tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-385824872024-03-14T09:01:58.114-04:00Who Cares What I Think?Opinions and general nonsense by Mindie Burgoyne.Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-53386749002364505592021-01-12T15:56:00.002-05:002021-01-13T11:52:34.764-05:00One Way to Handle a Widow's Grief - Buy Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk0IW3HpnIz-uPa5_h93Um70nl70A3bIwncKU2kyDP8oxfREYSmeSbiNn0qn7EEEt3TeAG0dUOYoJMTM8asmwF-SECjymGf-zQr02k1OZEfY1QLk5j_iJw_yXIaaETxkNs4_L/s2048/mtbBwrS4RXmHFw4Gj170%252Bw.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk0IW3HpnIz-uPa5_h93Um70nl70A3bIwncKU2kyDP8oxfREYSmeSbiNn0qn7EEEt3TeAG0dUOYoJMTM8asmwF-SECjymGf-zQr02k1OZEfY1QLk5j_iJw_yXIaaETxkNs4_L/w640-h480/mtbBwrS4RXmHFw4Gj170%252Bw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My home on the Eastern Shore of Maryland</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My husband, Dan passed away a little over a month ago. I'm grieving like all widows do. I found that I could steal some wonderful moments of happiness as well as focus away from my grief, by doing home improvements and decorating. Doing up the house is a great distraction from a widow's grief - at least for me. </div><p>I live in an old Victorian house in rural Maryland. It's about 2000 square feet and in good shape for a home that was built in 1892. But like all historic homes... it's constant upkeep and repair. Something always needs to be fixed.</p><p>For the last ten years, Dan and I did nothing to improve the décor. Our house is a mishmash of things we've collected over the years, things our kids left behind, and way too many mementos. Nothing matches. Our fourteen-year-old couch sags in the middle, is too big for the living room, and has black magic marker stains on the arms from when our twin granddaughters were toddlers. I abhor that couch. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">The House - neglected, crowded, disorganized</h2><p>We overhauled our bathroom sixteen years ago with the cheapest fixtures available. We couldn't afford elegant back then. So we bought a little sink/vanity combo, a shower and a toilet. Imagine the cheapest fixtures complemented by a multi-color scheme of blue, green, gray, peach, rose and navy enamel paint with mermaid accents. (I must have been on crack). Dan never completed the finishing work. There are paint drippings and broken trim and unfinished corners without trim. Some of the tile eventually cracked. The sink stopper in that bathroom is permanently broken, and the sink itself has brown stains from our hard water that has eaten through the glaze. This is our bathroom from hell. </p><p>Our kitchen still had its disgusting turquoise laminate counter that was likely installed in the 60s and a cheap, shallow stainless steel double sink. The kitchen island was falling apart and had an ugly chewed corner courtesy our (now deceased) dog, Fergus. There was no room in the kitchen to move or cook. Cabinets were jammed so full that cups and containers would fall out when opened.</p><p>Then there were our bedrooms. Oh, my God. I hate to even remember them. We had a spare room with an antique spindle bed, two unmatched, rickety tables on each side of it, a rocker with frayed upholstery hanging down under the seat. There was a child's vanity propped up on bricks that supported a GIANT doll house that I couldn't bear to part with. There were shelves full of toys, puzzles, and books from when our grandkids were little, and a TV sitting on a stack of boxes. The cracked plaster walls needed paint and none of the three sash windows worked. Just walking into that room made me want to cry. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Comfort Buying Begins</h2><p>In April of 2019, Dan had brain surgery. During the procedure, I sat in the surgery waiting room worrying and worrying. I'd tell myself everything would be fine, and then I'd worry some more. To distract myself, I thumbed through my Facebook newsfeed. I saw a Wayfair advertisement for a chair I liked. That chair ad came down my newsfeed once a day, and every time it did I'd stop and look at it and read the description and think about where I might put it in my crowded house of cluttered horror. </p><p>But this time when the chair appeared I thought to myself, "I love that chair. Where would I put it? It's a good price. Maybe if I got it for that awful POS second bedroom, it would force me to finally fix up that room. For now, I'll throw out the rocker and put in that chair. And it will feel good every time I look at it" BOOM. I bought it. Delivery would be in seven days. </p><p>It was a four-hour surgery, and I was on a role. I talked myself into redoing that bedroom, and I purchased (with my little iPhone) two night stands, a dresser, two lamps, a console table, a chest for the foot of the bed that matched the chair, new linens, accent pillows and a cute little alarm clock. It felt good. I had something to look forward to. It felt creative. Dan's surgery went well. All was good. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtm-9eKB6oZW8spQbGdRgCnAZe72Tinfyq2N3AoeFfnSpzvYfeqg_oE4KiUk5EPzroSuhkClZxTkgPgfWWBzBxKOIs868iw_TJEKIFvOMiX7f8_WWQsQtoHGYDpsbx0bTCbD04/s2048/fullsizeoutput_a112.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Wayfair Chair" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1796" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtm-9eKB6oZW8spQbGdRgCnAZe72Tinfyq2N3AoeFfnSpzvYfeqg_oE4KiUk5EPzroSuhkClZxTkgPgfWWBzBxKOIs868iw_TJEKIFvOMiX7f8_WWQsQtoHGYDpsbx0bTCbD04/w562-h640/fullsizeoutput_a112.heic" title="Wayfair Chair that got me started" width="562" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Wayfair Chair that got me started decorating</i></div><p>I shared my new buys via private message with my grown children, all of whom had occupied that bedroom at one time. I got great cheers of affirmation from them, except from my son, Daniel who texted back, "Please burn the bed while you're at it." I texted back, "Bite me. I like the bed." In fact, the bed was the only thing I didn't replace. Once the old stuff was sold or donated and the new furniture was placed, I had the room painted a very soothing green with taupe trim. Then I bought window shades and a large braided rug. I felt like Joanna Gaines every time I walked past that room. </p><p>It took Dan nearly three months to recover in the hospital from that surgery, and in that time I also ordered a new island for the kitchen, along with a countertop, sink and faucet ... and new cabinets for our mudroom. All of these things were in place when Dan got home. We were hopeful about his progress, and my anxiety lifted. For the remainder of that year my buying was tamped down. </p><p>But then came January 2020. Dan had to go back into the hospital. Like before, this stay was nearly three months. Covid hit during this stay, and things were very stressful. Dan came home on March 17th just as everything was shutting down due to the pandemic. His health was not stable, and we were sequestered inside our home. I was cooking all of our meals in my improved kitchen with my new island. </p><p>And it was nearly my birthday. </p><p>Poor old Dan couldn't buy me anything so I told him not to worry. I wanted a new charcoal grill. Suddenly, I'd developed a hunger to learn the art of charcoal grilling. So we bought me a Weber Performance Deluxe Grill in Crimson as a birthday gift. I watched a dozen YouTube videos about charcoal grilling and fell in love. I also got a wooden prep cart to go with it - and new dishes - and new grill stuff. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIntmoJ63OWJUXS24kMWdXjtoZFm7rMp0soY-TmRMlF5zcmjZcEMmKpL5rGxUkwD4Psmd9EgtOtoL2cZBfEqp4MNBtU3n5naEq9-j1QZr-et8bUZhAVrWsY6yZyRtZRuevPs8B/s1104/Screen+Shot+2021-01-12+at+2.02.07+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="1104" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIntmoJ63OWJUXS24kMWdXjtoZFm7rMp0soY-TmRMlF5zcmjZcEMmKpL5rGxUkwD4Psmd9EgtOtoL2cZBfEqp4MNBtU3n5naEq9-j1QZr-et8bUZhAVrWsY6yZyRtZRuevPs8B/w640-h496/Screen+Shot+2021-01-12+at+2.02.07+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My Weber grill. If it were a man, I'd marry it. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Then came Mothers Day. Dan still needed gift help. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I got myself a five piece dinette set with umbrella and cushions and placemats and dishes. We had a little paradise right outside our back door, and I cooked on the grill four or five nights a week. Dan loved the food and it was our special time spent together. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlMusU0JkwtuqZ-2IIKZLbrXMpKDPjgcJwZ6ReV_T-R71QfSTNXBJYtxFPzdm2hp-Y_O6grjjVrB0Jo9VbE7qTHXiom8I_kVL0tirwRkMQAKDqCA_blEN2f1ldtlTGrS_QbR-r/s2048/IMG_0621.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlMusU0JkwtuqZ-2IIKZLbrXMpKDPjgcJwZ6ReV_T-R71QfSTNXBJYtxFPzdm2hp-Y_O6grjjVrB0Jo9VbE7qTHXiom8I_kVL0tirwRkMQAKDqCA_blEN2f1ldtlTGrS_QbR-r/w480-h640/IMG_0621.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My deck dinette and cushions.</i></div></i><p>With my love of cooking revived, I bought an air fryer. What a life changer that was. I still use it nearly every day - mostly for cooking vegetables. I also bought and Instant Pot for indoor cooking and an outdoor chest to store the cushions and deck supplies. We had so much fun on that deck. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcPP2Jk3vbVCPsMMqluuZ_0TuLj0fmUPd7u8RAFM7kMDOOR1hSeb4VkprVFocRwloThVF1I8UKYPZeb9gUCmr1CUXD4g049b-iUUo2_DnCxB8OuW3VCiQ0n9jIfC1krBYZbql/s2048/IMG_9654.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcPP2Jk3vbVCPsMMqluuZ_0TuLj0fmUPd7u8RAFM7kMDOOR1hSeb4VkprVFocRwloThVF1I8UKYPZeb9gUCmr1CUXD4g049b-iUUo2_DnCxB8OuW3VCiQ0n9jIfC1krBYZbql/w480-h640/IMG_9654.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Dan loving his steak dinner. </i></div><br /><p>Once the weather got chilly, Dan got sick again. He was admitted to the hospital on our twenty-first anniversary - September 18th. He came home on October 30th under the care of Hospice and he passed away on December 5th. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJZLH3aUDB7nPMzsEE6pkqzS2LFPJXCar2GE1fN-nx1c71fKquo3qhH2HEM7YCjQyqLC6B_qeVFVJBs9vGUJxEtRD7PpbGzInKls4bltQmFCsP5f_JJO85atXg1vFksAKN5N8/s2048/IMG_9645.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJZLH3aUDB7nPMzsEE6pkqzS2LFPJXCar2GE1fN-nx1c71fKquo3qhH2HEM7YCjQyqLC6B_qeVFVJBs9vGUJxEtRD7PpbGzInKls4bltQmFCsP5f_JJO85atXg1vFksAKN5N8/w480-h640/IMG_9645.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Dan and I on our deck one evening after dinner. </i></div><br /><p>Christmas came and I did my usually buying for five grown children and their spouses and ten grandchildren. But the grief is setting in. It changes everyday. Anxiety comes with it. </p><p>So I've geared up agin. </p><p>I'm finally replacing that wretched couch, and that horrid bathroom vanity. Also .... a new TV stand that hides all the cords and doesn't look so junky. I got myself a new ice-maker. I haven't had ice since I moved from Laurel in 2002. Our water is disgusting. I use bottled water in this ice-maker, and it sits on the countertop making all the ice I want. These home projects are a nice distraction from noticing how very empty my house is these days. </p><p>Fortunately, I only buy what I can afford at the time. Sometimes I wonder why buying things has a soothing effect on my grief, but for now it works. I hope I don't run out of money before I enclose my deck, expand the kitchen and buy leather chairs for the music room. </p><p><br /></p>Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com14Marion Station, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.7707638999999929.7290566638211544 -110.92701389999999 66.349524336178845 -40.614513899999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-31109747686373877432021-01-07T11:58:00.004-05:002021-01-13T11:57:03.157-05:00Burgoyne Christmas Letter<p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Burgoyne Christmas Letter</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">December 14, 2020. </h3><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWF0Vm6Nus3eGrKEnQAjLFNuQhsxXm9yNG1goLj_6vzp4f-wTOqjw73R5OKSrHUtgDjGTqEkA-NJWVjgmdtLqyLb44oumJKEIJREkwkT6cn9C65mXK_XItuu7EVbRC-kxHOQP3/s2048/D-MChLtr2020.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="MIndie and Dan Burgoyne at Western Maryland Railroad" border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWF0Vm6Nus3eGrKEnQAjLFNuQhsxXm9yNG1goLj_6vzp4f-wTOqjw73R5OKSrHUtgDjGTqEkA-NJWVjgmdtLqyLb44oumJKEIJREkwkT6cn9C65mXK_XItuu7EVbRC-kxHOQP3/w640-h480/D-MChLtr2020.jpeg" title="MIndie and Dan Burgoyne at Western Maryland Railroad" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mindie and Dan Burgoyne at the Western Maryland Railway, Cumberland, MD</i></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>Merry Christmas from Marion Station. I write this to you from my 2nd story office, which has a panoramic view of the south side of my home. I’m fortunate to write while looking out through the treetops of magnolia, crape myrtle and maple trees. Today it’s gloomy and pouring rain which is good when one needs to be in a reflective mood. This is surely, the hardest Christmas letter I’ve ever written.</p><p><br /></p><p>It’s an understatement to say that 2020 was a difficult year. With the all that hit us – the virus, separation from loved ones, isolation, economic hardships and the angst about when it will all go back to normal – if it will ever go back to what we knew as “normal” - it’s been such a stressful year. For us, that stress was capped by the loss of my husband, Dan Burgoyne. As most of you know, Dan has been ill for several years. Just ten days ago, Dan slipped peacefully away while he was at home under the care of hospice. He had been hospitalized for several months during the year and he finally decided he’d had enough of hospitals. Dan made the decision to go home and live out his days in that comfortable and familiar place that we’ve shared for the last 18 years. He was only home for a month, but it was a month when he was surrounded by love. If there is any beauty in dying, Dan certainly found it. When all of these restrictions are lifted and we’re able to gather safely, we will have a memorial service for him – a beautiful celebration of his life. But for now, we press on, and try to find peace in this blessed season when we recall everything we’ve ever loved. </p><p><br /></p><p>With the Covid restrictions, we couldn’t travel much in 2020, and Dan’s health was poor. So, we spent a portion of nearly every week in our RV just five miles from our house at Janes Island State Park. We always had a campsite that faced the water overlooking the expansive saltmarsh, and Dan was so happy there. He’d wake up early to catch the sun slowly rising behind us – spreading a gradual light over the marsh. The color changes are amazing. He was happy to sit outside under the loblolly pines and wait for me to finish working. In the late afternoon, we’d have a meal that I cooked over the fire and then we’d watch one of the most magnificent sunsets in Maryland. All the campers would come to the waterfront and participate in this sort of silent benediction as the blazing sun dipped beneath the horizon setting the entire sky and marsh alight with pinks and purples. Families would bring their chairs to watch it together, lovers would snap selfies, even the dogs on leashes seemed to know something spectacular was going on – and Dan I would watch them and watch the sunset always marveling at how something so simple and free – something that happens every day, can be so surprising and fulfilling. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5g6tARF091kKiViYoz71t_tBRoX6yS6LF8UvSx0hE1swz_g_gGPdCr692kAdTN_dQWGkRv8a1oUeT3D68L47X0BSFNn1TI2Tfja8BP2wA9s-j7RF_ycCMZOgZu1PAUFXBFNFP/s2048/janesislandsunset.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1312" data-original-width="2048" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5g6tARF091kKiViYoz71t_tBRoX6yS6LF8UvSx0hE1swz_g_gGPdCr692kAdTN_dQWGkRv8a1oUeT3D68L47X0BSFNn1TI2Tfja8BP2wA9s-j7RF_ycCMZOgZu1PAUFXBFNFP/w519-h332/janesislandsunset.png" width="519" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>With making all of those campfire meals, and having few options for eating out, I became super interested in outdoor cooking. I bought my first charcoal grill (a Weber Performer Deluxe with crimson kettle) – and since I don’t do anything halfway, I also bought a side burner, a Christopher Knight outdoor dining set, a Christopher Knight wood bar cart, an Acacia wood outdoor rocker… and cushions for all the chairs … and a table umbrella … and dinnerware … and lots of deck décor. (Happy birthday and happy Mother’s Day to me). So, when we weren’t at the campground, we were on our beautiful deck eating wonderfully healthy food that I cooked on the Weber talking about our lives, our hopes and reminiscing about good times. </p><p><br /></p><p>We did take one trip in 2020, and it was perhaps, the best vacation we ever had. I’m not sure if it ranked so high because it was that great, or because Dan and I both secretly suspected it might be his last trip. We made the most of every cherished moment, and did our best to just live in those moments. Just before his birthday, I asked him where he wanted to go and he said, “Maine. I want to see the coast, and my brothers.” So, a few days after that, we headed north. We had a wonderful visit with Dan’s brothers and their families, and from there we headed to a rented, converted Methodist church near Boothbay. Dan awoke on his 68th birthday in his beloved home state of Maine. The restored church had three bedrooms, a living / dining area, a well-equipped kitchen, and a large deck that wrapped around the back of the building shaded by an oak grove. Inside the building, the woodwork and stained-glass windows were still in place, and the feel of blessing and sacred space was still present. In the evening, we’d climbed up into the bell tower and watch the sun set over Ocean Harbor where it meets the Damariscotta River. We ate lobster every other night and enjoyed a visit with my sister / cousin, Katie and her partner Robin who lived nearby. We reminisced about our childhoods and families and laughed until we cried. Dan didn’t want to leave. I asked him a few times after we got home where he’d like to go next. His response was always the same. “Back to the church in Maine.”