetti is cleared away, the Facebook rants die down, and the champagne goes flat. What kind of leader will you be?<br />
<br />
As any leader knows, to lead one must know those whom you are leading. Here are some things you should know about us.<br />
<br />
Your presidency is inheriting an angry people. The fact that you won the election so soundly is a reflection of a silent, angry multitude in this nation that is done with career politicians, manipulative soundbites, quid pro quo, and the blind eye and deaf ear of Washington. Those who did not vote for you are also angry - angry that they lost, angry that you won, angry at a president-elect they believe to be a threat to their values and their security. However, the root of all of this anger is fear.<br />
<br />
Your presidency is inheriting a fearful people. People fear the unknown; more so, they fear what they don't understand. Our country has watched kindergartners being shot in their classrooms, people in a night club and members of a church being murdered. We've listened to terrorist organizations threatening us, wishing to wipe America from the face of the earth. (Many of us, yourself included, witnessed that threat enacted on our own soil on September 11th.) We've watched family members die of cancer and veterans take their own lives. We've dealt with depression and anxiety and mental illness. We've said goodbye to neighbors who have lost their livelihoods and their homes to bankruptcy. We've watched the body of a child - only a baby - laying dead on a beach because it was better for his family to flee to a new land than to stay in their own. Every person in this country has been touched by some kind of tragedy, pricked by the ache of helplessness, paralyzed by ineffable fear. People are asking what do we do? How can we mend a world coming undone?<br />
<br />
So far, Washington has been relatively ineffectual, and at times silent, in answering these questions. And it's no surprise; our government is so divided amongst itself with its god-forsaken party lines that the people seem to exist to serve the politician, rather than the the other way around. Do not manipulate our fear and anger for your own ends, Mr. President-Elect. (If you recall, a young man in Germany did just that many decades ago, and it ended in the deaths of millions.) Instead, we ask you to listen. Listen to us. Then when you're tempted to speak or to defend yourself or to argue your point, stop. And listen some more. Listen to those that oppose you. Listen to those that support you. Listen to those that are different than you. Listen to those that do not, as of yet, have a voice. Listen to your country. Listen to understand, not to speak. Understand our anger, our fear.<br />
<br />
And there's something else you need to understand.<br />
<br />
President-Elect Trump, if all you were inheriting is an angry and a fearful people, then I wouldn't even bother writing this letter to you. But you're not. This is what else you need to understand:<br />
<br />
Your presidency is inheriting a strong and courageous people. The formation of the United States was a miracle forged by the grace of God and the bravery of men and women - a small army in the freezing mud - who refused to bow to tyranny. And our relatively short history proves that we don't cower when challenges arise or when bullies come swinging. We are willing to fight for things that matter to us; this country matters to us.<br />
<br />
While there are some who will burn the American flag, there are more who will fight to keep that flag flying (which means we also fight to provide the freedom for those protesters to burn that flag). Our flag is a representative of us, just as you are a representative of us. Lead us. Not as a father-figure leading children who require hand-holding, catering, superficial explanations, and the old "because I said so" justification. Lead us as our Commander-In-Chief: a confident, clear-headed, disciplined leader at the head of a strong and courageous people.<br />
<br />
Your presidency is inheriting a compassionate people. Despite the fear-mongering media depicting the hatred and violence happening around the country, I know that this hatred is not the rule, but the exception. I have experienced the kind and compassionate interactions of republicans and democrats, of liberals and conservatives, of Christians and Muslims, of heterosexuals and homosexuals, of blacks and whites. These interactions give me effusive hope. We are a nation who is well aware of our differences, and we are continuing to learn what it means to accept differences without judgment or fear. To show kindness regardless of race, creed, orientation, or gender. And this is accomplished when we look each other in the face and see ourselves reflected back to us. Everyone is us. Lead us, Mr. President-Elect, with the understanding that every person matters. Every single one.<br />
<br />
With all that said, there's only one other thing you need to understand.<br />
<br />
You don't make us; we make us. Just as we make you.<br />
<br />
While you may have invested millions of dollars into your campaign, you are our President-Elect because the votes of the people put you there. You are our president. (This is not the great American tragedy as some have recently stated. It is the democratic process in action, which is what makes our country what it is.) And as our president, we ask you to lead us with dignity, with discernment, and with discipline. And while you're listening and leading, meeting and negotiating in Washington, we are going to live our lives. Yes, we are watching, but we are also getting back to work. Because at the end of the day, we make our country what it is.<br />
<br />
While you create policy and you appoint justices and you do all-things-presidential, we teach our children to be kind. We educate our students to think bigger and dig deeper. We involve ourselves in respectful civic discourse. We study history so as not to repeat it. We invite our neighbors who are different from us over for dinner. We see someone in need and we help. We look those we pass on the street in the eye and smile. We hold the door for others. We speak up when we see injustice. We say "I'm sorry" when we hurt someone. We laugh at ourselves when we make a mistake. We answer softly when harsh words are spoken. No policy or president can make our country a better, brighter, kinder place. That's up to us, and that's a responsibility we will earnestly undertake.<br />
<br />
It has just begun. We are for you, Mr. President-Elect, because your success is our success. And we look forward to working with you in the days ahead.<br />
<br />
With hope and expectation,<br />
<br />
Anna<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-84160511407670460122015-04-28T11:35:00.003-04:002015-04-28T14:18:07.598-04:00Deaf Beauty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaE6pR8fZg4hW_sbM4kbJDxjeOxnBzM7p9vD8uxRUgpxUDgeglNfYcgcptEjve0pBYWEejsFnh9TG1ApFaManemNvotEsVlg3z7MmUshuYQhA3CuadQs1OyfTy2ggj1d7dgFAExaS_yY/s1600/ludwig-van-beethoven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaE6pR8fZg4hW_sbM4kbJDxjeOxnBzM7p9vD8uxRUgpxUDgeglNfYcgcptEjve0pBYWEejsFnh9TG1ApFaManemNvotEsVlg3z7MmUshuYQhA3CuadQs1OyfTy2ggj1d7dgFAExaS_yY/s1600/ludwig-van-beethoven.jpg" height="320" width="255" /></a></div>
About 2 years ago I was a guest writer on a blog asking me to talk about one of my happiest moments. The moment of "happy" I conveyed was of my experience singing with a chorale Beethoven's Ninth in college at a theater in Chattanooga, TN. (Unfortunately, I believe the link to my post no longer exists, thus I am unable to connect you to that post. Sorry!) That college experience prompted my curiosity in the person of Beethoven, a "mad genius" in some people's minds who created some incredible music. What I find even more incredible is that he wrote his Ninth symphony when he was, it is believed, completely deaf. (<a href="http://www.lvbeethoven.com/Bio/BiographyDeafness.html" target="_blank">He went deaf in 1816. He wrote the Ninth Symphony in 1824.</a>) How did he manage it? He sawed off the legs of his piano, placing it on the floor, and with his ear pressed to the floorboards, he "heard" the vibrations of the music he was working to compose. It is also understood that Beethoven experienced a difficult childhood as a result of his father (a court musician with an alcohol addiction) driving young Ludwig to be perfect in his practice and performances.<br />
<br />
It makes me sad to think of Beethoven as a child being treated so badly, driven so relentlessly.<br />
<br />
However, as so often happens, great art springs from great difficulty. Would we have Beethoven's Ninth if Beethoven's childhood had been happy? Would he have persisted and fought to overcome his deafness had he not fought early in life to overcome the cruelty of his father? Perhaps Beethoven was eccentric and flirted often with the line between madness and genius. But I'm not sure that any of that matters now. What matters is what was created out of all of that. What we are left with is, in my humble opinion, some of the most beautiful and impassioned music the world has ever encountered.<br />
<br />
Beethoven himself hopefully serves as a reminder that no experience--however painful--needs to be wasted. No scars we receive condemn us to future scarring. We are who we are as a result of all we experience, and it's precisely that which informs what we create.<br />
<br />
So, as National Poetry Month winds down, I want to share a poem about Beethoven - his childhood, his music, his genius, his persistence. It's a Spoken Word poem by Shane Koyczan, so it's supposed to be heard rather than read. However, it's always helpful for me to see the words in addition to hearing them. So the poem and a video of Shane performing his piece is below.<br />
<br />
I hope you enjoy:<br />
<br />
Beethoven<br />
By: Shane Koyczan<br />
<br />
Listen<br />
his father<br />
made a habit<br />
out of hitting him<br />
see<br />
some men drink<br />
some men yell<br />
some men hit their children<br />
this man<br />
did it all<br />
because I guess all men<br />
want their boys<br />
to be geniuses<br />
Beethoven<br />
little boy<br />
living in a house<br />
where a name meant nothing<br />
living in a house<br />
<div>
where mercy had to be earned</div>
<div>
through each perfect note</div>
<div>
tumbling up through the roof</div>
<div>
to tickle the toes of angels</div>
<div>
whose harps</div>
<div>
couldn't hold half the passion</div>
<div>
that was held in the hands</div>
<div>
of a young boy</div>
<div>
who was hard of hearing</div>
<div>
Beethoven</div>
<div>
who heard</div>
<div>
his father's anthem</div>
<div>
every time he put finger</div>
<div>
to ivory</div>
<div>
it was not good enough</div>
<div>
so he played slowly</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so he played softly</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so he played strongly</div>
<div>
and when he could play no more</div>
<div>
when his fingers cramped up</div>
<div>
into the gnarled roots of tree trunks</div>
<div>
it was </div>
<div>
not good enough<br />
Beethoven</div>
<div>
a musician</div>
<div>
without his most precious tool</div>
<div>
his eardrums</div>
<div>
could no longer pound out rhythms</div>
<div>
for the symphonies playing in his mind<br />
he couldn't hear the audiences clapping</div>
<div>
couldn't hear the people loving him</div>
<div>
couldn't hear the women in the front row whispering</div>
<div>
Beethoven</div>
<div>
as they let the music</div>
<div>
invade their nervous system</div>
<div>
like an armada marching through</div>
<div>
firing cannonballs</div>
<div>
detonating every molecule in their bodies</div>
<div>
into explosions of heavenly sensation</div>
<div>
each note</div>
<div>
leaving track marks</div>
<div>
over every inch of their bodies</div>
<div>
making them ache</div>
<div>
for one more hit</div>
<div>
he was an addiction</div>
<div>
and kings/queens</div>
<div>
it didn't matter</div>
<div>
the man got down on his knees</div>
<div>
for no one</div>
<div>
but amputated the legs of his piano</div>
<div>
so he could feel the vibrations</div>
<div>
through the floor</div>
<div>
the man got down on his knees</div>
<div>
for music</div>
<div>
and when the orchestra played his symphonies</div>
<div>
it was the echoes of his father's anthems</div>
<div>
repeating itself</div>
<div>
like a brok-broken recor-brok-broken record</div>
<div>
it was</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so they played slowly</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so they played softly</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so they played strongly</div>
<div>
not good enough</div>
<div>
so they tried to mock the man</div>
<div>
make fun of the madness</div>
<div>
by mimicking the movements</div>
<div>
holding their bows</div>
<div>
a quarter of an inch above the strings</div>
<div>
not making a sound</div>
<div>
it was</div>
<div>
perfect</div>
<div>
see</div>
<div>
the deaf have an intimacy with silence</div>
<div>
it's there in their drams</div>
<div>
and the musicians turned to one another</div>
<div>
not knowing what to make of the man</div>
<div>
trying to calculate</div>
<div>
the distance between madness and genius</div>
<div>
realizing that Beethoven's musical measurements</div>
<div>
could take you to distances</div>
<div>
reaching past the towers of Babylon</div>
<div>
turning solar systems into symbols</div>
<div>
that crashed together</div>
<div>
causing comets to collide</div>
<div>
creating crescendos that were so loud</div>
<div>
they shook the constellations</div>
<div>
until the stars began to fall from the sky</div>
<div>
and it looked like the</div>
<div>
entire universe</div>
<div>
had begun to cry</div>
<div>
distance must be an illusion</div>
<div>
the man must be</div>
<div>
a genius</div>
<div>
Beethoven</div>
<div>
his thoughts moving at</div>
<div>
the speed of sound</div>
<div>
transforming emotion into music</div>
<div>
and for a moment</div>
<div>
it was like joy</div>
<div>
was a tangible thing</div>
<div>
like you could touch it</div>
<div>
like for the first time</div>
<div>
we could watch love and </div>
<div>
hate dance together</div>
<div>
in a waltz of such precision and beauty</div>
<div>
that we finally understood</div>
<div>
the history wasn't important</div>
<div>
to know the man</div>
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all we ever had to do was</div>
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listen.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-57160448676183235582015-04-13T12:56:00.002-04:002015-04-13T12:57:39.560-04:00No Crystal Stair<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJu-sEI3kHsHncpE6vRMgcdlRmaKPwoHdCL20s3ZXHkABel7TaOPhVdi21Staag_uFp1X1aYvz3EOHIGnOOIi6FLTTINV-mIWo3RJVkKzK4Qt7_89Ee7rkljARIJk4pN1knFu6Xyd750/s1600/stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJu-sEI3kHsHncpE6vRMgcdlRmaKPwoHdCL20s3ZXHkABel7TaOPhVdi21Staag_uFp1X1aYvz3EOHIGnOOIi6FLTTINV-mIWo3RJVkKzK4Qt7_89Ee7rkljARIJk4pN1knFu6Xyd750/s1600/stairs.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://oedaday.com/2012/04/09/luck/" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
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Yes, yes. I know it's been awhile. My only excuse, er . . . explanation is: Life.<br />
<br />
So I'm here because it's been too long. I'm here because I've missed the sounds and exhalations of the isle. And I'm here because it's April: Poetry Month.<br />
<br />
In the vein of my excuse, er . . . explanation, I thought I'd share a poem by Langston Hughes that acknowledges that Life, in all its demands and detours and detritus, is worth pursuing and pounding onward. And his comparison of life to a stairway is, I believe, perfectly precise. Or precisely perfect. (Ah, it's good to be home on the isle.) I hope you enjoy:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mother to Son</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">By: Langston Hughes</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Well, son, I’ll tell you:</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
It’s had tacks in it,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And splinters,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And boards torn up,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And places with no carpet on the floor—</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Bare.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
But all the time</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
I’se been a-climbin’ on,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And reachin’ landin’s,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And turnin’ corners,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And sometimes goin’ in the dark</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Where there ain’t been no light.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
So boy, don’t you turn back.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Don’t you set down on the steps</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Don’t you fall now—</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
For I’se still goin’, honey,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
I’se still climbin’,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.</div>
<div style="color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;">Or if you prefer to listen to the poem, here ya go:</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-53510704447397411782015-02-19T12:35:00.000-05:002015-02-20T09:53:09.307-05:00Peace and the Supposed Deathbed<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8Rj3mwwZA-f6szF9Awa4KLdfMz6v7EGzeiF2TwtHZAFbCNkNsiCooNjso6fcRebFIhm4Cl1DJuOFPxU1NYhOu9G1DAisUN_lihjf3ZMi3U7c_IGdeQh0f9nwxdL6cho84ryDfnfwfoM/s1600/DiCianni.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8Rj3mwwZA-f6szF9Awa4KLdfMz6v7EGzeiF2TwtHZAFbCNkNsiCooNjso6fcRebFIhm4Cl1DJuOFPxU1NYhOu9G1DAisUN_lihjf3ZMi3U7c_IGdeQh0f9nwxdL6cho84ryDfnfwfoM/s1600/DiCianni.jpg" height="320" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Heaven Holding Earth" by R. DiCianni</td></tr>
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Fear is a powerful force in a person's life. And, more and more, the world provides plenty to be afraid of. Or perhaps, more and more, I'm becoming aware of things I was previously ignorant of. <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/parallels/2015/02/17/386986424/isis-beheadings-in-libya-devastate-an-egyptian-village" target="_blank">Egyptian Christians are being beheaded for their beliefs. </a><a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2015/01/07/375561888/10-dead-after-shootout-at-satirical-magazines-office-in-paris" target="_blank">Terrorists are attacking in broad daylight in the middle of a city.</a> <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2015/02/10/385310377/nbc-suspends-brian-williams-for-6-months-without-pay" target="_blank">A trusted figure in journalism is found untrustworthy.</a> <a href="http://www.tvguide.com/news/family-guy-car-bombing-quagmires-mom/" target="_blank">A cartoon makes statutory rape, pedophilia, and terrorist car bombings into a joke.</a> These are mere drops in the proverbial global bucket brimming with insanity. And I don't think that what we hear in the news and see happening in the world is the worst of what humanity is capable of. How's that for cheerful optimism on this frigid Thursday? (Just wait. I promise this ends well.)<br />
<br />
Growing up, I did a lot of singing with my grandfather who was widely known in the area as a wedding singer and gospel musician. He, my sister, and I would perform together at various events, singing a variety of songs. However, my grandfather's favorites were the ones that talked about heaven. I never understood his heaven hang-up. Why can't he just enjoy life right where he is? I would wonder.<br />
<br />
I have a vivid memory of standing around my grandfather's bed in hospice singing hymns and songs of heaven: the place that stood one final exhaled breath away from him. And in that moment, there was such peace. Not just in him, but in all of us. In retrospect, it reminds me, strangely enough, of a letter written by a Civil War Colonel who believed he was on his own deathbed. Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain wrote to his wife, "I am lying mortally wounded the Doctors think but my mind and heart are at peace. Jesus Christ is my all-sufficient savior. I go to him . . . Oh how happy to feel yourself forgiven."<br />
<br />
I'm sure Chamberlain (who actually survived his injuries) felt the world was imploding and Armageddon was just around the corner. (He was the hero of Gettysburg--imagine the horrors he witnessed in that battle alone.) Yet he had peace. My grandfather, when singing his beloved heaven-songs, had peace. These men had peace because they had a Savior. And they knew that this life won't last, however awful and fear-inspiring it may be for the short time we live it.<br />
<br />
Peace is possible. I've seen it. I've felt it. I just can't expect to find it by watching the news, huddling around my children (thinking that will actually keep them safe), and jumping at every noise I hear. Call it a crutch, blind ignorance, wishful thinking, or hope; call it whatever you want, but I am convinced that this world is not all there is. That we all are perpetually on our deathbed until we have passed from this world into <i>real </i>life beyond. That no suffering is ever wasted. And that there is, as Shakespeare said, "a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we will." It is that Divinity alone--that knowable, loving, ever-present Savior--who makes peace possible.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-35753933611161955502015-01-21T10:26:00.000-05:002015-01-22T15:03:23.659-05:00Keeping Up AppearancesIt is that time of year again when, in my British Lit. class, we have arrived at Rabbie Burns. I <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/04/a-louse-y-week.html" target="_blank">posted last April Burns' poem "To A Louse"</a> after a horrendous lice-filled week. However, I wanted to bring this poem up again because, even after 200+ years, it seems that Burns has captured human nature to a "T". We are so stinkin' concerned with appearances. Looking right. Acting right. Dressing right. As though the approval of strangers carries more weight than the cultivation of our inner person.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
And perhaps this is more specific to women than men, but I do think there is expectation of performance put upon us that squelches all that we might be if we quit being afraid of what others think. So, maybe, when feeling a mite uncertain and fearful of the censure of others, perhaps remember this wee louse, stick out your chin (defiantly, if you can), and carry on being you. </div>
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To refresh your memory, here's a video of Dawn Steele (fabulous Scottish actress) reciting "To A Louse":</div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/wO_tdp8pYxg/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/wO_tdp8pYxg&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/wO_tdp8pYxg&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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And here is an episode of "Keeping Up Appearances" because I LOVE old British comedies, and this show feels in keeping with today's post. Enjoy, and may you have a hopeful (and non-louse-y) Wednesday!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna</i></span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-89303873014474629152015-01-15T10:19:00.002-05:002015-01-16T08:47:46.285-05:00Messy Boxes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1kJaqxNICX5sENF8d-AGh9JNcNQgcN0wR5YCg-ynShLvheMUw92REKRgJXbjdxNRlYjLUkInT-liuqARxIbYFNJnFbXNbLPW5mXy-cqGXkzTYnrYB4Ayb8AXWM5ZeQ83nQGYgl3G3MU/s1600/boxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1kJaqxNICX5sENF8d-AGh9JNcNQgcN0wR5YCg-ynShLvheMUw92REKRgJXbjdxNRlYjLUkInT-liuqARxIbYFNJnFbXNbLPW5mXy-cqGXkzTYnrYB4Ayb8AXWM5ZeQ83nQGYgl3G3MU/s1600/boxes.jpg" height="280" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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It's the beginning of a new year. It's my first post of the new year. Yet the new year is new only in reference to dates. Life hasn't changed; the simple reason being that I've carried it with me into 2015. And I'm finding that my life has grown a bit messy with regards to the roles that I've been called to play, particularly the roles of my writing and my mothering.<br />