</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlc958OkAyk2qHBWa0-weq7f2IJef3DAw9HA5EIZHMavtXdnGqVrAVwY-39SSVijqT8hq1leqTOJnjj-_XrJqGlDmlRB9olcMPcwzg5ptFm6A4Y7srhk58ZiYswAaoPos6RdA/s2048/IMG_1240.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="2048" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlc958OkAyk2qHBWa0-weq7f2IJef3DAw9HA5EIZHMavtXdnGqVrAVwY-39SSVijqT8hq1leqTOJnjj-_XrJqGlDmlRB9olcMPcwzg5ptFm6A4Y7srhk58ZiYswAaoPos6RdA/w499-h376/IMG_1240.jpg" width="499" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I’m grateful for the outpouring of love and support that came in from friends and family with the news of Dan’s passing. So many people remarked that ours was a great love story, which I guess is true. It’s hard to tell when you’re inside the story. When I think of a great love story, I don’t see it as being something you can tell … but more something that is lived…lived in the intimate moments between those who love, and only they get the full view. Those moments between husband and wife, parent and child, sibling and friends - they are private and exclusive, and they build on prior moments. Every love story weaves its way through happiness and hardships, joys and sorrows, and somehow the love endures and it shapes the story. The blessing is when you can understand all of your own love stories. And if you can use two or more hands to count the number of love stories in your life - wow! You’re abundantly blessed. </p><p><br /></p><p>I notice when scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed how many new babies have been born to my virtual friends. There are so many pictures of these little faces and tiny hands and the proud parents and grandparents - so full of joy. It brings it all full circle. One life fades as another emerges. While we say goodbye to the departed, new life blooms all around us. With each birth, every little baby is full of potential. Every parent exudes such hope and gratitude. And this mammoth wave of love envelops all of them making everyone’s troubles evaporate in those precious moments. If only we could experience the Christ child like that each Christmas - as an annual renewal of untarnished, newly-birthed love that wraps around us and resurrects hope and belief in the potential that we all still have to keep that love going - a love so radiant we can’t look away. A love that blinds us to present obstacles and sorrows, numbs us to pain, and opens a wide view to blessings and promise on our path forward. </p><p><br /></p><p>No one gets through this life without sorrow. No one lives without stress and worry. And hardships aren’t evenly dealt. The best we can hope for is that we can be strong enough to love and not become closed off or bitter as we pull through those rough times. As I was writing Dan’s obituary, I knew I had to put down his life’s accomplishments – his college degree, his time as an ironworker, a grape grower, a beekeeper – those achievement milestones. But they aren’t the things that made Dan a great man. What if at the end we weren’t recognized for what we had accomplished, but were measured by how much we loved? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaIKy6Uu4AAK-gXcuYxKKGcIn-HXlr0cjpzAuzJ1HhveQcLawOv4mw5ttYuOkGg5dn2WBuGQLtPGv4SwscK63_Hv2sLE6YqnWiqu1_NCAiIEBuP7VoWAqkroX1oa0wzZo3w6t/s2005/mimi-dan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2005" data-original-width="1616" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaIKy6Uu4AAK-gXcuYxKKGcIn-HXlr0cjpzAuzJ1HhveQcLawOv4mw5ttYuOkGg5dn2WBuGQLtPGv4SwscK63_Hv2sLE6YqnWiqu1_NCAiIEBuP7VoWAqkroX1oa0wzZo3w6t/s320/mimi-dan.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>What I wanted to write for his obit was far more personal – an inside look at what made this amazing person – my favorite human - Dan Burgoyne a man so loved by friends and family. He was scarred by many sorrows – the sudden loss of loved ones, the pressures of raising a family, a failed business, the struggle of alcoholism, the toll that hard work took on his body, carrying the burden of terminal illness, and the slow loss of his ability to care for himself - these were the circumstances of his inside story. He walked with them every day and never complained. What made Dan great was that despite his burdens, he was always able to surrender to love. He loved without holding back. He was always ready with a smile, a hug, a touch on the shoulder - abandoning any prior hurt feeling or tension that may have existed. Even on his deathbed, his final words were those expressing his love for us. Isn’t that the greatest thing? Accomplishments are worth appreciating – but those who can love freely are the greatest among us. </p><p><br /></p><p>I visited my daughter Lara this past weekend and notice that Christ child was missing from her Christmas creche. This was a tradition always present in my family – and also in our church. You could deck out the whole house, put up the lights, trim the tree, and position the Christmas creche in a prominent place with all the figures – Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the angel, maybe a donkey and a cow, but the manger was empty until midnight on Christmas Eve. It was at that magic moment when the infant would finally find his place in the manger bed. Then on Christmas morning – the baby is in the manger marking the shift from anticipation to arrival - the newness of Christmas morning and the promise of the coming light. </p><p><br /></p><p>This is my Christmas wish for you - that the magic and mystery of the Christ child will bless you with a love so great this Christmas morning that it will wash over you with healing and light and ignite a flame of gratitude and recognition in you of your greatest gifts, blinding you to sorrow or pain. And that the same love will sustain you through anything the next year brings, and magnify your joys and blessings. </p><p><br /></p><p>The tree on the cover of our Christmas card this year sits on a hillside at a famous spot called “Ladies View” in Killarney National Park. In 1861, Queen Victoria’s Ladies in Waiting stopped at this site and admired the view, which was later named for them. There’s a little scenic viewing area where cars and busses can pull off and people can walk down to a platform and take in the “Ladies View.” We stopped here on my Ireland tour in 2019. We were late in the season so there were few tourists. While most of my tour group ventured down to the platform, I found myself heading away from there – ascending up the hill on the opposite side to spend some time alone. Dan was not able to be with me on that tour due to his failing health. I saw this lone birch tree perched on the edge of a hill. It was so exposed – off by itself. The wind had stripped off its leaves, while other trees still hadn’t shed theirs completely, and the stones at the base of the tree kept it from sliding off the hillside. I recall thinking of Dan and his love of birch trees at that moment, knowing how he would have loved that spot. When our tours to start again next year, I hope to return to this spot. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqimUXYjuqmD-HJfOQYoNlbg9aMuAsbUy_92F1AUwkyV5ZZlTOyJlH9cPyMR7xTrhdFOwqJYynKIKSbKRxWWVfOQiy0DjfFd9aw1Y3MEdrI-Er6JIes9PaXBS4tZpaOSbKdF_t/s2048/IMG_8404.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Birch Tree at Ladies View, Killarney National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqimUXYjuqmD-HJfOQYoNlbg9aMuAsbUy_92F1AUwkyV5ZZlTOyJlH9cPyMR7xTrhdFOwqJYynKIKSbKRxWWVfOQiy0DjfFd9aw1Y3MEdrI-Er6JIes9PaXBS4tZpaOSbKdF_t/w640-h480/IMG_8404.jpeg" title="Birch Tree at Ladies View, Killarney National Park" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Looking at the picture now, I’m reminded that those bare branches hold the promise of summer shade and the future sound of rustling leaves in the warm winds that blow across those mountains as the seasons change. I was there at the golden hour, and the light was magical when I snapped this picture trying to capture that still moment in time. Later Dan and I decided it was perfect for our Christmas card. The cards, of course were printed before Dan passed, but he saw them and approved of the design – So know that he sends his wishes across the veil and they are joined with mine - - that all of you, our friends and family – will be blessed abundantly this Christmas with love circling around you.</p><p> </p><p>May God bless you and those you love. </p><p>Mindie </p>Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com2Marion Station, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.7707638999999929.7290566638211544 -110.92701389999999 66.349524336178845 -40.614513899999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-51182258420710133632019-06-12T11:27:00.000-04:002019-06-12T11:28:58.590-04:00The Old House - A Family Memory in Riverdale, Maryland<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/AVvXsEjm78Zkh9O-At3MrReWAs3FbHQWTNkXA9beve3p2F0x8M6PiHOANIZC_cl9DIbZ3BwS1M0FhDsf68sDfFrH_1P31fk_c7x1kRYuK5hracdzeWNkBUdxB1g7Lk_inzfPf0ZH0Lwl/s1600/riverdalehouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The Old House in Riverdale" border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm78Zkh9O-At3MrReWAs3FbHQWTNkXA9beve3p2F0x8M6PiHOANIZC_cl9DIbZ3BwS1M0FhDsf68sDfFrH_1P31fk_c7x1kRYuK5hracdzeWNkBUdxB1g7Lk_inzfPf0ZH0Lwl/s640/riverdalehouse.jpg" title="The Old House in Riverdale" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Old House in Riverdale - about 1940</td></tr>
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The Granados family occupied a house in Riverdale, Maryland (now known as <a href="http://www.riverdaleparkmd.info/" target="_blank">Riverdale Park</a>) from 1917 until it was razed in the 1960s. In our family, it was always referred to as "the Old House."<br />
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The Old House (from what I'm told by relatives) stood about a block or so east of what is now Kenilworth Ave and Riverdale Road behind that strip mall that had Patrick's Drug Store in it.<br />
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<a href="http://granados.com/d_immigration.htm" target="_blank">Ramón Granados</a>, a Spanish immigrant running the Spanish School in Washington DC bought it around 1917 He settled in it with his wife, Maria Concepcion, and their seven children. Four more children came after that, all born in this house. My grandfather, Luís, was the eldest.<br />
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In 1927, Luís married a Riverdale girl - Anne Waters. Her father was the Mayor for a few terms and her mother was a local music teacher. Anne was born in the grey stucco house at the corner of Riverdale and Taylor Roads. My mother and uncle were born in the same house, in the same bedroom some twenty years later.<br />
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In 1930 my great-grandmother, Maria died, and sometime after that my grandfather, Luís moved into the Old House with his young family (this included my mother, Anita) to help his widowed father Ramón who still had minor children to raise.<br />
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My mother grew up in the Old House with her five siblings and my grandparents continued to live there after their children were grown and gone. I remember my grandmother recalling how Granddaddy walked that porched - back and forth - when he was waiting for his daughters to come home. That porch was the setting for many family photos.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramon and Maria's Children on the Porch of The Old House. Luis (my grandfather is tall one in the center)<br />
Back row: Connie, Luis, Rose<br />
Sitting: Clara, Mary, Ramon Jr</td></tr>
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In the early 1960s progress and development took over and the Old House was razed to make way for an apartment building (which still occupies the site).<br />
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My grandfather had purchased a small waterfront lot on the Patuxent River in St. Mary's County where he had plans to slowly build his retirement home. When the Old House was razed, they moved into an apartment across Kenilworth Avenue to wait out retirement and build their new home.<br />
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Granddaddy took every salvageable thing out of the Old House - including radiators, trim, doors and part of the old wooden banister with its newel post. Little by little he added them to his retirement home project in Southern Maryland.<br />
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When they finally moved permanently to their waterfront home, they named the new house "Riverdale." They even had a silver coin engraved with "Riverdale 1963" pressed into the transplanted newel post.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesew2fhONt03nNAnjK6M4hmwftkt04tKez1LZu68wdMO7_uz9rWNcpw3Z8NBeXHRdh7pdKjA5_MQ98a_ecYj7Le5vt6_v5wiGN2WfEP4Si6UXlX-oZRPY9-0kI1Et2-iV4j80/s1600/luiannewedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1101" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesew2fhONt03nNAnjK6M4hmwftkt04tKez1LZu68wdMO7_uz9rWNcpw3Z8NBeXHRdh7pdKjA5_MQ98a_ecYj7Le5vt6_v5wiGN2WfEP4Si6UXlX-oZRPY9-0kI1Et2-iV4j80/s640/luiannewedding.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne Waters and Luis Granados on their wedding day August 1927</td></tr>
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My grandparents met in Riverdale, married in Riverdale, raised their children in Riverdale and watched many of their 30 grandchildren grow up in Riverdale. My cousins and I agree, that some of our best childhood memories were visiting our grandparents at the new house - "Riverdale" - on the River in St. Mary's County. Luís and Anne lived there with their memories of Riverdale until their deaths in the 1990s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJDU2qRp0Vr477AU5p4sc2w4JxiBukNsg7mPHPiluUqmfVP_75121r-aLyYfOPdn4gfG1lmrUOaZ23cwo9U7-k0yvUQ7HXODZ9zJ71OijkMUt6w-JZ3aSzDbMRA7fuanRvCCF/s1600/family+portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="708" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJDU2qRp0Vr477AU5p4sc2w4JxiBukNsg7mPHPiluUqmfVP_75121r-aLyYfOPdn4gfG1lmrUOaZ23cwo9U7-k0yvUQ7HXODZ9zJ71OijkMUt6w-JZ3aSzDbMRA7fuanRvCCF/s640/family+portrait.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luis and Anne and their six children in the yard of the Old House<br />
Standing L to R: Joe, Bob, Luis II, Fran (arms crossed)<br />
Sitting: Anne, Luis with hand on daughter, Maria (aka Chi-chi), Anita (my mother - stripes)</td></tr>
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My mother continued to live in Riverdale until she was too old to care for herself. And though I moved to Howard County as an adult, I still have a little piece of the Old House in Riverdale ... stones that used to line my great-grandfather's garden.<br />
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Evidently, Ramón had a garden at the Old House. It was lined with large rocks about the size of soccer balls he'd gathered from around the Anacostia River. They stayed in place there until the Old House was abandoned. My brother relocated some of those stones to my mother's front garden at her house in Riverdale Woods.<br />
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When my mother finally sold her house in the 1990s, I made my way over there on the night before the settlement and loaded up those stones. They now line my front garden in Marion Station on the Eastern Shore.<br />
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com1Riverdale Park, MD, USA38.963444 -76.93164079999996838.938751 -76.971981299999968 38.988137 -76.891300299999969tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-55492128341934196322019-01-06T11:49:00.003-05:002021-01-12T16:20:38.853-05:00Burgoyne Christmas Letter 2018December 18, 2018<br />