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I've always been militantly intentional about keeping my writing separate from everything else. When around my kids, my mothering hat takes precedence--and I don't mind. It seems built into my hat-wearing system. I can be anywhere, doing anything, and if I hear my kids, they will direct my attention away from what I'm doing. I'm not complaining about this, nor do I begrudge them my attention. I love them. I love being their mom. I love mothering. However, when it comes to writing, I can't have my mind splitting off and opening the Mothering box when I need to be attending to the Writing box.<br />
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Thus Writing and Mothering were kept in their respective boxes--the Writing box being opened only when the Mothering box was closed and I had a quiet house or friendly coffee shop at my disposal.<br />
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My boxes, however, have gotten messy. They're intermingling. And, at least initially, it surprised me and even made me a little nervous. It started, actually, when I used my daughter's name as one of my characters in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pioneer-Christmas-Collection-Kathleen-Fuller/dp/1624161901" target="_blank">my novella that was published last year</a>. She was 7 at the time, and suddenly aware that when I said "I'm writing", I am actually producing something. It isn't a nebulous distraction that results in my disappearance for unspecified periods of time. She now understands that I am writing stories. Stories that other people read. And that seems to have piqued her interest. Because now she's often asking me about my writing. About the stories I'm writing. About the people in the stories I'm writing.<br />
<br />
"What do you write about?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"About things that I see or people I meet or places I visit."<br />
<br />
"Did you write about my messy room?"<br />
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"No."<br />
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"Did you write about all the firewood I carried from the shed up to the back porch?"<br />
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"No."<br />
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"Did you write about the toaster strudel I dropped on the kitchen floor this morning?"<br />
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"No."<br />
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"So, what do you write about again?"<br />
<br />
"Um...."<br />
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Obviously, her ego-centricity (which is specific to a child her age) is still figuring itself out. But, just as she is aware of my Writing box, I am aware of her interest in my Writing box. And I like it. I like that I am able to show her that words matter. That words have power. That words transcend the boundaries of time and place and race and gender and religion.<br />
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Right now she may not understand all that, but by letting my Mothering and my Writing boxes intermingle, I find that both benefit from the exchange.<br />
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To be sure, there will be times when I will closet myself away in my Writing box of the imaginary and the literary. When the Mothering box will close and I will step away from it for a while (even happily, perhaps). But I'm finding that the hard lines I once drew between the two don't have to be so hard any more. I haven't struck the perfect balance by any means--and I'm sure I'll never perfectly master that--yet there's an unexpected freedom in the mess that I'm coming to accept and even enjoy.
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I hope your New Year has begun as hopeful-y and as intermingle-y as mine!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna</i></span><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-72008429968563259522014-12-30T15:46:00.000-05:002014-12-30T15:46:55.152-05:00#1 Post of 2014 is . . . I was a little shocked that, looking back at 2014, the #1 post on The Silent Isle ended up being about my grandmother, my crafty children, a childhood icon, and the snow. But as eclectic as the post is, I am more shocked by the fact that this one came in 1st by over 1000 views. I guess some people out there either really like Rainbow Looms or loved (and mourned) Shirley Temple. Either way, I'm delighted this one made it to the top of the list.<br />
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________________________</div>
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I have stacks of work and writing to do. I have loads of cleaning to do. I have places to be and coffee creamer to buy. So I've made a command decision to echo the words of brilliant heroine Scarlet O'Hara, "I'll think about that tomorrow". Instead, I'm writing a blog post. Because that's far more fun. And, since I'm here, I thought I'd share with you an Item of Interest (I.O.I.) or two from my neck of the woods:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I.O.I. #1:</b></span> <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2013/10/if-silence-could-speak-then-i-wouldnt.html" target="_blank">My ECE (Critical Thesis for grad school)</a> is done, submitted, and accepted. Boom! It was a nail-biter there for awhile, but we got there in the end. So now I'm in the process (and by "in the process" I mean it's been sitting in a pot on a back burner getting black and gloppy) of changing the MLA formatting over into Chicago-style formatting so I can start submitting it to different journals and magazines in the hopes of it finding a home for publication. Because if I spent that much brain-power, tears, hours, and tubs of Nutella writing the darn thing, I'm at least gonna push it out into the world and see what it's made of. The Wright brothers didn't build a flying machine just for it to sit in a field and look interesting. Let's let this baby do what it's been built for! (I'll let you know what happens.)<br />
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[ASIDE: anyone an expert in Chicago-style formatting that wants to format my essay? My brain is in the midst of at least its second implosion, and it's starting to get dark and scary in here.]<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I.O.I. #2:</b></span> It appears that <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/01/meet-helen-cold-but-beautiful.html" target="_blank">Helen </a>is hanging around for awhile longer because weather.com has announced the Snowpocalypse is coming. Which sounds to me like the best kind of -pocalypse. I know that many people, particularly in the North East, are tired of snow and ice and cold and all things winter. But I still get school-girl-giddy when when I hear a big ol' Nor'easter is coming down the pike. And apparently it's set to hit us late Wednesday night and carry on into Thursday. I got my firewood, Nutella, and toilet paper all stocked up, so snow me in Snowpocolypse of 2014. I'm ready.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I.O.I. #3: </b></span>And speaking of being snowed in, I have finally gotten over my loathing of the Rainbow Loom. I got my two oldest girls these looms (that I found at Ollies for $5) on which you make bracelets and necklaces by weaving little rubber bands together. My kids are crafty--in all senses of the word, really--and I thought it'd be something to hold their interest and keep them busy while being home-bound, building something pretty rather than badgering each other to death. Well, the instructions in English that came with the loom were written by someone who does not actually speak English. So I had to go onto YouTube to find an instructional video. And apparently there's a billion different designs you can make with these bracelets. The design my kids wanted to do was termed "advanced." (That should have been a red flag. Unfortunately, red is my favorite color so this flag gave me no pause.) It was a starburst design that requires the patience of Job and the nimble fingers of Rumpelstiltskin. I have neither. So for two weeks we tried to master this bracelet--but it required the girls loading up their looms with the rubber bands (in the PERFECT order and sequence as advised by the 11-year-old who is doing the YouTube instructional video. urg.) and then I had to take the hook and do all the weaving because it was too hard for the little ones. And, to put it mildly, it didn't always work out. After hours of painful concentration and admonitions of "stop asking when I'll be done or I'll bury this loom out in the snow and you won't find it til Spring", we would end up with a shambles of a bracelet that may or may not stay together long enough for my daughter to put it around her wrist. To paint you a picture, we managed to make 3 bracelets in 2 weeks of arduous work. The cost-benefit ratio was way out of whack. Finally I had a brainstorm: find an easier design. Back to YouTube. Scoure all the How To's (all by 11-year-olds). And finally, success! Now my kids are delightfully occupied making bracelets they are able to do all by their big selves, which frees me to up to, I don't know, eat more Nutella and do more laundry. (Okay, I'm still rethinking my position on this whole thing.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I.O.I. #4: </span></b>Shirley Temple has just passed away. This is very sad. Not only was she an icon, I felt like she was also a friend. Her dancing and singing and throwing ashes all over the pernicious Lavinia in <i>The Little Princess</i> was an integral part of my childhood. I watched this movie on auto-repeat with my grandma when my sisters and I would sleep overnight at her house (We watched avidly both <i>The Little Princess</i> and <i>The Apple Dumpling Gang</i>--ah, good stuff). Although I guess back then there wasn't auto-repeat--we had to take the VHS tape out of the VCR, put it in the separate rewinder machine, listen to it whir, and wait for it to pop open so we could watch this magical movie all over again. (Now I feel old--like my parents must feel when they talk about 8 track tapes and their first ride in a horseless carriage.) So anytime I hear Shirley Temple mentioned I think of my grandma, and despite the sadness of Ms. Temple's passing, the thought of my grandma makes me smile. Because Grandma was hilarious. Because she could make a pouty face with her lower lip stuck out (which we called a "shippy") that looked exactly like Shirley's. Because she sang "Animal Crackers in My Soup"--which until today is a song that I thought my grandma had made up, because she tended to make up silly songs to make us laugh. Now I know that it originated with Shirley, which makes me feel an even stronger affinity for Ms. Temple. So, as I sit and smile and think on memories of Grandma (who I'm sure is in heaven keeping everyone entertained), I'll leave you to enjoy Shirley in an encore presentation of "Animal Crackers In My Soup".<br />
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Wishing you all a happy and hopeful New Year. See you in 2015!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna</i></span></div>
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PS: I still haven't formatted my critical thesis from MLA to Chicago Style - I guess I may as well add that to my resolution list . . . </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-10061255937752837612014-12-12T12:39:00.000-05:002015-02-19T15:29:17.309-05:00Open Letter to My 8-Year-Old Upon Hearing the Word "Hate"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>My sweet girl,</i></b></span><br />
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Hate has been thrown into your life. You have just been told that someone hates you. And I cannot tell you how my heart breaks to know I have to explain to your tender 8-year-old heart what the word "hate" means. Because it will steal a portion of your innocence. Your door into the world will be forced open a little further and you will see some of the darkness there. I have wanted to show you only light--the beauty and delight and ebullience of the world, just as you are beautiful and delightful and ebullient. But I cannot shield you from the darkness outside our front door.<br />
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Which is why we are having this conversation and why I am writing this letter. So you can remember and you can come back and read and remind yourself of the truth.<br />