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Merry Christmas from Marion Station. As December moves along, and 2018 becomes a memory, Dan and I feel grateful. We’re grateful for our children and grandchildren, our home, our ability to make a living and have nice things. But we are especially grateful for you - our friends and family. It’s been a difficult year for us, and your friendship inspires us to keep moving forward, living in the moment and counting our blessings every day.<br />
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There have been bright spots in this year. The tour companies, Chesapeake Ghosts and Thin Places Tours are both doing very well. I’ve turned over most of the ghost tour company duties to Lara (my daughter) and she’s made all the difference in 2018 being our biggest year ever. Grandson #1, Benjamin is finally home safe from his last deployment in Iraq and he’s gotten engaged. He’s so happy. All the kids and grandkids are well and they bring us such happiness.<br />
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This week Lara and her little girl, Primrose – who is almost 5 – and I will do our annual trip to Washington DC. We’ll stay at the old Willard Hotel next to the White House in a room that overlooks the National Christmas tree. This year we’re taking Primmie to see the Washington Ballet perform the Nutcracker. My sister, Kathy is joining us with her daughters and granddaughter for Tea at the Willard and a visit Mount Vernon - George and Martha Washington’s house on the Potomac River. Every year at Christmas, Mount Vernon brings in a live camel reminiscent of the one old George brought to the estate to entertain his friends and family one Christmas. We’ll have breakfast at the Hay Adams Hotel, dinner at Hamilton’s and shop at the Holiday Markets. The glitz of lighted trees, decorated federal buildings and shop windows bring Christmas into immediate focus for me. They ignite a sense of nostalgia, memories of my mother taking me downtown to see the shop windows at Woodward and Lothrop and the live nativity – with real reindeer – on the White House lawn. Those were good times. And taking Lara and Primmie into the same city center at Christmas continues that tradition and somehow extends the old memories for me.<br />
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Sometimes though, the Christmas spirit makes life’s challenges seem a little more burdensome. In April we got some difficult news. The inoperable brain aneurysm that Dan has sitting on his brain stem has doubled in size over the last 3 years. It’s starting to cause him double vision, headaches and issues with balance. The only treatment is to slow the growth by keeping the blood pressure under control. Right now, Dan handles the effects of the aneurysm pretty well. But it’s tough dealing with the mobility issues and the uncertainty of a serious condition that can’t be cured.<br />
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My Scotland tour came right after that diagnosis. Dan flew out to California to visit Al and Ruthie and the girls, while I made my way across the Atlantic to meet a wonderful group of people in Edinburgh. For ten days I led them on an exploration of Scotland’s thin places. As always, being with tour guests lifted my spirits, and that cheer was magnified by being present in the wild landscapes of Scotland. The tour included a stop on Iona – a little island in the Inner Hebrides made famous by an Irish monk named Columba who settled there in the sixth century and developed a monastic community that became one of the greatest schools of learning in history. The Book of Kells was created in the Iona Scriptorium, and the spirituality brought by the monks in 563 A.D. is still present there, carrying on the traditions of faith, love, teaching, good works and prayer. You can’t help but feel spiritual on Iona, and there is such a healing energy about the place.<br />
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We also went to Lindisfarne – aka “Holy Island.” It’s the site of a monastic community founded in 635 by St. Aidan – a monk from Iona. Lindisfarne is actually just over the border in England. It’s an island twice a day when the high tides from the North Sea surround it. It was on Lindisfarne that I first saw “starlight.” To me, starlight is a romantic concept mentioned in poems and songs - - but really, whoever sees it? Even in our rural area, with little light pollution, I’ve seen bright starry skies, but I’ve never seen light cast on the earth by stars. On Lindisfarne, I woke up at 2am and walked in the dark over to my hotel room window that overlooked the sea. There was no moon – and the stars carpeted the sky. I walked outside passed the old monastic ruins and down to the beach. It was there that I could see the dim silhouettes of Holy Island lit only by the light of the stars. Sometimes it overwhelms me to think about how small we really are.<br />
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Once I returned home from Scotland, Dan and I settled into our house for summer and made some living adjustments based on his health issues. I looked out in our backyard at our 31-foot travel trailer and knew Dan wouldn’t be able to tow it anymore or manage all the mechanics of operating it. I could probably figure out the operations, but I was terrified to tow it. I once pulled the small camper we had prior to that trailer just 5 miles to the state park near our house. It swayed so much that I couldn’t stomach another drive like that. So, I gave up on towing, and Dan always pulled the campers.<br />
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A guest on one of our tours told me that a 5th wheel RV (one that actually hooks into the bed of a pick-up truck) was like towing “nothing.” Super-easy. So, I researched 5th wheels that could be pulled by the size truck we had. I found a new 31-foot Arctic Wolf 5th wheel that I liked at a dealership in Pennsylvania. I ventured out by myself, looked at the RV, negotiated a good price with our trade-in - and bought it the same day. Crazy – I know. Dan just went along with the idea … mostly because trying to convince me to do otherwise would have been futile. My mind was set on getting the 5th wheel and it was best to bless me and release me. It turns out that I CAN tow the thing … frontwards only for now. And towing a 5th wheel is – as our guest noted – almost like towing nothing. I did great at bringing it home once I figured out how to stop burning up the brakes. Until I can get the hang of moving the thing in reverse, Dan does all the “backing in.”<br />
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We spent eight weeks in the 5th wheel this year, at campgrounds close to home. I worked from the campsites – beginning my mornings at a table with panoramic views of Eastern Shore sunrises and sunsets. The best part of that experience was being together.<br />
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In June, I asked Dan where he’d like to travel if he could go anywhere. He said, Newfoundland and Labrador. So, for his birthday I planned a 10-day trip. We flew into the small community airport in the northern part of Newfoundland, rented a car, and arrived at our Airbnb by nightfall. The owner warned us to watch out for moose on the roads. There are evidently more moose in Newfoundland than people. We woke up the next morning on Dan’s 66th birthday, to views of Rocky Harbor and the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Later we explored a ten-mile pond gorge formed by glaciers in the Long Range Mountains (the most northern section of the Appalachians). You have to walk 1.5 miles to board the boat that takes you into a fjord that is lined with waterfalls, cliffs and rock formations. In our travels there we visited three world heritage sites, watched whales interact with our boat captain, saw a giant iceberg shatter in front of us, touched a 650-million-year-old rock formation, and walked onto the “Tablelands” – one of the few places where the Earth’s mantle is exposed.<br />
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In Labrador, we stayed three nights in a Lightkeepers House at the Point Amour. The village has a population 8 people (recorded in 2006 - down from 14 in 1998). The lighthouse is the tallest in Atlantic Canada, and except for a small gift shop and museum that close at 4 pm daily, we had the entire lighthouse compound to ourselves. It was enchanting – to be there on the edge of Labrador, atop a cliff overlooking the Strait of Belle Isle with nothing to fill the senses except the sound of the wind and sea, the pulse of the light in the tower and company of each other.<br />
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The first morning in the lightkeeper’s house, the fog was so thick that almost nothing was visible. Dan wasn’t in the house and I was worried about him. I opened the door and called for him, but knew that he probably couldn’t hear me. Just as I was going out to look for him, I saw him – coming through the fog, moving slowly supported by his cane. He’d been out walking…. taking it all in. It was in that moment, when I could see nothing but his fragile frame in a vast background of white, that I knew – like I had never known before - how lucky we were to be sharing that time together. Those moments on a foggy cliff in Labrador were fleeting and passed quickly, but it’s a blessing to experience them again and again in my memory.<br />
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As the fog started to lift that morning, I grabbed my camera hoping to get a misty shot of the lighthouse. But by the time I walked out to where I could get a full view, the fog was completely gone. In the space of ten minutes, the morning light put edges and color on everything - even the tiny trace of the moon still in the sky. It was then that I snapped the image that appears on the cover of this card. I think the time spent at Point Amour Lighthouse was my best memory of 2018. We loved Labrador.<br />
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In September Dan flew out to join the second of my two back-to-back tours of Ireland. On the last day of the tour he took a hard fall and bruised his ribs. The doctor noticed an abnormality in the chest x-rays and referred us to a lung clinic where Dan was diagnosed with Stage 3 lung cancer. Currently, he’s moving through 7 weeks of daily radiation treatments and chemotherapy. Though he has become very tired, he lucky that his cancer doesn’t produce a lot of pain. It was a frightening diagnosis, but great strides have been made in the last few years for lung cancer treatment. The doctors say they think it can be controlled, and we choose to be hopeful and positive. We’re discussing options for another trip this year to someplace Dan has always wanted to visit.<br />
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One blessing that comes with our challenges is the raw appreciation for every moment spent together, and the commitment to getting “out of our heads” and into our bodies – living in the present. I’ve spent most of my life setting and reaching goals. When I was younger, I worried about the future. Then I started planning the future - always looking to what was coming up, what I wanted to achieve or accomplish. Goals are good, and planning can be fun and fulfilling. But no one is promised the future. Sickness comes to most of us eventually – and when our time is up – it’s up. The only reality is the present reality –this moment. Dan and I are living in that belief, and every day is better because of it.<br />
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In Ireland this year, while standing in front of a 5000-year-old dolmen, a guest asked me why the ancient people engaged in human sacrifice. What was their motivation? I’m no historian. And the answer I offered was that no one knows for sure. Some suspect that the ancients worshiped the light – the sun. Perhaps they believed that the eternal creator was embodied in the sun. As the days got shorter and the hours of light lessened, they may have feared that the light would eventually expire and the world would fade into darkness and death. So, in order to win forgiveness and favor with the deity, and insure that the light would return, the ancients sacrificed something very precious – life itself. The new religion (Christianity) changed this thinking. Rather than showing the Divine Presence as a harsh entity to be feared, it presented God as a loving father – a father who sent his son as to teach us how to replace fear with love, who taught us that real power doesn’t come from dominating others, but from loving others – and being loved in return.<br />
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And that Son - that savior who was born as an innocent human child at the darkest time of the year – brought the promise of eternal light– a light that no darkness can extinguish. He is the center of the Christmas story. It’s what we remind ourselves of every year at this time. Darkness may come, but love vanquishes it every single time. Our hope lies that love. And the love that we have in you, dear friends is the balm that heals, and the light that illuminates all of our dark moments. Here’s to walking in the light this Christmas.<br />
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May God bless you and those you love in the coming year.<br />
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com0Marion Station, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.7707639000000212.517256 -117.07935790000002 63.561325 -34.462169900000021tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-4894051713956676572019-01-06T11:24:00.000-05:002019-01-06T11:24:56.206-05:00A Christmas Gift from Maine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have an artist-sister-in-law named Lisa who is married to Dan's brother, Steve. They live in Maine not far from where Dan grew up. Lisa does amazing work with miniatures and tiny elements - especially natural elements - that she crafts into little works of art.<br />
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Yesterday, the eleventh day of Christmas, a package from Maine came to the house from Lisa and Steve. Every detail right down to the packing box carried Lisa's artistic touch and attention to detail.<br />
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The gift, handcrafted by Lisa was a small elfish snowman tree ornament with 3 heart buttons, striped legs, and tiny white elfin shoes glued to crossed skis. His little head sported an embroidered gold, fur-trimmed hat tipped with a bright red bell. He wore a fuzzy brown matching scarf and smoked a pipe with a hint of "Maine evergreen tobacco" on the tip. A golden bell on a small chain dangled from his right stick-arm.<br />
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Probably the most moving (but subtle) element of this little work of art were the two "awareness ribbons" pinned over the snowman's heart - a burgundy one (the color for brain aneurysms), and a white one (the color for lung cancer).<br />
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The snowman came with a sachet of Maine pine needles tied with a white ribbon, accented with a gold star hanger. The ornament and sachet were wrapped in tissued and tucked into a Christmas tin. Lisa added a white sash across the tissue that said, "Be gentle with me. I'm a fragile little thing."<br />
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The tin was tied up with a red satin ribbon with handmade tags attached. Lisa slid the tin into a colorful donut box. placing tiny pine branches at the ends of the box as part of the packing so that they were the first thing we saw upon opening... a little hint of home for Dan. Maine is nicknamed "the pine tree state."<br />
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A lovely card was enclosed with a warm personal message from Lisa and Steve.<br />
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I'm fortunate to have a large family and many friends. I get more than my share of Christmas gifts. I love every one of them, as I love the people who give them. But when a person empties her own talent and creativity into a handmade present, there is an additional "gift" that comes with it - one that can't be seen or touched or heard.<br />
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This was a gift of the heart, and at this difficult time in our lives, Lisa's gift brought healing and strength.<br />
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I decided to do a post about it as a reminder of how that personal little "touch of ourselves" adds so much to a gift's value.<br />
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If you're ever in Carmel, Maine and happen to run into Lisa Burgoyne, giver her a hug from us.Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-89303008748624821642018-02-13T10:49:00.000-05:002021-01-12T16:14:55.637-05:00Roses, Valentines and Love - Dont be a Cheapskate<h2>
A Dozen Roses, Please ... or maybe two</h2>
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Nothing says “I love you” like one dozen, long-stemmed roses (except maybe two dozen). Don’t fall for that hype that is expressed in poetry … “a single rose of love – a single love never to be broken”. Single roses are for cheap givers. Give her at least one dozen on Valentine’s Day – the feast that celebrates love. <br />