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The first truth you must understand is that <b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>EVERYONE MATTERS</i></span></b>.<br />
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If I am honest with myself and with you, upon hearing of this child who said she hated you I wanted to find her and shake her and scream something like, "How dare you, you ignorant child! Go out into the world and experience hate for yourself and you'll never throw that word around again!" But my words would have only perpetuated an already ugly system.<br />
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I would have been teaching that child that belittling another human being is permissible so long as you have the upper hand. As she belittled you, so I would belittle her.<br />
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I would have been teaching you that retaliation is an acceptable response.<br />
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Always remember that everyone matters. You matter, which is why I am so angry that you have been on the receiving end of hate. The girl speaking venom to you matters, because she is speaking from a darkness within her that shouldn't be in one so young. But it's there, and it makes me sad because somewhere along the line her own door into the world was thrown open and she saw darkness and no one was there to tell her what to do with it. So she decided to spread it around instead of fighting it off.<br />
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There is enormous turmoil in our country today because people have forgotten this truth. A young man has been killed in the street. His life matters. A police officer did the killing and he must live with that, his family must live with that. Their lives matter. When people forget that everyone matters, hate can find a footing.<br />
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The second truth you must understand is that <b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">HATE IS SMALL; LOVE IS BIG</span></i></b>.<br />
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Hate makes a person small. Hate forces a person inward upon herself. When a person hates, that is all she sees. She may be reacting to her own hurts, her own short comings, her own fears, her own incomprehensions, but she is unable to set her eyes on anything else besides the hate that eats at her insides.<br />
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When a person is hated, it winnows out a perceived flaw or short coming; that tiny speck of something (that may not even be a flaw, but something beautiful that is misunderstood) becomes all that she sees when she looks at herself and when others look at her. Hate whithers and distorts and shrinks until a person loses sight of the myriad beautiful things that makes her the person she is.<br />
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Love does the opposite. Love invites people to look past the flaws, look past the hurts, look past fears, look past ignorances to see the spinning kaleidoscope colors of a person: her beauties and passions and giftings and offerings. Love asks others to do the same. Love extends courage to those who fear rejection or feel inadequate or live in the darkness of the world and don't know there's anything else. Love promises a space free of judgment. "I take you as I find you," Love says, "And I find you beautiful." And it is love, only love, that can change things for the better.<br />
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The third truth you must understand is that <b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>A WHISPER WORKS WONDERS</i></span></b>.<br />
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Grown-ups do a lot of yelling. They, of anyone, should know better. I mentioned that my first thought was to yell at the girl who said she hates you. There are adults who are yelling about the young man killed in the street. There are adults who are yelling about the police officer who killed him. And, with everyone yelling, no one is hearing.<br />
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Yelling rarely carries a love message. That's because love-messages are best conveyed with a whisper. Do you know why? Because when you whisper, you are required to come close to the other person, to see their face, to touch their shoulder, to smell their perfume. And when you whisper your message into their ear, they will have to bend in close to you to hear your words and they will see you and they will feel your warm breath in their ear and on their cheek and you will tell them something that they ache to hear:<br />
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I see you.<br />
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You matter.<br />
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You are loved.<br />
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Whispers are passed around one person at a time, maybe two or three at a time. It's not like a public announcement you hear over the loud speaker at school stating what today's lunch is going to be. And this is why people listen to whispers, because whispers are spoken with the individual hearer in mind.<br />
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The final truth you must understand is that <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>YOU WILL BE HURT</i></b></span>.<br />
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I wish I could offer you a world where you wouldn't have to worry about people yelling or saying words like "hate." You have such a captivating zeal for life and for people and for beauty. I want, at all costs, to shield you from anything that might diminish those gifts I see in you. But I am limited. And my arms have only so much strength and breadth. So I cry when I see you cry. I ache in ways I didn't know possible as I hold you, my aching child.<br />
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Still, I tell you to love and to whisper, knowing that you will be hurt because of it. We live in a world that drowns whispers with its roars and declares love to be a weakness. But I'm asking you to love and to whisper because I see your bravery and your tenacity. Because you have uncommon resilience and strength. Because I already see great love in you. Because at the receiving end of my prayers for you is a God whose love-whispers came in the form of His Son who also knows what it is to be hurt by hate. And because love will, in the end, always win.<br />
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My sweet girl, this may all seem so big and far away and mystifying to you now. And this letter may seem long and filled with words and ideas that appear unconnected to what you are experiencing. And that's okay. I will continue to speak these truths to you as you grow. I will continue to answer your questions as honestly as I am able. I will continue to protect you from things you are not yet ready to experience, and I will continue to hold back at moments when you must walk bravely forward on your own. Above all, I will continue to pray for you because this is so much bigger than the both of us.<br />
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I love you, precious one.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Mommy</i></b></span><br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-60976248029413548462014-11-18T10:59:00.002-05:002014-11-18T11:02:42.505-05:00I Mustache You a Question (or twelve)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2Cuvljl454rwx3DDH4SR9DP_kQ0MwVJNusJAJrIBYMRsqnWuo3tfucyXzxAF9-Jc3w4MbxgOx7gXUZKCgOHQoOXK2QukcY5dmenzQ4YxUZFh-KO2lKS0xIPH493RZvuwRYa5W1t0QxY/s1600/mustache.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2Cuvljl454rwx3DDH4SR9DP_kQ0MwVJNusJAJrIBYMRsqnWuo3tfucyXzxAF9-Jc3w4MbxgOx7gXUZKCgOHQoOXK2QukcY5dmenzQ4YxUZFh-KO2lKS0xIPH493RZvuwRYa5W1t0QxY/s1600/mustache.png" height="200" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I love questionnaires. I love filling them out, and I love reading other people's answers. I have always loved questionnaires, so much so that I even eagerly looked forward to filling out the information on the SAT exam - remember, with the boxes and bubbles you fill in with your name, address, etc? I think it all comes back to the idea that I - like everyone - wants to be known. Maybe not every little nitty-gritty detail, but there's something in us that drives us out of shadow into light for the purpose of known-ness. Like Jean Valjean in the courtroom revealing his identity.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://daeroul.tistory.com/entry/Les-Miserables" target="_blank">[source]</a></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.writingwishing.com/2014/11/mustache-question-four/" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Alison at the Writing, Wishing blog </a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">(where I also got the fun mustache pic) picked up this questionnaire, answered the questions, and opened the door for other bloggers willing to take the plunge to also answer these questions. So that's where we're headed today. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four names that people call me other than my real name:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Mrs. Ugqurhrreahrt - because every year my students struggle to know how to correctly spell my name</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Mommy - this is one of my faves</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Toots - When I was a baby, my grandmother always called me Cutie Patootie. It was then shorted to Toots and the name stuck. Unless you know the story behind it it sounds a bit crass. But it's dear to me nonetheless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Baby - because the hubs</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four jobs I have had not counting my current one:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Residential Counselor at a mental health hospital</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Waitress at a resort serving banquets - great money for college, but definitely hard work. (Remind me later to tell you about the time I dropped a tray full china in the middle of a wedding . . . well, that's about the whole of it. So no need to remind me later.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Worked behind the counter at a deli stand at a farmers market - this would be the job that reminded me each Saturday while in high school why I <i>would </i>go to college and earn a degree and pursue a career so as not to be stuck in the deli stand my whole life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Paralegal - We refer to this experience in our home as The Unfortunate Incident. (Though it cleared up the question of whether I wanted to go to law school.)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four movies I've watched more than once:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Frozen - I have 3 girls, come on! (Honestly, all Disney princess movies could be included here)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Braveheart - the only movie I've seen my husband cry over</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Pride and Prejudice - BBC 6 hour version w/ Jennifer Elle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Cranford - a new BBC discovery w/ Dame Judy Dench. I HIGHLY recommend it and its sequel Return to Cranford (w/ Tom Hiddleston *sigh*)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four books I'd recommend:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. <i>The Book Thief</i> by Markus Zusak</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. <i>Foster </i>by Clair Keegan</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. <i>White Dog Fell from the Sky</i> by Eleanor Morse</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pioneer-Christmas-Collection-Kathleen-Fuller/dp/1624161901/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1416324210&sr=1-1&keywords=a+pioneer+christmas+collection&pebp=1416324212109" target="_blank">A Pioneer Christmas Collection</a></i> (shameless, I know. But I had to plug the book I'm in, right?)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four places I have lived:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Lancaster, PA</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Dayton, TN</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Columbia, PA</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. My imagination</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Four places I have been:</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">*This was hard to narrow down, so I picked my 4 favorite places abroad and listed them in order.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Inverness, Scotland</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. P</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">aris, France</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Bath, England</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Siena, Italy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four places I would rather be right now: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Leakey's bookstore in Inverness, reading Tennyson and having a cup of tea</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. On <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2011/08/terrace.html" target="_blank">the rooftop terrace in Rome</a> where I spent several blissful evenings with my people</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. My <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2013/08/a-reay-of-sunlight.html" target="_blank">mum-in-law</a>'s kitchen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. On a couch, wrapped in a blanket, sipping coffee, and watching a girly movie (probably along the lines of Downton Abbey or Cranford)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">(for a more comprehensive list, see previous question)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four things I don't eat:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Branston_(brand)" target="_blank">Branston Pickle</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Liver</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Cashews</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Eel</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four of my favorite foods:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Soup</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Sushi (sans eel)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Baked goods - yes, all of the baked goods</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Macaroni and cheese</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four TV shows that I watch:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. The Blacklist</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. New Girl</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. MI-5 (a british show now no longer running *sniff* - but available on Netflix)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Friends reruns</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Four things I'm looking forward to this coming year:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">1. Graduating with my MFA this summer while . . . </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. . . . Visiting<b> </b>Greece, the Isle of Wight, & Scotland </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Finishing my novel</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Spending a week at the beach with my family</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Four things I'm always saying:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. Oh-My-Lanta! (Exclamation suitable for all occasions)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. I'm not trying to ruin your fun, I'm trying to keep you safe. (when my children can't understand why I won't let them climb on the roof and jump off.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Just a sec.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Be kind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Anyone else wanna join in the mustache fun? Please do (you are hearby tagged!) and let me know when you post, so I can learn more about you!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Have a hopeful Tuesday!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna</i></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-26827275575988038422014-11-07T10:02:00.000-05:002014-11-07T10:02:07.314-05:00Finding the Pacific and Following a Rainbow HomeOn Monday I returned from a 4-day trip out to Seattle to visit my dear friend, <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2013/05/put-kettle-on-mum-im-coming-home.html" target="_blank">Jessica</a>. We took a day-trip out to the coast and Cape Flattery, the most North-Western point of the continental US. The entire day was filled with breathtaking skies, awe-inspiring seas, and wonder-filled wilds. I cannot count the amount of times we stopped along the road to take pictures and mingle with the beauty of creation. Since a picture is evidently worth a thousand words, I'll use those instead of fledgling descriptors to share with you pieces of our journey.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2febGV6ENYEPK9zINgETS8TNrpMuPIbsc17dU07L1MB21bek-VOCqAld4y9CrczOLK_6LnW8EiKnDkDanxf43NWqMz9H-IBIVK-ILdiZnNlH78gOJt5IL6jwhRZdSROmNLzzfdzK93B8/s1600/seattle-drive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2febGV6ENYEPK9zINgETS8TNrpMuPIbsc17dU07L1MB21bek-VOCqAld4y9CrczOLK_6LnW8EiKnDkDanxf43NWqMz9H-IBIVK-ILdiZnNlH78gOJt5IL6jwhRZdSROmNLzzfdzK93B8/s1600/seattle-drive.JPG" height="448" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Road to the Coast</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHo2-Yns4aVsblW0BqcdhkS4HPKfZQXrMlQrswvLHC_JTz6glNJRaMjsX2Up7VQpFn2z2nHbnka7q-QhnE-hUqY0O9ZJOv7rRJDxdB6gvBDGeNi3SgjWmrEsYOZSGpvX5bMTHDYBhRkE/s1600/seattle-pano.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHo2-Yns4aVsblW0BqcdhkS4HPKfZQXrMlQrswvLHC_JTz6glNJRaMjsX2Up7VQpFn2z2nHbnka7q-QhnE-hUqY0O9ZJOv7rRJDxdB6gvBDGeNi3SgjWmrEsYOZSGpvX5bMTHDYBhRkE/s1600/seattle-pano.JPG" height="193" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking across to Canada</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwS2iBrat9mE70TkvSRMs6jpV2XCSA-AQvDISCccYREodw0hMqxYlJ8xKdb2Ifsnhe-bf2T6GQhKIKma7u-Ep7Re58s5NIwKlcPjJWrSAYWM8KsE3hHvjLhEkzNBy5EpIG-uq0r4kKGg/s1600/seattle-sea2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwS2iBrat9mE70TkvSRMs6jpV2XCSA-AQvDISCccYREodw0hMqxYlJ8xKdb2Ifsnhe-bf2T6GQhKIKma7u-Ep7Re58s5NIwKlcPjJWrSAYWM8KsE3hHvjLhEkzNBy5EpIG-uq0r4kKGg/s1600/seattle-sea2.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curious creatures and . . .</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sYuU4qDNADSsqpwk1Cz3N_rjitZNpsOwsTAO4AdEN31CNzTecXmgWc4gvcuRqEBJ2xdRWxBMQfslzGL6DMinGXIZiPELCswjh8md8h18Y2efUED04jMv0MDwfyhjF_3U2Kwl0bz9Ai0/s1600/seattle-rock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sYuU4qDNADSsqpwk1Cz3N_rjitZNpsOwsTAO4AdEN31CNzTecXmgWc4gvcuRqEBJ2xdRWxBMQfslzGL6DMinGXIZiPELCswjh8md8h18Y2efUED04jMv0MDwfyhjF_3U2Kwl0bz9Ai0/s1600/seattle-rock.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">curious sights.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOwUmsfGFreuAkq28Th9Vt3kf65N6a03L2o_mNzyOD4DBJOrzz7L-XOkTD7_Cl44OOw_-c0y3H4v3VoBpMb7Sk52S3xw_4P4_PhSrj1jKIjR8_Zizgu_479MnJdzXBknsiUcclJa05t9Y/s1600/seattle-me.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOwUmsfGFreuAkq28Th9Vt3kf65N6a03L2o_mNzyOD4DBJOrzz7L-XOkTD7_Cl44OOw_-c0y3H4v3VoBpMb7Sk52S3xw_4P4_PhSrj1jKIjR8_Zizgu_479MnJdzXBknsiUcclJa05t9Y/s1600/seattle-me.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me gazing out to sea - photo compliments of Jessica Andrews</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6WUZpcWO5-dbJeiqoAX7gN7QjgCQl-B9nfqpctUemGN6QBX9Qus7grfxkJhHAsDgPGGL7V4NpADdij08jWUgv4pSGIx3O8NShBAdO0TE9AEy3gVU-hdO1m0tQTMlS0cQAE80BEjAiEY/s1600/seattle-sea.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6WUZpcWO5-dbJeiqoAX7gN7QjgCQl-B9nfqpctUemGN6QBX9Qus7grfxkJhHAsDgPGGL7V4NpADdij08jWUgv4pSGIx3O8NShBAdO0TE9AEy3gVU-hdO1m0tQTMlS0cQAE80BEjAiEY/s1600/seattle-sea.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First glimpse of Cape Flattery and the powerful Pacific</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRb0kmfDdmsxFCx0JJjvMr2qMd8glCBgxhCuiVidK57tuWouWd-1ys5i_IFciI_yWFak-MXbQpHQX5_wHCfQzUz6q5M8w7ezwjGL32-xxi_DrstKeS6NnTOrrUjjU3NZ-ugZuMn-EYK0/s1600/seattle-boots.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRb0kmfDdmsxFCx0JJjvMr2qMd8glCBgxhCuiVidK57tuWouWd-1ys5i_IFciI_yWFak-MXbQpHQX5_wHCfQzUz6q5M8w7ezwjGL32-xxi_DrstKeS6NnTOrrUjjU3NZ-ugZuMn-EYK0/s1600/seattle-boots.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We walked through ferns and past redwoods . . . </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKP6KCUpNvTUEKxMaG9JeisxOI4jSUmKQ9T4tcj6kKtR-sGqIlRANeELFxI_M8bz69v4DRHQSGELKtWtQ9akhaEaoSYqD97V2XS5aRqMb5klb8aC07z32Q30ZaXDQh-8rAR9jIU_fIQY/s1600/seattle-path.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKP6KCUpNvTUEKxMaG9JeisxOI4jSUmKQ9T4tcj6kKtR-sGqIlRANeELFxI_M8bz69v4DRHQSGELKtWtQ9akhaEaoSYqD97V2XS5aRqMb5klb8aC07z32Q30ZaXDQh-8rAR9jIU_fIQY/s1600/seattle-path.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . over roots and under evergreen bows . . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPL0Y31sGIpy1P3ed8TiBogC9SGCSQjjBXHoKdC6gGBI7OqujMkFGysIGK86oXMBcQ5y0D9qu6xqvSkKvKM6kEZjH2nZeO5lv99YGFmUpl8vSg7kNR7nPptlPINojPENG6L_rygqeACQ/s1600/seattle-mushrooms.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPL0Y31sGIpy1P3ed8TiBogC9SGCSQjjBXHoKdC6gGBI7OqujMkFGysIGK86oXMBcQ5y0D9qu6xqvSkKvKM6kEZjH2nZeO5lv99YGFmUpl8vSg7kNR7nPptlPINojPENG6L_rygqeACQ/s1600/seattle-mushrooms.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . treaded softly over moss and around mushrooms . . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlLUHfHB0vDChQe4Ktz2oeoopjtmsWSexM0vUMV8b1J1eKZTZd5dPRbmS2gkqSw7zmeJdaQOSq9-LRQ3hk06YmRARN0aao2RhbkAbQQGSIoiQO0D4NYqylNQZk-yZLfWrT-y0FmWAW8s/s1600/seattle-sunset.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlLUHfHB0vDChQe4Ktz2oeoopjtmsWSexM0vUMV8b1J1eKZTZd5dPRbmS2gkqSw7zmeJdaQOSq9-LRQ3hk06YmRARN0aao2RhbkAbQQGSIoiQO0D4NYqylNQZk-yZLfWrT-y0FmWAW8s/s1600/seattle-sunset.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . until our toes touched the Pacific.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGp0bAxmJfLqHvomyH3JMT3QD1X-HA02ZbkJgNyYa_M66o3lBAbdmoQq3J2TwvzIcgC9jMb00NtU7KO912tqJqJhnpbUtKQLk8j0J05_NN8wuDqMcgxP9onrszneQkNOE7TMMgRALsX4/s1600/seattle-us.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGp0bAxmJfLqHvomyH3JMT3QD1X-HA02ZbkJgNyYa_M66o3lBAbdmoQq3J2TwvzIcgC9jMb00NtU7KO912tqJqJhnpbUtKQLk8j0J05_NN8wuDqMcgxP9onrszneQkNOE7TMMgRALsX4/s1600/seattle-us.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo compliments again of Jessica and her handy-dandy tripod.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrl_dcazAA0HDHiHjy0muK8rMkYiTSo1CBSn_rfn4feJFnX9MoMvE1waHMhrHBwjqcU66-cEjKLEO7jKMwWlKHS2BDfzl50bvaR9gAK16AlZ5K-xdnR-Euzu3Ynkef1waYDDoyWkXvYo/s1600/seattle-coast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrl_dcazAA0HDHiHjy0muK8rMkYiTSo1CBSn_rfn4feJFnX9MoMvE1waHMhrHBwjqcU66-cEjKLEO7jKMwWlKHS2BDfzl50bvaR9gAK16AlZ5K-xdnR-Euzu3Ynkef1waYDDoyWkXvYo/s1600/seattle-coast.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then we climbed back through the bracken (from which one half expected hobbits to appear) <br />and followed this rainbow home.</td></tr>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-77406591845982447662014-10-23T10:58:00.002-04:002014-10-28T08:48:33.094-04:00Yes, Mr. Farm Tractor, you may pull out in front of me today.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today, our school hosted a dad’s breakfast where school dads bring their kiddos in to school, have breakfast with them, and
interact with them. The breakfast started at 6:45 AM. Therefore, by 6:15 this
morning, my entire family had vacated our home. And I was left alone. This was
me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I primped and
prepped myself for the day without any interruption. I left the house calmly,
with a hot cup of coffee, with all my belongings intact, and with a smile on my
face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, yes, Mr. Farm Tractor, you may pull out in front
of me with your UFO-esque yellow flashers and mud bespattered plow blades. And you may go 7 MPH in a 45 MPH