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Every year, my husband gives me two dozen roses. He spent fifteen years in the floral industry as a designer, shop owner and grower of cut flowers. He told me that they'd always laugh at the few dummies that would buy "one single rose" for their dearest loves.<br />
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"You could see the love in their eyes - the ones who bought a dozen roses - or two dozen" he said. "But the guy who bought one rose, always had a big story about how one rose was more meaningful."<br />
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Get a grip, guys. Think of your true love. Does she want one single rose when she could have a dozen? That's like asking if she's rather have one beautiful wrapped piece of chocolate instead of a box. Seriously... we want the box.<br />
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Though Roses have been in existence for over 35 million years, garden cultivation of roses began 5000 years ago. It is only in the last several hundred years that they have been widely cultivated and become part of the human experience equated with “love.”<br />
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In the late eighteenth century, roses from China were cultivated and introduced into Europe. Today the rose has over 30,000 varieties to its flower species, and the flower that only bloomed once a year in soft shades of pink and white – now has produced “repeat bloomers” and hardy varieties in shades including lavender, yellow, blue, multi-toned and a thousand shades of pink and red.<br />
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Rose myths and history</h2>
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How the Flower got its Name: "Eros" to Rose</h3>
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One theory stems from a story in Roman mythology when Flora, the goddess of flowers, who, while walking through the woods, came upon the dead body of a young woman. Deeply moved by the death of one so young and lovely, she transformed the body into the most beautiful flower ever created – the white rose. Flora named the flower for Eros, the god of love.<br />
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Another myth states that Venus created the rose from her tears. A different story claims that when Venus rose from the froth of the sea, the gods celebrated by creating the rose in her honor.<br />
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How the Rose Got its Color</h3>
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Then there is the love story between Aphrodite (Venus) and Adonis. Their love gave the red rose its crimson color. Aphrodite, rushing towards her slain lover, catches herself on the prickly thorns of a rosebush, and her blood gives the flower its deep red color.<br />
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A Christian myth has Eve kissing a white rose and the flower then blushed with color – giving it a pinky hue. According to Bishop Basil, writing in the 4th century, the rose only carried thorns after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. Ironically, as the rose became one of the flowers of the Virgin Mary, it became associated with Christian charity.<br />
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The color of the Rose you give means …..</h3>
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For those of you who have heard that the color of the rose is tied to a certain “sentiment”, here’s a helpful reference:<br />
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Red – romantic love; they’re the “Valentine roses” par excellence.<br />
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Yellow – joy and friendship, affection – good for someone you love, but not romantically<br />
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Deep Pink – gratitude and appreciation – ideal for mom or grandmother<br />
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Light Pink - admiration - perfect for a daughter or sister<br />
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White – purity, reverence, humility – perfect for – well maybe a nun or saint<br />
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Valentines Day History</h2>
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How Did Valentine’s Day Get Started?</h3>
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Around 498 AD., Pope Gelasius declared February 14th, Saint Valentine’s Day, in honor of the Roman priest martyred under Emperor Claudius II in 279 AD. No one is certain how the feast of Saint Valentine became associated with lovers, but two legends give us a hint.<br />
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One legend is that Pope Gelasius was attempting to “Christianize” the pagan Roman Festival “Lupercalia” which paired lovers (sometimes against their will) with life-mates by way of a lottery. A second legend tells of Saint Valentine resisting an edict of the Emperor forbidding the marriage of young men bound for military service, for which offence he was put to death. Thus Saint Valentine and the day marked in his honor are equated with lovers.<br />
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There are varying ideas about what actually became of Valentine. While some say he was beheaded, others contend that he became sick in prison and died. In 1835, the remains – or what are believed to be the remains – of Saint Valentine were given to an Irish Carmelite priest named Father John Spratt, by Pope Gregory VI, after Spratt impressed the Pope with his passionate preaching during a visit to Rome. The gift, in a black and gold casket, can still be viewed every Valentine’s Day at the Carmelite Monastery next to the Whitefriar Street church in Dublin Ireland.<br />
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The evolvement of today’s printed Valentines</h3>
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History tells us the first modern valentines date from the early years of the fifteenth century. The Young French Duc d’Orleans was captured at the battle of Agincourt and kept a prisoner in the Tower of London for a number of years. The duke wrote a series of poems to his wife from captivity. About sixty of them remain. They can be seen among the royal paers in the British Museum. <br />
Flowers as valentines appear nearly two hundred years later. A daughter of Henry IV of France gave a party in honor of Saint Valentine. Each lady received a bouquet of flowers from the man chosen as her valentine.<br />
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But commercial, mass print valentines have their origin in Massachusetts when in 1847 Esther Howland, pioneer of the American Valentine Industry, received a decorated card from England. She began making her own lacy cards to sell in her father’s shop. It was an idea so successful that she earned almost $100,000 per year in the greeting card business.<br />
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Happy Valentines Day everyone. Celebrate with Roses.<br />
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05877251984954523749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-49187079657418141772017-12-24T10:42:00.000-05:002018-02-13T10:43:32.106-05:00Merry Christmas from the Burgoynes 2017A Video Christmas Card from Mindie and Dan Burgoyne<br />
December 24, 2017<br />
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Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05877251984954523749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-35100085626338997282015-06-18T07:47:00.003-04:002021-01-12T16:15:21.331-05:00How Do You Say Goodbye Forever?It’s hard to lose a friend. But it happens all the time. Sometimes they move away. Sometimes friends lose interest in each other - a common link like a job or a hobby or a neighborhood goes away. Communication gets less and less until it’s reduced to nothing more than the exchange of an annual Christmas card. And then there are the friends who betray us. They leave quickly and we're usually well rid of them.<br />
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But sometimes friends leave when they don’t want go ... and we can’t bear to lose them.<br />
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How do you say goodbye to that kind of friend?<br />
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I met Vickie Swink ten years ago when we both attended an Economic Development class. She was working for the City of Cumberland and I was working for the State of Maryland. We lived three hundred miles apart - she in the mountains of western Maryland and me in flat marshes of the southern Chesapeake Bay. I will never forget that magnetic, toothy smile and her animated spirit. Vickie was a magnet.... always smiling.<br />
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Our first conversation was all about me, as were most of our subsequent conversations. And while this is partly due to my being a self-focused attention hog, it was also due to Vickie being genuinely interested in me.... as she was with so many other people. She was never one to grab attention, and she naturally pulled out the best in people.<br />
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A year or so after our first meeting, Vickie and I became work colleagues both doing rural economic development. We practiced at opposite ends of the state, and while distance sometimes hampers the development of strong friendships, Vickie and I became soul sisters. We talked every week about work, husbands, kids, the rural landscape (snow and hills versus ocean and mosquitoes) and about people who made us crazy.<br />
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She was funny. She was optimistic. She was supportive. She was always taking care of someone and doing it quietly … humbly. Vickie was like water you pour over pebbles. She wasn’t the shiny thing that stood out. She was the support that flowed all around everything. She filled in the painful cracks and smoothed over rough edges. She made all the burdens seem lighter. She was everywhere yet not easily seen. When you needed Vickie, she was quietly there with all of her focus on you.<br />
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Vickie Lyn Swink was born in Bedford PA but lived most of her life in Allegany County, Maryland. She attended Mt. Savage High School where she played basketball and volleyball in three state championships. She later graduated from Frostburg State University with a degree in Economics. She was married to Stu Swink and they have two young sons - William and Andrew - who were the absolute focus of her life and purpose. Yesterday - at age 47, she finally succumbed to cancer.<br />
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I remember being at the PACE Conference in Annapolis a few years back. I was sharing a room with Vickie and she told me that she had cancer. She said, “I’m going to beat this thing. I have to. I have two little boys who can’t grow up without me.” She stayed positive all the way to the end. And her mother told us that even at the end … she wouldn’t let go. She fought for every moment of life.<br />
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When life and death make no sense, and the pain of loss seems unbearable, the only thing we have left to sustain us is memories. I spent last night remembering Vickie and pulling pictures together that showed her spirit.<br />
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Here’s to you, Vickie. Here’s to a good friend, a good wife, a good daughter, a devoted mother, a soul sister and a person who spent most of her time taking care of other people.<br />
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Here's to you until we meet again.<br />
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<i>An Education Fund has been set up for Vickie and Stu's sons, William and Andrew. You can learn more and donate by visiting their<a href="http://www.gofundme.com/swinkboys" target="_blank"> GoFundMe campaign.</a> </i>marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-21454365394232579162015-04-03T11:55:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:29:22.530-05:00Good Friday - Jesus Walked in Two Worlds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s Good Friday. A day that we remember death, betrayal, abandonment and everything dark in this life.<br />
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On Good Friday I always think about Jesus and his mother, Mary. Let’s face it. Plenty of people have gone through what they went through - a public execution in order to silence an voice that opposes a controlling authority. Mary isn't the only mother who has had to watch helplessly as her child was humiliated and slowly tortured to death, when the only comfort she could offer was eye contact. Many families and friends have watched their loved ones be executed by people who merely want to make a statement, to keep control, to send a message. Life is cheap to them.<br />
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We’re seeing that today in the Middle East - and that’s only because people there have smart phones. Undoubtedly this type of persecution and execution is going on somewhere every day.<br />
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So the Good Friday scene isn't so rare. Good Friday is more about the story than the actual event. Actually, it is the beginning of a story. Easter is the happy ending.<br />
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It's Everyone's Story</h2>
The Good Friday story happens to us all the time, though death is rarely the price we pay. Jesus was killed not for his beliefs or teachings, but because his teachings threatened somebody else’s power. It’s that simple. People who didn’t want to lose something extinguished the threat, and did so in a way that both justified their actions and terrified the community they controlled. They hung the crucifixion on the “religion” peg, calling Jesus a heretic, and then humiliated him and tortured him to death to send the message to the community that “this could happen to you too, if you support this guy.”<br />
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It’s the oldest story in the world. The same scenario plays out plays out today in churches, in the workplace, in neighborhoods and in families. The authorities threw Jesus under the bus so they could either gain power or keep power. Sometimes power is money, sometimes it’s knowledge or prestige, a better job, more influential friends, a position of authority, a public recognition. Sometimes it’s all of these things.<br />
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But Jesus took it on along with the consequences. And how he played it out and what happened later is why we keep telling the story. He didn’t fight, he didn’t pick up a flag and weapons and organize and army to say “Let’s kill these dirty bastards and stand up for the meek and lowly.” He didn’t demonize his attackers. He forgave them. He knew that his action of accepting their humiliation and death would be the final affirmation of all that he stood for - of his entire ministry. He knew it would demonstrate that he meant what he preached, and his message would live longer than he would. Not everyone has to do this, but had Jesus run, or fought back or incited violence, he would have diminished the importance of his message, possibly made a mockery of all that he stood for. So he played it out, paying the ultimate price. And the man in him became smaller than the ideal that he preached and lived.<br />
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There will always be people with power who destroy others in order to keep what they have or gain more. We will never be rid of them. But we can control one thing.<br />
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We can decide not to be one of them. That is the message of Good Friday.<br />
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The Sermon on the Mount</h2>
To me, the Sermon on the Mount is the ultimate teaching. Blessed are the poor and the sad and the depressed. Blessed are the grieving and the ones who have no power, and the ones who want to put things right and stand up for those who have no voice. Blessed are the ones who show mercy rather than judgment, who make peace rather than take a side in a fiery conflict. And blessed are those who pay the ultimate price in order NOT to become one of the power hungry bastards who make this world such an ugly place. Those people - the hungry, poor, suffering, noble peacemakers are the ones who are really walking with God. They will be rewarded. They will find what everyone is ultimately looking for.<br />
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The finally to the Sermon on the Mount is the real kicker.<br />
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You are the salt of the earth. YOU have the gift to bring light into the world. Don’t be misguided into believing that “bringing light into the world” is the same as judging others and standing on a soap box in order to feel the intoxicating power of being an iconic preacher of truth. Just live it and that will be statement enough.<br />