zone. Because I am alone. Because no child yowls behind me that her Nutrigrain bar is mixed berry instead of strawberry. Because no dispute erupts over the exact dividing line of personal seat space. Because the words "I have to pee. Bad." do not waft to me from the back seat. Because I
have music playing that I myself have selected. And because I am not late for a 7:20 meeting. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1Q6YHNGj5-J3cMnjYVqkeTeeRlZx2Uihe-tV7zH5Z8W25WQ9Lbg4g8jsl-WTI1cpa-ir8V0XRtI5LgBWSlJr7qMxhRP3EsQwy0fPaGHtY-hyc_nDVCX70ddp1rsV3RlnS7cJx5HlSQ8/s1600/tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1Q6YHNGj5-J3cMnjYVqkeTeeRlZx2Uihe-tV7zH5Z8W25WQ9Lbg4g8jsl-WTI1cpa-ir8V0XRtI5LgBWSlJr7qMxhRP3EsQwy0fPaGHtY-hyc_nDVCX70ddp1rsV3RlnS7cJx5HlSQ8/s1600/tractor.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAYQjB0&url=http%3A%2F%2Fthenewfamilyfarm.wordpress.com%2F2013%2F05%2F21%2Fthoughts-for-food-why-are-farm-tractors-so-huge%2F&ei=OhVJVP9bl5SDBKyJgtAK&bvm=bv.77880786,d.eXY&psig=AFQjCNE9IkiUmwUNGckslX0sstwM9Ha7dw&ust=1414162051658982" target="_blank">[source]</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am placidly driving to work. Confident and composed. For
I am alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I know things will be different tomorrow. If you
pull out in front of me tomorrow, I may in fact hit you or honk at you or
swerve around you (with perhaps an expletive slipping from my lips aimed in
your general direction). I will not be composed. For tomorrow I will not be alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But for today I will smile and revel in my aloneness. </span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-35150015713894708852014-10-21T13:40:00.001-04:002014-10-21T13:58:55.623-04:00CB Moment #5: Finding the Authentic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S4bUw9lArTXxa8QMHhqYf8yUoUePz-ZzFg-Sj3Ig8qAKX6qpA22lkLzfJCM1leLcSab-oEuGmQdWVVpAI5860S-CdJQ7qAk1bCPbP3XD19V_1pnQe_mZvQXjTSI4PG1tclv8hACefLs/s1600/baby+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S4bUw9lArTXxa8QMHhqYf8yUoUePz-ZzFg-Sj3Ig8qAKX6qpA22lkLzfJCM1leLcSab-oEuGmQdWVVpAI5860S-CdJQ7qAk1bCPbP3XD19V_1pnQe_mZvQXjTSI4PG1tclv8hACefLs/s1600/baby+pic.jpg" height="341" width="400" /></a></div>
Gentleness is not instinctive . . . except when it is. Wow. Look at that; the water just got muddy really quickly. Or, to be consistent with my metaphors, <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/09/clarified-butter-and-trees-falling-in.html" target="_blank">the butter just got gloppy</a>.<br />
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I am not, by nature, a gentle person. My voice is loud. My movements are wide-arching and flamboyant. My approach to people is direct. I don't shy away from confrontation. I'm quick to get defensive. Gentleness doesn't come naturally.<br />
<br />
However.<br />
<br />
When I first held my daughter, no one had to tell me to be gentle. I remember tracing the tip of my finger along her downy hairline, kissing her tiny baby fingers, lifting her and holding her against me as if she might at any moment break. Gentleness was instinctive; it was freely and generously offered.<br />
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Our world doesn't prize gentleness. We prize contact sports and reality shows--the bloodier the better. I hear kids out on the playground (and even in the back seats of my own minivan) saying cruel things to each other. Gossip floods the church pews and malicious posts festoon Facebook. It's no wonder that people are always surprised to find gentleness--although, ironically, it is something for which we're all a little desperate.<br />
<br />
The unfortunate misconception of gentleness is that it is a sign of weakness or an unnecessary vulnerability. But that's a big, fat lie. If I've learned anything, it is that gentleness takes a supreme amount of courage and strength and discipline. And, to go a step further, gentleness is a <b>necessary </b>vulnerability. Here's why:<br />
<br />
1. Gentleness is a facilitator of the authentic<br />
2. No one can live in the shadows of the inauthentic and be satisfied<br />
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The authentic is where, if we're honest, we want to reside. We want to know and be known. But we won't expose ourselves to be known if we are fearful that anything less than a gentle hand will touch us. We are capable of gentleness. So let's be gentle with each other. Let's be gentle with ourselves. And let's welcome in the sunlight, the warmth, the freedom of the authentic.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-42999388507377994132014-10-16T11:38:00.004-04:002014-10-16T12:06:16.154-04:00CBM #4: Saving Starfish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1YUrmjeR-ApuAGj8JhQTwd2fj_o0-dVMRjuwQJQjwi4xRvui3TVIbUGffSKchiCRRwXURdHfiCIaTLB2enYwLBeegNQL2Zj1ZD0b-B3tg10SWSg6BSyVeJM5BoYbmtFwvP0G4k9txxs/s1600/starfish+on+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1YUrmjeR-ApuAGj8JhQTwd2fj_o0-dVMRjuwQJQjwi4xRvui3TVIbUGffSKchiCRRwXURdHfiCIaTLB2enYwLBeegNQL2Zj1ZD0b-B3tg10SWSg6BSyVeJM5BoYbmtFwvP0G4k9txxs/s1600/starfish+on+beach.jpg" height="231" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica, arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; text-align: start;">Source: Matt Cardy/Getty Images Europe </span></td></tr>
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I have become more and more certain that the only reason I have been born into the privileged life I lead--relative safety and security, plenty of food and money to buy it, a home, a family, good health, and a wide array of abilities--is so that I might use all I have to help others.<br />
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That's it.<br />
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I've become more and more convinced of this over the past few months. Perhaps I should have been more aware or more insightful before now, but I wasn't. I was honed in on building a career in order to attain the "comforts" of a life I thought I wanted.<br />
<br />
Epiphany: I don't believe I'm on this earth to be comfortable. I'm here to shine light in dark places. I'm here to help. This begs the question: who do I help? There's obvious needs all over the world. I wrote <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/07/dont-do-nothing.html" target="_blank">a post back in July lamenting the abduction of Nigerian school girls</a>. My response to this atrocity was "Don't Do Nothing." However, even a few months ago, I lacked the insight to fully complete that post with the most essential part of not doing nothing (i.e. doing something).<br />
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I made a meager effort of saying something along the lines of we should stay informed and get involved in the social media movement to bring attention to the issue at hand. But I remember, even when writing that portion of the post, asking myself, "What can <i>I</i> do?" The best I could come up with was: Twitter? (Which, even then, sounded lame. Now it just sounds pathetic.)<br />
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Then I read a comment to that post by <a href="http://dannimcgriffith.com/" target="_blank">Danni (one of my favorite bloggers!)</a> who said,<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Old Standard TT'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px; text-align: justify;"><i>. . . <b>it starts with trying to save one little girl at a time in our own sphere of influence</b>.</i> </span><br />
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Danni, if you're reading this, thank you. Your words clarified my butter. I was looking outside of myself, outside my own sphere of influence, for ways to "do something." Yet daily I am surrounded by those who need help, need kindness, need a little flicker of light to drive back shadows. (I'm a mother and a teacher and a guidance counselor, for crying out loud!)<br />
<br />
It reminds me of the analogy/story I heard told of 2 people walking down a beach that was covered with starfish that had been washed in with the tide. The poor starfish, if left on the beach, were going to die. So one of the people started picking up starfish and hurling them back into the sea.<br />
<br />
The other person said, "Why bother? There's too many. You can't possibly make a difference."<br />
<br />
The first person replied, "Maybe not," Then she picked up another starfish and threw it into the water. "But I can make a difference for this one."<br />
<br />
Hopefully this doesn't sound as though I've now taken on a "savior complex" and want to run around with a red cape throwing out life preservers to every single person I encounter. (Though that does evoke a funny image.) I am by no means perfect and have plenty of gloppy butter and dark shadows with which I struggle.<br />
<br />
But perfection is not a requirement for kindness; an absence of shadows not a prerequisite for offering light in a dark place. Sometimes it's my awareness of my own shadows and shortcomings that allows me to be more compassionate to someone desperately in need of compassion, to be more gentle with someone who has been too roughly handled, to be kind even if kindness isn't returned.<br />
<br />
I want to do more. I want to help. I want to be an <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/10/clarified-butter-moment-3-kindness-as.html" target="_blank">Anyway Person</a>. I want to be a Starfish Thrower.<br />
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So this is me, not doing nothing. I earnestly believe that's why I'm here. I just needed a little <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/09/clarified-butter-and-trees-falling-in.html" target="_blank">clarified butter</a> first.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna</i></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-11224885449198534712014-10-07T08:54:00.001-04:002014-10-07T10:15:32.392-04:00Clarified Butter Moment #3: Kindness as a Non Sequitur and the "Anyway" PeopleMy children were fighting in the car on the way to school yesterday. This is not an unusual occurrence. You place 3 strong-willed, highly verbal children in a confined space, strap them down in close proximity to each other, and ask that for 25 minutes they coexist peaceably. Well, that's pretty much setting everyone up for failure.<br />
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Finally I yelled. I admit it. I yelled at my kids. I try not to, but there are 2 reasons for this lapse in self-possession:</div>
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#1--the kids were so loud, yelling was the only way to be heard over them</div>
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#2--I was angry</div>
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And do you know what I yelled? </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">If you want someone to be kind to you, you must. be. kind!!</span></b></div>
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It was then I came to 2 realizations:</div>
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#1--I'm yelling (unkindly) for my kids to be kind. Nice work, Anna. Brilliant parenting technique. This follows in the hypocritical vein of "Do as I say, not as I do." I just stepped into a field oozing with hypocrisy. Ew.</div>
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#2--Being kind does not guarantee repayment of kindness. I'm telling my kids that if they are kind to others, others will be kind to them, and that is just not true. In a perfect world this would be true. However, in our fallen, fractured world--not at all. To be fair, at times I have found that kindness breeds kindness. That vulnerability breeds vulnerability. But there are going to be times when kindness is taken advantage of. There will be times when, in return for kindness, cruelty and criticism are doled out.</div>
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As an adult I am able to understand the realities of this. It gets difficult--at times impossible--to explain this to my elementary-aged children. So I sat my 8-year-old down and pulled a Mother Theresa--rest assured I am NOT Mother Teresa, but she said something wise (many wise things, actually) that I've carried with me. I didn't throw the quote at my daughter, but I did try to paraphrase this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PTuit2b4WwwFdzTtE-5ERucCGN3wEG0cS2QIAZDZOQWxsDlK-KAYNUeha8UkA4Q5rhcRnpK6M3jyukG-K__1ZX5E2gvyO-i5MEYYkcfoV7sKX88YQZ7eeVxcuDYkT7GFVeWH2a2yUsA/s1600/Anyway+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PTuit2b4WwwFdzTtE-5ERucCGN3wEG0cS2QIAZDZOQWxsDlK-KAYNUeha8UkA4Q5rhcRnpK6M3jyukG-K__1ZX5E2gvyO-i5MEYYkcfoV7sKX88YQZ7eeVxcuDYkT7GFVeWH2a2yUsA/s1600/Anyway+quote.jpg" height="640" width="392" /></a></div>
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What if there were more "Anyway" people in this world? People with a perspective beyond the immediate, and beyond the self-serving. People determined to be kind, regardless of the response. Wow. What a world that might be.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-40365697532947759712014-10-02T09:04:00.000-04:002014-10-02T09:04:17.084-04:00Well Done, Moo: How to do "Hurry!" properlyI stated in a <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/09/clarified-butter-moment-2-things-i-now.html" target="_blank">recent post</a> that I hate when stores and advertisements and marketers tell me to "Hurry!" In fact, this is what I wrote:<br />
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<i>If something is on sale for a limited time and I desperately want that sale item, I'll hurry all by my big self to purchase it without some marketer telling me to get a move on. I have enough "Hurry!" in my life that is self-induced. So if a store is gonna tell me to hurry, I will flat out refuse. And I'll get pissed, which means I may not shop at that store at all just out of principle.</i><br />
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Today, I feel I need to point out that there is a flip side to my assertion. When a store or advertisement has a light touch and doesn't pressure me (in addition to providing a quality product), I'm more likely to become a loyal customer. Here's an example of "light touch" marketing I received via email:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxsM7PFkXoDFyifxYFytXMKLo6b38-vKRBeX22gdj2LGCAN2zaOXmQz8xQT4gUELoNdgiRgwFM_bndP0xWAIr1fQ-kuOZ5UL8qZwENDMSj4pobishhXLEq79fdMcTv6pBd4SFrJcNWxA/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxsM7PFkXoDFyifxYFytXMKLo6b38-vKRBeX22gdj2LGCAN2zaOXmQz8xQT4gUELoNdgiRgwFM_bndP0xWAIr1fQ-kuOZ5UL8qZwENDMSj4pobishhXLEq79fdMcTv6pBd4SFrJcNWxA/s1600/photo.PNG" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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Note what it says at the bottom: "No pressure".<br />
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Oh, hello, Moo. I appreciate the reminder. Yes, I will make a purchase. Thank you very much.<br />
<br />
Moo does "Hurry!" properly. So, to reinforce such considerate marketing behavior on Moo's part, I'm gonna put in a plug for them today.<br />
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Rest assured, there is no pressure for you, my dear friends, to "Hurry!" or even to peruse their merchandise; and Moo has not asked me to do this. I just wanted to let you know that I love this company. I make all my business cards through Moo. Slightly more expensive than other places perhaps, but you get a FAR superior product. I have business cards and mini cards (which I love) from Moo, and I'm constantly getting compliments when I give these cards out to people. (Bonus: it makes a GREAT impression.)<br />
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Other perks:<br />
<ul>
<li>regular sales are offered (Moo will email them to you)</li>
<li>design your own card from scratch or use their templates</li>
<li>beautiful, professional, non-cheesy templates</li>
<li>all sizes and shapes of products in all price ranges</li>
<li>easy to use website</li>
<li>A fun, quirky company name; Moo!</li>
<li>they assured me "No pressure" as shown above - Sweet! </li>
</ul>
So if you are in need of any sort of business-y accouterments, check out <a href="http://us.moo.com/" target="_blank">Moo</a>. And have a hopeful Thursday!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Anna</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-31628275189534149402014-09-24T13:05:00.001-04:002014-09-25T10:02:07.718-04:00Clarified Butter Moment #2: Things I Now Know that I Should Have Known But Didn't<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96YXpFlVxaZV13ctqYwJLCZIIzZDoJqJgfowmp8QZu4qin4RoVL4NHox2y3CAoUtTetnLW9Qb2Hk5cPdb0Ul8osqA4hD_sJ1gCaEEIisvE3Wlfp4ODLkpdS03YJW4sWZP18IBv_04lbs/s1600/butter+clarified.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96YXpFlVxaZV13ctqYwJLCZIIzZDoJqJgfowmp8QZu4qin4RoVL4NHox2y3CAoUtTetnLW9Qb2Hk5cPdb0Ul8osqA4hD_sJ1gCaEEIisvE3Wlfp4ODLkpdS03YJW4sWZP18IBv_04lbs/s1600/butter+clarified.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Part of seeing the world more clearly has also entailed seeing myself (or, at least trying to see myself) more clearly. So I've been intentional about taking note of things I do, say, believe, react to of which I was formerly unaware. Some of these things are innocent findings; some I'm not necessarily proud of; all are true. And, according to Dr. Phil, you can't change what you don't acknowledge. So here are just a few things I've discovered about myself:<br />
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1. It makes my angry when store advertisements tell me to "Hurry!" If something is on sale for a limited time and I desperately want that sale item, I'll hurry all by my big self to purchase it without some marketer telling me to get a move on. I have enough "Hurry!" in my life that is self-induced. So if a store is gonna tell me to hurry, I will flat out refuse. And I'll get pissed, which means I may not shop at that store at all just out of principle.</div>
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2. I sometimes cut my hair as a symbolic gesture. This is not categorically true, but I just hacked off my hair and it felt momentous--like the beginning of a new era. An era of hope and easier hair maintenance. </div>
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(Aside: I have no intention of changing the header on my blog to reflect my new tresses--so that long-haired Anna at the top of my blog page is going to stay there with her red hair blowing. Oh, and yes, my hair is still red.)</div>
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3. I hold grudges. I never thought I did, but in some areas I've discovered I do. I hold grudges when:</div>
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<li>people don't reply to emails/text messages/phone calls</li>
<li>people forget my birthday</li>
<li>people label me</li>
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These grudges are not malicious or vengeful, and they may only last a few days. But in some things (like the labeling) I guess I'm like Mr. Darcy in that "my good opinion lost is lost forever." Well, maybe not forever, but it'll take awhile to undo the grudginess.</div>
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4. I've been spelling Muenster cheese wrong my whole life. I spelled it Meunster cheese. I'm working through a 12-step plan for recovering from this lapse in judgement. </div>
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5. I'm addicted to purchasing autumnal attire. Boots, coats, hats, scarves. Either I need to live in a place of perpetual Fall or I need to go through another 12-step plan for un-addicting myself to these purchases. However, I'm not sure I'm ready to give this addition up yet. </div>
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6. When my personal life is out of control, it does not affect my professional life--in fact, my professional life actually improves because it is a place where I have control, where I feel successful, where I can close the door on the crazy of the rest of my life. It is often said that men compartmentalize well and women do not. For me, I am a successful compartmentalizer. (Take that, gender stereotypes!) </div>
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7. I hate big hunks of celery in soup and potato salad and pretty much everything else in which big chunks of celery are typically found.</div>
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8. I am terrible at saving money for a rainy day. By the way I spend money you would think every day is a rainy day. (And, loving rainy days, it would be fabulous if that were true!)</div>
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9. I keep my circle of friendship small because I have little patience for surfacey relationships--"Go deep or go home" could be a motto I embroider on a pillow. And I'm particular about those with whom I go deep. Thus the small friendship circle. Unfortunately, some people interpret this as snobbery.</div>
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10. I have always pronounced the "T" in often. But the "T" is silent. This falls into the same category of Meun--ahem, Muenster Cheese. I'm still recovering.</div>
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And, speaking of seeing myself more clearly, I also took the Myers-Briggs Personality Assessment for the first time since leaving college. I challenge you to take it. (You can take it online for FREE by clicking <a href="http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp" target="_blank">here</a>. But you don't have to "Hurry!" because I'm not one of those pushy marketers.) Give it a go when you have a minute. Check out your results. While a test NEVER defines you, it can at times offer you some insight into yourself. </div>
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I'm an INFJ. (See, if you've taken the test you'll know what that means.) What personality type are you?</div>
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Have a hopeful Wednesday!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Anna</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-47619452541022828862014-09-17T12:16:00.000-04:002014-09-17T12:16:18.102-04:00What's with all the hullabaloo in Scotland?Some of you may be following closely the noteworthy events currently unfolding in Scotland. Some of you may not. Having married a Scot and having almost daily dialogue with family and friends living in Scotland, these events are a constant subject of conversation and debate.<br />
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So, to bring everyone up to speed, tomorrow is a pivotal day in Scottish history. Residents of Scotland have the opportunity tomorrow to vote "yes" or "no" to breaking free of the 300 year tie to Great Britain (specifically England) and having an independent country of their own.<br />
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We are all familiar with William Wallace (aka: Braveheart) and his fight to bring freedom to the Scots. (This is the only movie during which my husband has ever cried.)<br />
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And we cannot forget Wallace's warrior poets led by the changed Robert the Bruce:</div>
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That victory at Bannockburn is immortalized by Rabbie Burns in his poem of that name (which you can find <a href="http://www.poetry-archive.com/b/bannockburn.html" target="_blank">here</a>). It is definitely worth a read as well.</div>
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Unfortunately, despite Wallace's efforts, Scotland has had to keep fighting the English to remain independent. The last time Scotland was a free nation was in 1707. Even after that unification of Scotland to the United Kingdom, folks like Bonnie Prince Charlie were not pleased about it and caused quite a ruckus.</div>
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Today, however, everyone is far more civilized. The William Wallaces and Prince Charlies who formerly bludgeoned people to get their way are instead seated decorously in the Houses of Parliament and using words rather than broadswords to make their point. And there constant is a debate raging about whether Scotland should, in fact, break free from the UK. Voters, according to polls, are split right down the middle. When I was in Scotland last May, I was constantly barraged with badges and pins and billboards and signs supporting one party or the other.<br />
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So now it's down to the wire. Tomorrow is the Day of Decision. Some say it's a matter of principle: Scotland has always wanted to be free, so now is the time. Others say, speaking pragmatically, that Scotland lacks the resources and revenue to survive on it's own.<br />