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Love one another. Love your enemies. Turn the other cheek - don’t get caught up the debate and the conflict in order to prove a point. Don’t hoard stuff for yourself shutting resources off to those in need. Don’t covet the power. Share with others and pray … pray to God. And if you can’t understand the vastness and the glory of such a supreme being, envision your God as a loving father, and talk to him as a child would talk to a parent. And don't don't don't diminish or control how others see God.<br />
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The message in the Sermon on the Mount is why I follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. But I am no longer bound by fear or worry that I’m damned if I don’t follow every little teaching of the Church, and I respect all of the other paths to God that are loving and peaceful. I don’t really think I chose to follow Jesus. I think I was destined to follow. I was born into a family that followed that path and surrounded by people who supported it. We all have our own paths to walk, and we can learn from each other.<br />
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Jesus Walked in Two Worlds</h2>
Jesus was the ultimate example of a man who walked in two worlds - this world and the eternal world. And it was from that perspective that he taught us.<br />
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So today I remember Jesus and his suffering, and though I haven’t been publicly humiliated and executed, I have been betrayed, thrown under the bus, abandoned and looked into days so dark that I thought I’d never ascend from the darkness into the light. And I’m no different than anyone else. We’ve all seen suffering. And most of us at one time or another - myself included - have been the inflicters of suffering, the power hungry, the crucifers.<br />
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In the end those who victimize the weak in order to gain power end up missing the real gift, which is love … connection … belonging. Money, fame, power - they're all misguided shortcuts that we think will lead us to that true gift of love. The violent power mongers always end up the same way - not able to trust anyone and eventually done in by themselves or the next power hungry monger who is a little bit stronger. They destroy each other in the end. And no remnant of that power goes into the coffin when they are lowered into the grave.<br />
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But love lives. I know that when my body dies I will still love my husband, my children, my grandchildren, my friends. Death doesn’t destroy that. Even if you don’t believe in God, you can’t deny that love lives. The love I give to my grandchildren will still be with them when I’m gone. They’ll be able to recall it and feel it, to love me back and want to impart that same gift of love to their children and grandchildren. Therefore it lives.<br />
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Hate lives too. And it can destroy love And that is why the message of Good Friday is so important. We must be able to identify paths of hate from paths of love.<br />
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The only thing of value, the only thing that goes beyond the grave, the only thing that lives in this world and in the next is love. It’s worth embracing and walking a path that nurtures its growth.<br />
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<i><br /></i> <i><br /></i> <i>Photos: Stations of the cross at Holy Cross Abbey - Thurles, Ireland</i><br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-15919484193826601992015-02-13T09:00:00.000-05:002019-01-06T12:05:37.788-05:00Dont Be Cheap. Give Her a Dozen Roses - history of roses, Valentines Day and Love<h2>
Give her roses this Valentine’s Day</h2>
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Nothing says “I love you” like one dozen, long-stemmed roses (except maybe two dozen). Don’t fall for that hype that is expressed in poetry … “a single rose of love – a single love never to be broken”. Single roses are for cheap givers. Give her at least one dozen on Valentine’s Day – the feast that celebrates love.<br />
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Every year, my husband gives me two dozen roses. He spent fifteen years in the floral industry as a designer, shop owner, and grower of cut flowers. He told me that they'd always laugh at the few dummies that would buy "one single rose" for their dearest loves.<br />
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"You could see the love in their eyes - the ones who bought a dozen roses - or two dozen," he said. "But the guy who bought one rose always had a big story about how one rose was more meaningful."<br />
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Get a grip, guys. Think of your true love. Does she want one single rose when she could have a dozen? That's like asking if she'd rather have one beautiful wrapped piece of chocolate instead of a box. Seriously... we want the box.<br />
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Though Roses have been in existence for over 35 million years, garden cultivation of roses began 5000 years ago. It is only in the last several hundred years that they have been widely cultivated and become part of the human experience equated with “love.”<br />
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In the late eighteenth century, roses from China were cultivated and introduced into Europe. Today the rose has over 30,000 varieties to its flower species, and the flower that only bloomed once a year in soft shades of pink and white – now has produced “repeat bloomers” and hardy varieties in shades including lavender, yellow, blue, multi-toned and a thousand shades of pink and red.<br />
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<h2>
Rose myths and history</h2>
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<h3>
How the Flower got its Name: "Eros" to Rose</h3>
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One theory stems from a story in Roman mythology when Flora, the goddess of flowers, who, while walking through the woods, came upon the dead body of a young woman. Deeply moved by the death of one so young and lovely, she transformed the body into the most beautiful flower ever created – the white rose. Flora named the flower for Eros, the god of love.<br />
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Another myth states that Venus created the rose from her tears. A different story claims that when Venus rose from the froth of the sea, the gods celebrated by creating the rose in her honor.<br />
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<h3>
How the Rose Got its Color</h3>
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Then there is the love story between Aphrodite (Venus) and Adonis. Their love gave the red rose its crimson color. Aphrodite, rushing towards her slain lover, catches herself on the prickly thorns of a rosebush, and her blood gives the flower its deep red color.<br />
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A Christian myth has Eve kissing a white rose and the flower then blushed with color – giving it a pink hue. According to Bishop Basil, writing in the 4th century, the rose only carried thorns after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. Ironically, as the rose became one of the flowers of the Virgin Mary, it became associated with Christian charity.<br />
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<h3>
The color of the Rose you give means …..</h3>
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For those of you who have heard that the color of the rose is tied to a certain “sentiment”, here’s a helpful reference:<br />
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Red – romantic love; they’re the “Valentine roses” par excellence.<br />
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Yellow – joy and friendship, affection – good for someone you love, but not romantically<br />
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Deep Pink – gratitude and appreciation – ideal for mom or grandmother<br />
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Light Pink - admiration - perfect for a daughter or sister<br />
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White – purity, reverence, humility – perfect for – well maybe a nun or saint<br />
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</h2>
<h2>
Valentines Day History</h2>
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<h3>
How Did Valentine’s Day Get Started?</h3>
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Around 498 AD., Pope Gelasius declared February 14th, Saint Valentine’s Day, in honor of the Roman priest martyred under Emperor Claudius II in 279 AD. No one is certain how the feast of Saint Valentine became associated with lovers, but two legends give us a hint.<br />
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One legend is that Pope Gelasius was attempting to “Christianize” the pagan Roman Festival “Lupercalia” which paired lovers (sometimes against their will) with life-mates by way of a lottery. A second legend tells of Saint Valentine resisting an edict of the Emperor forbidding the marriage of young men bound for military service, for which offense he was put to death. Thus Saint Valentine and the day marked in his honor are equated with lovers.<br />
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There are varying ideas about what actually became of Valentine. While some say he was beheaded, others contend that he became sick in prison and died. In 1835, the remains – or what are believed to be the remains – of Saint Valentine were given to an Irish Carmelite priest named Father John Spratt, by Pope Gregory VI, after Spratt impressed the Pope with his passionate preaching during a visit to Rome. The gift, in a black and gold casket, can still be viewed every Valentine’s Day at the Carmelite Monastery next to the Whitefriar Street church in Dublin Ireland.<br />
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<h3>
The evolvement of today’s printed Valentines</h3>
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<br /></div>
History tells us the first modern valentines date from the early years of the fifteenth century. The Young French Duc d’Orleans was captured at the battle of Agincourt and kept a prisoner in the Tower of London for a number of years. The duke wrote a series of poems to his wife from captivity. About sixty of them remain. They can be seen among the royal papers in the British Museum.<br />
Flowers as valentines appear nearly two hundred years later. A daughter of Henry IV of France gave a party in honor of Saint Valentine. Each lady received a bouquet of flowers from the man chosen as her valentine.<br />
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But commercial, mass print valentines have their origin in Massachusetts when in 1847 Esther Howland, pioneer of the American Valentine Industry, received a decorated card from England. She began making her own lacy cards to sell in her father’s shop. It was an idea so successful that she earned almost $100,000 per year in the greeting card business.<br />
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Happy Valentines Day everyone. Celebrate with Roses.<br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-71826769506382037992015-01-02T13:48:00.002-05:002017-12-04T07:30:06.905-05:00New Year's Resolutions - Walking My Own Crazy Path<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For 2015 I'm marching to my own drummer, even if my boots are on the wrong feet. Checking out Twitter and some of the <a class="twitter-hashtag pretty-link js-nav" data-query-source="hashtag_click" dir="ltr" href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/ResolutionsFor2015?src=hash" style="background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #ff3300; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #ff8466;">#</span><strong>ResolutionsFor2015</strong></a><span style="background-color: #f5f8fa; color: #292f33; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> posts, almost half include losing weight - and half of those have it as #1. That's always been on my list too.... but i'm still fat. </span><br />
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Like last year. My New Year's Resolutions for 2014 were:<br />
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1. Lose 50 lbs.<br />
2. Pay down our debts.<br />
3. Expand our company's tour operation.<br />
4. Write a book.<br />
5. Reduce conflicts, be less judgmental.<br />
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Losing weight has been on every year's resolution list since I can remember. In 2014 it was #1 on the list. I didn't lose 50 lbs. In fact, I gained weight. What the hell!? <br />
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True ... losing weight is always on my Resolutions list, but some years I actually do lose weight. Other years I don't.<br />
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Why bother resolving? It's a lifetime, on and off battle - depending on what's in my fridge.<br />
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Resolving to lose weight on Jan 1st has no impact on whether I do. And it starts my list off with the most unfun... boring ... unlikely to achieve resolution. I either will or I won't. Losing weight is off my Resolutions list forever.<br />
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Last year, I actually did accomplish the other 4 things on that list. I paid down our debt ... but I would have done that whether or not I resolved to do it or not ... and I would have written that book and expanded our tour company whether or not they were on the list. Resolutions # 2, 3 and 4 were part of our business plan.<br />
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#5 was actually a good resolution. I did reduce conflicts in my life and I'm working on judging people less. Resolution #5 was something that I could do daily, and it brought instant satisfaction. And the process changed me and impacted the results of the entire year. It wasn't something to be achieved - it was a mental process that made me happy.<br />
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<h2>
SHOULDS AND OUGHTS</h2>
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I was on a St. Bernard's teen club weekend retreat in 1974. I was fifteen years old and I had a long, conversation around an empty campfire with a visiting Irish seminarian name Jack McArdle. Jack was probably in his 30s then. His vocational call came later than most priest's. We talked about making decisions. He talked to me like I was an adult. I can't recall what choice I was trying to make, but it weighed heavy. Jack confided that he had a big decision to make too. He was pondering whether to be ordained or marry the woman he loved. Though I can't remember the choice I was trying to make, I'll never forget the advice he gave me. I still use his formula. <br />
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Jack said, "When you have to make a tough decision, ask yourself two questions. What do you <i>want </i>to do, and what do you think you <i>should</i> do? Once you've honestly answered those two questions for yourself, the best choice will present itself." He also explained that with hard decisions - life-changing decisions, one had to repeat this process several times. It was likely that the "should do" part of equation would remain constant. The key was recognizing the "want to do" part and understanding why you wanted certain things.<br />
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He was right. Separating the "shoulds" and "oughts" from the "wants" definitely makes all the benefits and costs visible, and provides clarity. If you want something for all the wrong reasons, then it's not worth having. And likewise, if you allow the expectation of others to rule your choices, you'll be miserable.<br />
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For me, Jack McArdle's formula also works for making resolutions. Resolving to apply myself to something that I'm passionate about - that doesn't harm anyone else - is a resolution that is likely to bring about good change and help me reach the goals I set.<br />
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By the way, Jack McArdle chose to become a priest. He went back to Ireland and served many years as a retreat guide, pastoral counselor, public speaker and writer. When I Googled him I discovered that he passed away in 2009 after a long illness but not before authoring at least <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jack-McArdle/e/B001JP7XX2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_5?qid=1420209515&sr=1-5" target="_blank">10 books on spirituality. </a><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/AVvXsEjzOQS2RvHFdITHvd_qQpanj95NW_gHyuqPT2bUCwoZdASUv_b-eAI0EkFySNUzJY2IZC6_Uw9kjEDduTtQgMpO-4KsbZMXvNjoxewiP0I2AKXpo1hJs0yUbazwzMTR_qmnxfv-/s1600/IMG_2906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzOQS2RvHFdITHvd_qQpanj95NW_gHyuqPT2bUCwoZdASUv_b-eAI0EkFySNUzJY2IZC6_Uw9kjEDduTtQgMpO-4KsbZMXvNjoxewiP0I2AKXpo1hJs0yUbazwzMTR_qmnxfv-/s1600/IMG_2906.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Angel Oak - Charleston, SC</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<h2>