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Here's a great synopsis of the complexity to this decision:<br />
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<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/-YkLPxQp_y0/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/-YkLPxQp_y0&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/-YkLPxQp_y0&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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While this clip is a humorous approach to the issue, I would say that once the decision is made, the humor will stop. Because Scotland is potentially at the point that the US Colonies were at in 1776. They are on the cusp of declaring--choosing--their independence. Fortunately, and hopefully, it will be a decision that doesn't result in bloodshed. However, I do think they have the rare opportunity to, in essence, recreate themselves. They can establish their own government, their own legislatures, their own international commerce, even their own money system. The reality is that, just as the American Colonies didn't know if they would succeed in establishing a unified and sustainable independent nation, technically neither does Scotland. They won't know until it's tried. </div>
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So, while I am always in favor of freedom for a people who desperately want it, I also recognize that it will be a long, difficult, and at times tedious road for Scotland should they gain their independence from England. So my prayers and thoughts and well wishes go with the voters of Scotland tomorrow, and I eagerly await the results of this epic vote!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-19604676504185690342014-09-10T11:12:00.001-04:002014-09-10T16:03:28.698-04:00Clarified Butter Moment #1: What's the deal with happiness?People define happiness in a slew of different ways. For example, here's one blogger's take on what happiness is:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQD5wTTrzGpqDQ31OYCC8wAihEboY0Hg_Cn11Df-NfHEi-yRu8KY6kq7xFhwMdrpumWVuD-NoJ9roYjbuqqu9MJQmlKGef0dwQqpjHq14XBUY1kU0ibAghlfuaUC6AEvqVb4s_F7mbJnI/s1600/Happiness-Is...header.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQD5wTTrzGpqDQ31OYCC8wAihEboY0Hg_Cn11Df-NfHEi-yRu8KY6kq7xFhwMdrpumWVuD-NoJ9roYjbuqqu9MJQmlKGef0dwQqpjHq14XBUY1kU0ibAghlfuaUC6AEvqVb4s_F7mbJnI/s1600/Happiness-Is...header.png" height="140" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://shannoneileenblog.typepad.com/happiness-is/</td></tr>
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Now, I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here, nor do I want to put down what brings happiness to people. However, happiness, at least in my experience, is superficial. All too often it is a veil behind which hides some form of self-indulgence. (That's a strong word, I realize. Just hear me out.)</div>
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When people say, "I'm not happy," usually it means that they are not getting what they want. Everyone experiences this. That denied desire can be material, relational, or whatever. They don't have what they want and, in the words of my 5-year-old, they think "It's not fair." </div>
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And they're probably right. So much in this world isn't fair. The world is ugly. It's broken. It's harassed and helpless and in desperate need of some genuine compassion.<br />
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So hear me when I say this: It's not wrong to want to be happy.<br />
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Interestingly enough, what I'm finding in my own life is that, despite whatever unhappiness I may be experiencing at a given moment, happiness is not what I'm actually after. When I feel <b>un</b>happy its because I'm feeling a whole lot of deeper things that matter more than happiness. A few of these deeper things I've been able to identify are:<br />
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I feel <b>un</b>seen.<br />
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I feel <b>un</b>heard.<br />
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I feel <b>un</b>needed.<br />
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I feel <b>un</b>loved.<br />
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When those deeper "Un" things surface, my tendency is to find a way to assuage the "un". And unfortunately that's when I go after what I think will make me <i>happy</i>. A better relationship. A better wardrobe. A better job. A better social set. A better environment. A better self. But none of that can bring a lasting solution to what I'm feeling. The actual solution is a paradox.<br />
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To be seen is to see.<br />
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To be heard is to hear.<br />
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To be needed is to need.<br />
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To be loved is to love.<br />
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None of these solutions make sense to my limited, human mind. How in the world can I feel heard if all I do is listen? I honestly don't know exactly how it works--just as I don't know exactly how my novel is being written. The story becomes bigger than me. It takes on a life of its own and I am merely the conduit for it. So it is in life, oftentimes.<br />
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When I have stopped trying to be heard and listen to those around me, I hear in others the same words that echo in myself. A shared experience, A shared idea. A shared struggle. A shared hope. When a person feels heard, she is more apt to listen. Unfortunately, someone has to take that position of "First Listener" to begin this process. The same goes for seeing and needing and loving. And it is a HUGE risk to be the one to take the "First" role.<br />
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I'll admit that placing myself in that vulnerable position makes me sick to my stomach sometimes, knowing the potential for being wounded (or re-wounded, as it might be). To acknowledge that I <i>need </i>is a risk. To make the choice to <i>love </i>is a risk. Every. Single. Time. Yet I'm realizing that everything that matters in life is a risk. Everything. Therefore, our choice lies in what we are willing to risk ourselves on.<br />
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So I've decided not to try to make myself happy. Instead, I keep trying to unearth the "un"s in my life and bring them into the light. I'm trying to embrace the paradox. I'm trying to take risks. If I do these things, I could potentially get hurt. Or I could find contentment and connection and discover a wilder and deeper happiness--what I prefer to call JOY--than I've ever experienced. For me, that's worth the risk.<br />
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PS: If you wondering what in the world a "Clarified Butter Moment" is, read <a href="http://www.annaurquhart.com/2014/09/clarified-butter-and-trees-falling-in.html" target="_blank">this</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5953246427453127002.post-85083594914166982242014-09-03T10:57:00.001-04:002014-09-03T11:10:31.943-04:00Clarified Butter and Trees Falling in the ForestDid you ever have something big happen? Something that shakes the insides of you so that you have to shut your eyes and when you open them again the world looks strangely tilted? Something that changes how you approach people? How you approach the world? How you approach yourself?<br />
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I'm in the midst of something like that. I know that I've been quiet pretty much since last spring, and it's because I've been walking on a tilted landscape. It gets pretty tiring. I've been trying as often as possible to be still--which isn't easy while mothering, wife-ing, working, writing. But I've found pockets of stillness. I almost hold my breath when I find this stillness because #1: I'm always surprised by it, but more so because #2: I desperately want the stillness to last as long as possible.<br />
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And maybe it's because my breath is held and I'm oxygen-deficient, or maybe because it's only in the stillness that I'm able to actually open my eyes and look around, but I'm finding my view of the world has started to clarify, like butter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a class="irc_hl irc_hol" data-href="http://www.macheesmo.com/2010/01/how-to-make-clarified-butter/" data-ved="0CAQQjB0" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=eAR7BeP5BjLnyM&tbnid=j3x16x6HDjfrJM:&ved=0CAQQjB0&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.macheesmo.com%2F2010%2F01%2Fhow-to-make-clarified-butter%2F&ei=ziAHVP-0GojygwSO84CQAg&bvm=bv.74115972,d.eXY&psig=AFQjCNFSgi5olqabD-mrhVHIA8bFdBFFqA&ust=1409839364583800" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2); background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #7d7d7d; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr" style="margin-right: -2px; overflow: hidden; padding-right: 2px; text-overflow: ellipsis; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;">www.macheesmo.com</span></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a class="irc_hl irc_hol" data-href="http://www.ivillage.com/what-is-clarified-butter-how-do-you-make-it/3-a-58138" data-ved="0CAQQjB0" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=J6JVuf04obwvnM&tbnid=T3kNb02lPOQyVM:&ved=0CAQQjB0&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ivillage.com%2Fwhat-is-clarified-butter-how-do-you-make-it%2F3-a-58138&ei=GCEHVKCVDdLAggT3hYGYBA&bvm=bv.74115972,d.eXY&psig=AFQjCNFSgi5olqabD-mrhVHIA8bFdBFFqA&ust=1409839364583800" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2); background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #7d7d7d; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr" style="margin-right: -2px; overflow: hidden; padding-right: 2px; text-overflow: ellipsis; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;">www.ivillage.com</span></a></td></tr>
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My view isn't crystal clear, but it's not gloppy anymore. (And let me tell you, it was insanely and disgustingly gloppy for awhile.) So, whenever I am able to steal some time from a busy life, I'm going to be posting here some of these moments of clarity that I've been stumbling on while in the stillness. Moments I suppose I might refer to as "Clarified Butter Moments." </div>
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(I actually had no intention of using this butter metaphor when I started this post, but there we have it. I've written my way into something a bit ridiculous, yet maybe--hopefully--not fully stupid.) </div>
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Perhaps you have had these Clarified Butter Moments (CBMs) ages ago and I'm just starting to catch up. </div>
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Or maybe when a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, the falling tree was just me tripping and falling into a gorse bush, and the fact that no one hears it is because no one's actually listening. (But believe me, I make a horrendous noise when I fall into gorse bushes.)</div>
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Or maybe you're on the same path of discovery as I am, and we can walk together for a little while.</div>
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Whatever the scenario, I'm going to keep showing up now and again with my CBMs, because as Leonardo Da Vinci said: "Develop your senses--learn how to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else." </div>
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So maybe amidst all the clarified butter I--or we--will learn how to really see.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a title="Follow The Silent Isle on Bloglovin" href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/5536641"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/en/widget.gif?id=5536641" border="0" /></a> </div>Anna Urquharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623009655068400866noreply@blogger.com2