MY 2015 RESOLUTIONS</h2>
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1. Reject negative energy, and reject conflict whenever possible. <br />
2. Write something new every day (five days a week).<br />
3. Learn more about earth energy particularly in stones and trees, ley lines and dowsing.<br />
4. Read 3 books about great writers.<br />
5. Read 5 literary travel memoirs.<br />
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These are all things that I want to do, and should do #1 and #2. I am passionate about all of them, and I'll enjoy the effort.<br />
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All 5 of these resolutions will enrich my life, make me a better person - a more happy person, and will likely bring about the goals I've set for myself - to write 2 books, expand our tour operation and produce a Travel Hag podcast. But even I don't achieve those goals, these five actions will propel me into something wonderful.<br />
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Here's to resolving to do things we're passionate about and a great 2015.<br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-52094765473881086182014-12-09T11:44:00.000-05:002017-12-04T07:31:00.561-05:00Gander Mountain FAILS in Customer Service - Amazon.com Rocks!Dear Gander Mountain -- Your packaging sucks as does your customer service. I will never order from you again.<br />
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Dear FedEx - I recognize your driver probably felt threatened by our dogs, but wouldn't it have been better for your driver to bring the package back to your warehouse so we could pick it up, rather than him tossing it in the driveway? Do you have a policy in place?<br />
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Dear Amazon.com - Thank you for standing by the customer and resolving delivery problems behind the scenes with out wasting the customer's time.<br />
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On Cyber Monday (12/1) I ordered a shirt from Gander Mountain. It was a Christmas gift for my husband. On 12/5 they notified me that it was shipped. It was packed in the flimsy plastic envelope pictured above. We found it today in the yard, half eaten by our dogs.<br />
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<b>WE HAVE DOGS. </b>They are large, and they bark furiously whenever anyone approaches our home. They are intimidating, but are contained in our yard behind an invisible fence. It's understandable that delivery people who don't know about the invisible fence are apprehensive about approaching the house. We have a front door with a porch that is under cover and the dogs cannot reach it. All of our usual delivery people from FEDEx, UPS and the Post Office know this and come right to the front door. In fact, we have officially notified both UPS and FedEx about the invisible fence so they can note that for all their drivers. Occasionally there is a new driver, who misses the flag in the system. But someone is almost always home and will run outside when the dogs bark.<br />
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It's likely that the FedEx driver who delivered this package didn't see the flag about the fence, and we didn't hear the dogs in time to intercept the delivery. So the driver tossed the shirt in its flimsy plastic envelope into our driveway and the dogs destroyed it. We found it a day later. The shirt inside is ruined.<br />
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<h3>
Amazon.com Values Customers</h3>
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For those who love to bash Amazon.com for their usurping all of the retail business, think about how they handle customer service. It could be why their market share in the retail sector never shrinks. <br />
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We had a similar situation with an Amazon.com package that got ruined last year. Only it was rain that destroyed the contents, not the dogs. This UPS drive left it on the steps instead of bringing it up on the covered porch, and the rain destroyed the package and contents.<br />
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I reported the issue to Amazon.com as soon as I discovered the damaged package, and within 20 minutes of reporting it, I was a happy customer.<br />
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AMAZON.COM's PROCESS</h3>
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After discovering the damaged package, I searched my email inbox and located the Amazon.com order for the damaged merch. Then I followed a link for customer support on their website and after clicking a few options noting the circumstances of my issue, I chose the option "Call me in 5 minutes." Two seconds later, my phone rang. I explained to the Amazon.com customer service representative what happened. I was emailed instructed for filing a simple claim that included pictures of the damaged merchandise. I was assured by the representative that they would replace the item, and I received the replacement item 4 days later. Amazon arranged for UPS to pick up the damaged merchandise the next day and they resolved the delivery issue / charges directly with UPS.<br />
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Amazon got a satisfied customer. I spent 20 minutes on resolving the problem. I continue to do more business with Amazon. I tell everyone how wonderful they are.<br />
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GANDER MOUNTAIN'S PROCESS</h3>
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I called the customer support number for Gander Mountain that was noted on my order confirmation email. I was on hold for ten minutes. While waiting I visited<a href="https://www.fedex.com/ClaimsOnline/go/ClaimInitiate?popUp=false&doAction=init" target="_blank"> the FedEx website and try to file a claim</a> and spend 7minutes (while I'm on hold with Gander Mountain) trying to fill out a claim. This included creating an account and going through 4 screens inputting information, only to find out that FedEx will only deals directly with Gander Mountin - not me. Makes sense. After all Gander Mountain is their customer. What is FedEx going to do with me? Send me a new shirt?<br />
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Once Gander Mountain came on the phone, the rep tells me that I have to file a claim with FedEx. I explain what I just discovered on FedEx's website. I get nowhere. I ask to speak to a manager. I hold for 10 more minutes. When I am connected to a manager, he says that I can neither get a replacement shirt or get a refund. Nothing can be done until I file a claim with FedEx. And the manager - Durell at ext #116 - explains that once the package leaves Gander Mountain's warehouse, they relinquish all responsibility. And he added ..."It is not our fault that your dogs chewed up the package."<br />
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Nice.<br />
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So I called FedEx. They reiterate what their website says; that they have to take it up with the sender. The half done claim that I abandoned mid cycle on their website actually went through and posted. They gave me a claim # which is impossible to track via the website (or at least it was difficult and confusing to figure out). FedEx explained that they will process the claim and then - if they deem it reasonable - will reimburse Gander Mountain for the expense. I asked to speak to a manager. I waited 10 minutes on hold and finally hung up. <br />
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One hour wasted and Yay! FedEx will reimburse Gander Mountain if they deem my claim reasonable. There is no mechanism for me to enter this communication process other then to submit a claim. The whole process will take weeks and it's incumbent upon me - the customer - to keep up with the process.<br />
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Bottom line: No Christmas present, and a lot of hassle. Neither FedEx nor Gander Mountain assumes responsibility for customer satisfaction of the recipient who shelled out the bucks for the merch.<br />
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I am so glad I only ordered a shirt for $27.99. <br />
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NO GUARNTEE GANDER MOUNTAIN WILL EVER REIMBURSE ME</h3>
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So if Gander Mountain does get reimbursed there's no guarantee they'll reimburse me. And even if they do, I won't get it by Christmas, which was my intent for the shirt. <br />
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When I asked Durell, the Gander Mountain Customer Service Manager what he thought of that he said that I could always order another shirt now and get reimbursed later.<br />
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Yeah...Thanks for that, Durell, but forget it. <br />
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GANDER MOUNTAIN FAILS AT SERVICE WHILE AMAZON.COM WINS</h3>
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Gander Mountain has lost my business for life. I checked Amazon.com site and they have the same Carhart mock tee in Port being offered by Rugged Outfitters for one dollar more than I paid on the Gander Mountain website.<br />
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So Amazon gets my business and so does Rugged Outfitters, and I'm happy to pay the dollar more because I have a history with Amazon. They recognize the value of meeting customer's needs.<br />
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And one more thing about Amazon.com. Every time I wish they could improve certain offerings, they usually know my needs before I can even express them. Between wish lists, the Amazon.com Wishlist applet for browsers, great prices, fast delivery, wide spread of merchandise through 3rd party partners, easy tracking, gift wrapping, value points credit card and shipping to multiple address ... I am a satisfied customer who actually enjoys shopping on this site.<br />
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And FedEx. ... If you care at all about the recipients of your packages, won't you consider establishing a policy for drivers who feel unsafe because of domestic animals? I totally sympathize with them and wouldn't expect anyone to put himself in harm's way. But I'd have been more than happy to drive to my FedEx pick up location and get this shirt undamaged if the driver would have simply taken it back there. And what's the point of my notifying you about the invisible fence if the driver doesn't get the notification?<br />
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BUYER BEWARE when ordering online from Gander Mountain. If your delivery is damaged in shipment, they will abandon you.<br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-13102692810594856222014-12-08T08:21:00.001-05:002017-12-05T10:09:19.009-05:00Christmas Glitz Doesn't Tarnish the True Meaning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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An Irish friend told me that he missed the days when Christmas was celebrated with only food, friends and the Christmas candle in the window. The current commercialism clutters his Christmas experience. I told him I loved the glitz, the lights, the trees, the carols, the decorations, the cards, the parties --- and yes, the presents. Sure, some people over-commercialize Christmas and make it all about the "things," but those folks don't find the deeper meaning because their hearts are empty. But for me the lights and decorations create an anticipation of something great to come, they frame a meaningful experience.<br />
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There’s something about seeing a wrapped gift with your name on it. What’s more personal than your name, handwritten on a tag attached to a gift someone chose for you – a gift they wrapped in pretty paper to make it a surprise? Exchanging gifts gives us joy. Presents are the physical manifestation of love, like a wedding ring or a sliver cup for a new baby or new bike for 7 year old. <br />
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The Christmas glitz provides a backdrop for an experience of remembering - remembering our blessings; remembering who we belong to - who are people are; remembering that there is value in this crazy life as long as we cling to love, keeping in mind that there’s always hope no matter how bad things seem; remembering a little boy who was born away from home to frightened young parents who had to run for their lives shortly after his birth - who didn’t even have a shirt to clothe him in – the same little boy who grew up and told the world to welcome the stranger, include the marginalized, liberate the oppressed, feed the hungry, comfort those who mourn, to stop judging and start loving.<br />
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Christmas is the road we follow back home every year. It’s the place we stop to remember the good things when time circles around us. Christmas is about connection and knowing every good thing in life comes through connection…that we don’t accomplish or gain without doing so through being connected to others. No one rises from the ashes of despair without relying on a friend. It’s what we hunger for – connection to our ancestors, to the land, to those we love, to nature, to our Creator. And sadly it’s a time of despair for those who can’t grab onto anything because their disconnection is magnified by a world of people seemingly fixated on remembering everything they ever loved.<br />
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Here’s to being connected to you, our friends and family. Though we many not see you often, you matter to us. Nothing is ever lost to the heart, which is why we can pick up where we left off the next time we’re together and know our affection for each other has not changed even though our hair continues to grey and our faces have a few more lines. May your new year be blessed with connections that fill your life with joy and love and laughter. <br />
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May your road be easy, may you find new friends and may all your Christmas wishes come true.<br />
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<i>Excerpt from The Burgoyne Christmas Letter 2013</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Get a FREE copy of Mindie Burgoyne's ebook (pdf file) <i>Christmas Letters: 2006 to 2016, </i>which contains a collection of her Christmas letters for ten years - - when you sign up for the free Travel Hag Newsletter. </a></span></span></h3>
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<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2009/11/five-tips-for-writing-perfect-christmas.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">5 Tips for Writing the Perfect Christmas Letter</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a></div>
marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-50770807937904106312014-10-01T08:50:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:31:37.200-05:00St. Therese - a Saint for Writers - Happy Feast Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPFDAmsm0sK26wxfU2rp0Z2VQW47uWtZAhpqrTF0x3UqjLvbqiKKU0_5wzKToA-XixNbLsfY2JNPk0v9aPiPCrC2IJ-2fHXQGEeyxlkHt_QmL4LiqlZghpRuEyGvHYmsp4BHN/s1600/sttherese-BW.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/AVvXsEhoPFDAmsm0sK26wxfU2rp0Z2VQW47uWtZAhpqrTF0x3UqjLvbqiKKU0_5wzKToA-XixNbLsfY2JNPk0v9aPiPCrC2IJ-2fHXQGEeyxlkHt_QmL4LiqlZghpRuEyGvHYmsp4BHN/s1600/sttherese-BW.jpg" /></a>Today - October 1st is the feast day of St. Therese of Lisieux - or St. Therese of the Little Flower. She died at age 24 after being a Carmelite nun for a few short years. She wasn't a martyr. She didn't heal or cure people. She didn't even do public ministry. She was impetuous, sometimes childish, and served in a convent where her four adoring sisters doted on her. She probably didn't meet more than one hundred people in her short lifetime. So why is she a saint? How did she become one of the most beloved intercessors of time?<br />
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She wrote a memoir.<br />
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And she resisted writing it until her sister (who was also the Prioress at the time) ordered her to write it. When she first she asked Therese to write about her life and faith, Therese procrastinated and avoided the task, and protested that she hated writing. But her sister believed that Therese's pure faith and simple approach to living would benefit other women in religious orders. So she ordered Therese to write the story. Therese, bound by obedience to the Prioress wrote the story in a series of three journals. Then she died. Her sister, Pauline edited and packaged the journal, which Therese entitled <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Story-Soul-Autobiography-Therese-Lisieux/dp/0935216588/ref=as_sl_pc_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=writthevisi-20&linkCode=w00&linkId=SNCBBBZ7MN6IVXOI&creativeASIN=0935216588" target="_blank">The Story of a Soul</a>. Pauline sent the book out to religious houses in the region. The book became a spiritual classic that has encouraged millions of readers around the world to reach out to this author / saint and pray for miracles.<br />
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St. Therese of Lisieux along with St. Anthony of Padua have been both been dubbed the "saint of miracles" because of all the miracles attributed to their intercession. <br />
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Therese Martin was born in France in 1873 as the ninth child of very devout parents. Only five of the nine children survived into adulthood - all girls, and every one of them entered the convent. Therese's mother died when she was four and her father died when she was in her teens. Her father protested Therese's joining the convent at such a young age, but she begged and pleaded and eventually her father gave in. Shortly after she joined three of her sisters as a cloistered nun in a convent near their home, her father died and the fifth sister, Celine joined the other four Martin sisters in the cloister.<br />
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The sisters were close and and they would talk in the evenings about their faith, their parents, growing up in a little French village, and how they felt about prayer. As the baby of the family who was doted on by her sisters and father, St. Therese had a child-like faith and simple approach to spiritual life. <br />
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Therese died of tuberculosis on September 30th 1897 at the young age of 24. One year to the day after that - September 30th 1898, Pauline sent <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Story-Soul-Autobiography-Therese-Lisieux/dp/0935216588/ref=as_sl_pc_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=writthevisi-20&linkCode=w00&linkId=SNCBBBZ7MN6IVXOI&creativeASIN=0935216588" target="_blank">The Story of a Soul</a> out to convents for other young women in religious orders to read. What no one expected was that the book would get into public hands and be devoured by a the spiritually hungry European middle class of the late nineteenth century. The book was reprinted and reprinted throughout Europe, then spread to the American market. It has sold millions of copies and has been printed in fifty-five languages.<br />
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According to her sisters who were all by her side when she passed away, St. Therese's last words were "I want to spend my heaven doing good on earth." <br />
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St. Therese, Pick for me a Rose </h3>
Many have heard the story about praying to St. Therese and getting a rose as a sign that she heard your prayer. That story originated with a Jesuit priest named Fr. Putigan who in 1925 said a novena (nine consecutive days of prayer) to St. Therese and asked her to send him a rose as a sign that she'd heard his prayer.<br />
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On the fourth day of the novena a nun presented him with a white rose. She said that she was walking in the church, a rose tumbled right in front of her and landed at her feet. It had fallen from an altar bouquet. The nun picked up the rose and was about to place it back in the bouquet when a thought came to her that she should give the rose to Fr. Putigan. Above the altar was a picture of St. Therese.<br />
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Fr. Putigan got his rose and his intention that he presented in prayer to St. Therese was granted. In gratitude, he started the Rose novena to St. Therese and it has spread throughout Catholic communities the world over. People have been receiving roses from St. Therese and miracles through her intercession for nearly 100 years.<br />
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<strong class="lnavy">My Novena Rose Prayer</strong><br />
by Fr. Putigan<br />
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<em>O Little Therese of the Child Jesus,<br />
please pick for me a rose from the heavenly gardens<br />
and send it to me as a message of love.<br />
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O Little Flower of Jesus,<br />
ask God to grant the favors I now place<br />
with confidence in your hands . .<br />
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(Mention specific requests)<br />
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St. Therese, help me to always believe<br />
as you did in God's great love for me,<br />
so that I might imitate your "Little Way" each day.<br />
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Amen. </em><br />
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<h3>
My Roses from St. Therese</h3>
<h4>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY8HlPKo-noaYJKfX1lEfxOKqEBC7q6ziA8oeReS9566FtEom_bTswaUzL8SRFceu10rkQi2MBAMaxmeX1JA_BjDvVPe8BVNV7xx1rUf19Vjd0zflnYiOInC7E3tu_0dJEpJ6/s1600/therese2a+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY8HlPKo-noaYJKfX1lEfxOKqEBC7q6ziA8oeReS9566FtEom_bTswaUzL8SRFceu10rkQi2MBAMaxmeX1JA_BjDvVPe8BVNV7xx1rUf19Vjd0zflnYiOInC7E3tu_0dJEpJ6/s1600/therese2a+(1).jpg" width="274" /></a> Rose #1</h4>
When I was 25, I was single parent barely scraping by with three kids under five that I supported by selling Tupperware. We lived in a one bedroom, roach-infested apartment. When I considered my circumstances logically, they were pretty hopeless. I had no education and few skills. What I did have was debt and responsibility. But outside of my logical mind I secretly prayed for the impossible.<br />
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I prayed for a house. Even a town house. Some place with a yard and a front door and bedrooms for the kids so that they didn't have to grow up in a rented apartment. One Christmas I was too broke to buy my kids presents and friend brought second-hand toys over to me to wrap up so there would be gifts under the tree. While wrapping and crying I tried to be grateful. I started the rose novena and prayed for a way to get out of that rat-hole. I prayed for a miracle. A house. And some way that I could pay for it. <br />
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On the seventh day of that novena I noticed one red rose on the concrete steps near my apartment door. No, I wasn't presented with a rose from someone like Fr. Putigan, but a rose in December laying in a stairwell near your front is pretty odd. It was a cut rose from a florist, and was probably dropped by someone carrying a Christmas centerpiece into the apartment. But I was taking it as a gift from my spirit friend Therese. And she's been my friend since that moment. <br />
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That summer my business boomed. It was unexpected, but I made more money in that year than I had in the three previous years together. I pulled enough money together to get into a rented townhouse. Yes it had a front door and bedrooms for the kids and a nice little yard. And we had many happy memories there. We moved in on October 1st - the feast of St. Therese, just ten months after that novena. <br />
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<h4>
Rose #2</h4>
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A few years after moving into that townhouse I remarried and moved into a beautiful custom-built home, but sadly lost my husband to death after only five short years of being married. That summer a couple contacted me and asked me to sing at their fall wedding. We met in September to discuss the music selection. They were to be married on October 1st. I told them how special that day was and shared the story of St. Therese. I even gave them one of the little Pick for Me a Rose novena cards.<br />
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I had just listed my house for sale when I met with that couple in September. It had been a year since my husband's death and the memories in that house were killing me. I had an opportunity to get into another house, but I couldn't move until I sold my current house. The real estate market at the time was dead. My realtor told me to expect to wait at least a year before the house sold.<br />
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On October 1st - the feast of St. Therese, I headed out to sing at this couple's 5pm wedding. When I returned home there were one dozen roses on my kitchen counter. The couple, who had taken my St. Therese story to heart had sent them to arrive at my home when I returned from their wedding. The note read. "Thanks for singing at our wedding. And thanks for introducing us to St. Therese."<br />
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That was a powerful moment. And it got even more powerful when I saw the contract offer and note from my realtor just beside the roses. My agent had shown the house to a couple while I was at the wedding and their offer for purchase was on the table. We settled a month later. I woke up in our new home on Thanksgiving day. <br />
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<h3>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAKdekLYMtt2RgMmp6wLNNVbb9UPdmIBIgrnzXXy7XNS1AYpdtY8FZP5ilnFwsM5Y0SP_ucf-fPPXewGEIwWDLt5HxoLBvW7eZm4BtCvI5Dg1cRpiHEuvA85Qm6pc3wQ8jBmZ/s1600/Therese_von_Lisieux.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/AVvXsEiYAKdekLYMtt2RgMmp6wLNNVbb9UPdmIBIgrnzXXy7XNS1AYpdtY8FZP5ilnFwsM5Y0SP_ucf-fPPXewGEIwWDLt5HxoLBvW7eZm4BtCvI5Dg1cRpiHEuvA85Qm6pc3wQ8jBmZ/s1600/Therese_von_Lisieux.jpg" /></a>Praying to the Saints</h3>
People chide me about my devotion to saints - especially my Christian (non-Catholic) friends who consider it a kind of idolatry. For those who tend to agree, please read .... <a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2010/06/june-13-feast-of-st-anthoy-of-padua-why.html">Why Do We Pray to the Saints?</a> <br />
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A saint is a spirit guide - a spiritual being that walks with you, helps you, intercedes for you. A saint is a friend who prays with you, making your prayer stronger. St. Therese has always been my special soul friend in heaven. Her picture sits right beside my computer reminding me that she's always there for me.<br />
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And like most every writer, I really hate writing. The process is tedious and grueling. So what better saint for a writer to have as a friend? One who wouldn't write until she was forced to and then changed the world with her writing.<br />
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<h4>
A Few More Roses </h4>
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In 2009 I finished my first real book, <a href="http://chesapeakeghostwalks.com/product/haunted-eastern-shore-book/" target="_blank">Haunted Eastern Shore</a>. It was hell to write, and I kept St. Therese in my thoughts, sharing my insecurities and worries that I wouldn't meet the deadline or that the book would fail. I'll never forget the first time I held that printed book in my hand. It was October 1st. Coincidentally - or not - the book was released on her feast day. Today - five years later - It's in its sixth printing. <br />
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Yesterday, my new book <a href="http://chesapeakeghostwalks.com/product/haunted-ocean-city-and-berlin/" target="_blank">Haunted Ocean City and Berlin</a> arrived by Fed-Ex, not October 1st, but September 30th. <br />
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<br />
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So here's to St. Therese and all writers who resist the call to write, the grind, the repetitive process of revising and editing and revising again... but still write .... and hope that someday, someone might read their writing and be touched or changed or transformed.<br />
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-68109454920345575992014-09-18T04:10:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:31:52.511-05:00Two People - One Life - Happy Anniversary, Dan Burgoyne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On September 18, 1999 I stood in a field lined with large oak trees and pledged to stand by Dan Burgoyne until death parted us. <br />
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The Dunloggin Pipe and Drum band opened the ceremony by marching from the parking lot, over a bridge and up the hill to the site of the wedding, then the wedding procession started with each of our six children walking up the aisle with 4-year-old Benjamin (grandson) bearing the rings. As a brother / sister trio played <i>Loch Lommond</i> Dan and I processed down the aisle and recited our vows.<br />
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Just after the final blessing a sun dog (small rainbow) appeared in the sky as if to affirm our union.<br />
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We'd only known each other for three months. There were friends and family who thought our decision to marry was hasty and risky. Though we've gone through more changes than most couples experience when they're married fifty years, our marriage and committment to each other remains unchanged. It's a bit of a miracle, really. Our lives are so different than they were on that wedding day. But through all the changes, we've been happy together. <br />
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And we both feel very lucky.<br />
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Young people look at marriage romantically. They see a future of being in love, doing fun things together, exploring new places, growing into new roles, building a home and family. But what they don't expect is what develops when they are busy building a life. A little miracle occurs. And they can only see it when they are looking backward.<br />
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It's the love you don't expect. <br />
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The kind of love couples have when they start out - when they're both young and virile and have boundless energy - is both exciting and overwhelming. It's all wrapped up with hopes and dreams and expectation. But the love that lasts and helps the two grow as one reveals itself during disappointments, setbacks and struggles. You feel it in the early stages when imperfections start to show, when you can say, "Despite those flaws, I love you still." <br />
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It would be easy to love a perfect person. But it would offer no challenge. <br />
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To me, the life worth living is the shared life where two people - as mundane as it sounds - choose to walk through life together despite the imperfections in one another because the light they see in that other person shines far brighter than any shortcomings. And that light is something they need. The light in one feeds the need for light in the other. Over time a soul friendship develops... and that is the great reward. <br />
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So here - September 18, 2014 we are older, smarter, richer and much better friends than we were on that day fifteen years ago. But I'm still attracted to that light in you, Dan Burgoyne. I still want to wake up every morning next to you and still want to lay down beside you every night. There will never be another who can make me laugh like you can, or whose opinion I value more.<br />
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You are the light of my life, darling. My soul friend.<br />
Here's to many more happy anniversaries.<br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-80439666628118475412014-07-25T08:01:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:32:10.620-05:00All My Life's a Circle - Happy Birthday, Lara Marie<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/AVvXsEixfbdCrGXCxhydKph4-Oq7SWx2ByouQ9fuf7B5Jyw0Wq-WBuaO961khgxFjQvsbMTF4yq0uDQnS5W2fk9cFX6_ZW7x2-qy9uMHzwBtYWuzMSgOJcs3MmOF9lAp_S7ORVgHZQze/s1600/lara6th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixfbdCrGXCxhydKph4-Oq7SWx2ByouQ9fuf7B5Jyw0Wq-WBuaO961khgxFjQvsbMTF4yq0uDQnS5W2fk9cFX6_ZW7x2-qy9uMHzwBtYWuzMSgOJcs3MmOF9lAp_S7ORVgHZQze/s1600/lara6th.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lara at her sixth birthday party</i></td></tr>
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Thirty years ago, right about this time (5am) after being awake most of the night, I left my two little boys with a sitter in our one-bedroom, roach-infested apartment in Crofton. Then I drove myself to Prince Georges Hospital for a planned C-section. I was 24 years old. My life was a mess.<br />
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I got married two-months out of high school and had adolescent hopes for a bright future. All I wanted to be was a wife and mother. I had my first baby at nineteen and my second one at 21. The road got bumpy. The marriage went bad. Our lives fell apart. My husband left me when my boys were three and four years old. And though I didn't tell him ... I knew when he left that I was pregnant. <br />
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The night before Lara was born I had all the usual worries. Would the boys be okay with the sitter? Did I buy enough food? Would Danny cry at night while I was gone? What was plan B if I have complications with the surgery?<br />
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Then those logistical worries turned into that awful nighttime visitor...obsession over the pending doom I can't control. Everything turns to black in the middle of the night - especially our thoughts. Over and over I turned these worries ...<br />
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How could I manage on my own with three kids? I could barely make ends meet with two. How would I pay a babysitter while I was working? Who was going to keep an infant? What would I do when the apartment complex found out I had three children when the law requires three bedrooms for three kids? I'd already convinced them to rent me a one-bedroom and den, promising I'd keep my bed in the living room and give the children the bedroom. What if I got evicted? What if I couldn't work? What if I lost my kids?<br />
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My grandmother told me that she said the rosary every night so that she wouldn't worry. She gave her worries to the Blessed Mother, and saying the rosary took her mind off things. I followed her advice when my obsessive thoughts took over, and I usually fell asleep. But the night before I left to have my third child was a particularly black night. My sense of hopelessness was palpable.<br />
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But it all washed away at about 11 am that next morning when a nurse handed me the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen.<br />
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Lara was perfect. While most newborns are trying to get their eyes open and adjust to this cold world, Lara Marie looked right at me with her giant eyes and stared. As those navy blue eyes held me, I remember wondering how I could be so lucky. That moment between us a few minutes after she was born was the beginning of a great partnership. It was then that Lara attached herself to me with her mind, body and soul, and we've never let each other go.<br />
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When I brought her home to her brothers and laid her in the crib (which was in the living room by my bed) we were a family - the four of us. Lara never cried. The boys loved her, and over the next few grueling years of trial, we held each other up. And I said a lot of rosaries. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lara on her first birthday</i></td></tr>
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Lara could sing before she could talk. She had this amazing ability to mimic words from songs. I carried Lara with me on Tupperware deliveries, and she'd sit in her car seat and sing along with the cassette tapes that I played in the car. She could sing the entire chorus of "All My Life's a Circle" by the Limeliters when she was two.... on pitch! <br />
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<i>All my life's a circle</i><br />
<i>Sunrise and sundown</i><br />
<i>The moon rolls through the nighttime</i><br />
<i>As the daybreak comes around</i><br />
<i>All my life's a circle</i><br />
<i>But I can't tell you why</i><br />
<i>Seasons spinning round again</i><br />
<i>The years keep rolling by</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lara on her 2nd birthday when I bought her a pony</i></td></tr>
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She never got in trouble at school, rarely misbehaved, and never got spanked. The biggest discipline problem I had with her was cussing - at THREE YEARS OLD. I did the soap-in-the-mouth thing more than once before she cut that crap out. I wonder where she got her potty mouth? <br />
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What a strange child to have never tested me, never be pulled by her peers to break the rules. I always thought it was because Lara couldn't stand to be separated from me - and that included emotionally. She couldn't take the tension.<br />
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So we were joined at the hip, Lara and me, and she's still on my mind - every day. She was a rare blessing at a time when I had no choice but to believe that things would work out okay even though the odds were against us. When having Lara should have been the last straw that finally broke my back, she became a surprising ray of hope. I couldn't stay discouraged because one smile from her instantly lifted my spirits.<br />
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She was my joy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lara's 7th birthday</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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<br />
And just as the song lyrics tell us, all my life is a circle. When I witnessed Lara give birth to her son Tristan, I watched the magic happen. That love at first sight we shared the first time I held her was resurrected. It circled around us. In an instant she was transformed, and the threads that bound Lara and me on July 25, 1984 reached right out and wove Tristan into that web of a mother's love.<br />
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Lara had become what I was. But she was still who she was. And somehow that made crazy sense.<br />
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If I were to cast my life's pain, disappointment and struggles into a bin and pile on top all of my mad worries for today and tomorrow, they would fade into a boring beige background when I held them up to the single blessing that is Lara - or any of my children. They are the vibrant colors of hope in my life. The moments with them are the stuff we live for. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7jqctH-XHQUeSY8aOjeq4VlnRLM47RatJCOOhhkV1XMqZ4QCqk9VdprDNUZOPb-LS6nUncKf807T77t1CaYshflwXzP50T_TTjmtjn-89y-ZwtOC1nan_Dv0b2Ou135wQrRQ/s1600/lara-rosie2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7jqctH-XHQUeSY8aOjeq4VlnRLM47RatJCOOhhkV1XMqZ4QCqk9VdprDNUZOPb-LS6nUncKf807T77t1CaYshflwXzP50T_TTjmtjn-89y-ZwtOC1nan_Dv0b2Ou135wQrRQ/s1600/lara-rosie2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lara with Rosie</i></td></tr>
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My little girl turns thirty today and it's mornings like these that mothers count their memories.<br />
<br />
So Lara, today I remember our first meeting when I thought that you were the image of perfection. I remember you singing in the car and loving jewelry, make up, dresses and tea parties. I remember the first time you noticed the Lupines in our garden, and how you believed me when I said I'd come back as a bluebird after I died. I remember you crawling into my bed every single night of your life until you were twelve (I'm being generous here), and my asking you what we were going to tell your husband when we had to disclose that you always sleep with your Mama - and you saying, "Hopefully, I'll be over this by the time I get married."<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tea at the Willard Hotel - Washington DC</i></td></tr>
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I remember you being afraid of the Easter Bunny and loving Santa
Claus. And taking you to Tea at the Willard Hotel and the
National Gallery of Art where we sat on the bench in front of Renoir's<i> Little Girl with the Watering Can</i>
and remarked about how she glowed, and that she was probably some rich guy's kid. I remember you were
mesmerized by the Rockettes at the Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall, and how we saw Les Miserable on Broadway three times and talked about how I
probably should have named you Cozette.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ninth birthday party - National Gallery of Art</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember you being afraid of the book <i>Boney Legs</i> and the statue of St. Rose of Lima. And how you cried one day at nursery school and I never made you go back. I remember how you loved every single wrapped gift you ever got and how you finally gave up sucking your fingers when I let the nail technician paint a palm tree on one of them. I remember finding various empty liquor bottles under your bed and you telling me that you were saving them for your friends because you all were going to "make something out of them." <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First car - Subaru Impreza</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
I remember how excited you were when you got your first car and how beautiful you were at on your wedding day. And then .... how fun our drive to California was when we camped in the Smokey Mountains, shared <span class="st">beignets at Café du Monde in New Orleans, walked through the historic homes in Natchez, Mississippi, and counted thousands of blue bonnets on a 700 mile Texas highway. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">I remember how </span>I thought it might kill me to be so overcome with love when they put Tristan in your arms for the first time.<br />
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<br />
Happy birthday, Lara Marie. Here's to another 30 years when hopefully we'll all be together - me 85, you 60 and little Rosie will be your age, and maybe she'll have a mother's story to tell by then. We'll mix all of our memories together in a fabulous cocktail of love and drink to life as it continues to circle around us.<br />
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You are a gift, my darling. You always have been. You've become such a beautiful woman inside and out...a good wife, a loving mother and one of my best friends.<br />
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I love you so.<br />
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<br />marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-62837235789620815932014-06-13T11:33:00.001-04:002017-12-04T07:32:30.434-05:00Happy St. Anthony Day - Why Do We Pray to These Saints?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EfIJvYaK3JGBoS_WXwUwmLfD2MwfPw9U2PT0oRzRXzF7v6xmsIH8RZk75nyvyWgUjYNkPNXTW2P8qjmS5Hn2I1zrDe8Jqv8_AvdJLKtWIl6uO2EMfA7XGTic_A2NVKgf65X7/s1600/anthony-icon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EfIJvYaK3JGBoS_WXwUwmLfD2MwfPw9U2PT0oRzRXzF7v6xmsIH8RZk75nyvyWgUjYNkPNXTW2P8qjmS5Hn2I1zrDe8Jqv8_AvdJLKtWIl6uO2EMfA7XGTic_A2NVKgf65X7/s1600/anthony-icon.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
My Internet J-card is missing and I'm praying to St. Anthony to help me find it. It always works. I think about my lost article and then utter those words that Sister Andrew Marie taught me in second grade ... "Good Saint Anthony, please come around. Something is lost and can't be found."<br />
<br />
I'm relatively certain I'll have that J-card in my hand before the day's end, and I've already searched everywhere for it. But when I've tried my best and still can't find it, I call in the big guns --- St. Anthony of Padua.<br />
<br />
Is it St. Anthony helping me from some mystical dimension, or is it a superstition? Some of my colleagues would say that the prayer triggers my own psychic abilities to dig up where I actually left said lost article from the recesses of my subconscious mind. Maybe. <br />
<br />
It's probably a little of both. But don't sell St. Anthony of Padua short. He is a spirit guide - one who reaches past the veil that separates this world from the eternal world and connects with us when we ask. He's always been a guide for me. I have the icon pictured above sitting on my dresser. I have another image of him hanging over my desk and still another hanging in my living room. Then there's my St. Anthony statue in my columbine garden. St. Anthony obsessed? Perhaps. But these holy reminders of him around my house help me make that spiritual connection. <br />
<br />
But I digress... back to why we pray to the Saints.<br />
<br />
If you don't believe in God or a higher power or a Divine Creator, then this won't mean much to you. But if you think there's more to this world than what we "physically" see, then think about an eternal world the lies just behind this one. It's all around us - present to us ... we just can't see it. In that world are guides who can help us along our path in this world. These guides can be angels, or saints or the spirits of our ancestors. These guides sit in the presence of the Divine Creator many of us refer to as God. They join their intentions / prayers with ours, but because they are already in that eternal world, they make our prayers stronger. In simple terms, they help us from heaven.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The Saints are like stars. Christ conceals them in a hidden place so that they might not shine before their time. But they're always there, ready to do so. </i>~<i>St. Anthony of Padua</i></blockquote>
<br />
That's why we pray to the saints. They aren't a replacement for God or Goddess or whatever you perceive the Diving Creator to be. They are helpers, guides, spiritual friends. And St. Anthony of Padua is one of the worlds most popular saints. So evidently, he delivers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9I-rpVmOBeA6mfrWW-SFnWI8FQ3TjNdM9U9RZUQNIoxJ4Y2ucTJfOMahUd5nItSyF4r1cVTlRvIK48ojTs5U0OnTFfRH26GOxnhXfTszxttUYZbCPkAlwJriSkjtoZxCmR9v/s1600/st-anthonys-bascilica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9I-rpVmOBeA6mfrWW-SFnWI8FQ3TjNdM9U9RZUQNIoxJ4Y2ucTJfOMahUd5nItSyF4r1cVTlRvIK48ojTs5U0OnTFfRH26GOxnhXfTszxttUYZbCPkAlwJriSkjtoZxCmR9v/s1600/st-anthonys-bascilica.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. Anthony's Bascilica in Padua - 5 Million pilgrims a year visit</i></td></tr>
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St. Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon around 1195 and he joined the Franciscan Order in 1220 when St. Francis of Assisi was running the order. Anthony showed talent for preaching and teaching, but the Franciscans called to"public service" not preaching. In order to best use Anthony's oratory talents, St. Francis sent him off to Bologna to teach theology to the Brothers there. His ability to publicly speak with passion and persuasion became legendary. There is even an old story that tells of creatures in the sea coming to surface of the water to hear the golden words of Anthony. <i> </i><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The birds are like saints who fly to heaven on the wings of contemplation, who are so removed from the world that they have no business on earth. ~St. Anthony of Padua</i></blockquote>
<br />
I talk to St. Anthony when I need a friend, a confessor, when I have to make a tough decision. And it may sound crazy, but in my heart I can hear him answer back... always leading me, challenging me. He's a soul friend... an <a href="http://www.basaltheritage.org/anamcaradesigns.com/meaningofaramcara.html" target="_blank"><i>Anam Cara</i></a>. I usually talk to St. Anthony before I write something I think is important. I have this quote from one of his sermons taped on to my computer to remind me that everything I write should be written with care - that all writing matters because it becomes a permanent creation as soon as the letters hit the page. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Be like the sun. Shed light, but also warmth. </i></blockquote>
Interesting that the Feast of St. Anthony also falls on the birthday of the Irish writer and poet William Butler Yeats. Two inspiring men when it comes to writing. I wonder if Yeats ever works as a spirit guide? marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-24022750087951164892014-04-25T10:20:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:32:54.530-05:00Remembering Mama - And All Women Making Hard Choices<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpr_Q-D2P-1kVyipHJCylc8xmTPy7Exc8ZogZ47VMEBArCgaSlz-6S5v5ShDt6Hoe9zAHgHPPa26WX380qampcmgp09Nyn6tnOkuiUmecqW2U6VgkhFl-1gNRtgcSctRUBq7Ic/s1600/stripedjacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Anita Granados" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpr_Q-D2P-1kVyipHJCylc8xmTPy7Exc8ZogZ47VMEBArCgaSlz-6S5v5ShDt6Hoe9zAHgHPPa26WX380qampcmgp09Nyn6tnOkuiUmecqW2U6VgkhFl-1gNRtgcSctRUBq7Ic/s1600/stripedjacket.jpg" title="Anita Granados - my mother" width="214" /></a></div>
Fifty five years ago today, a young widow left her three little children with her sister and traveled to Suburban Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland to have a baby that only a few people in her large family knew about. That baby was me.<br />
<br />
My mother, Anita was born into a wonderful clan made up mostly of Spaniards - very Catholic and very engaged in St. Bernard's Church and the Riverdale community. In 1959, having a baby out of wedlock was a serious scandal that shamed the family. Having a baby out of wedlock when the father was married to another woman and had children of his own, was barely speakable.<br />
<br />
I guess there is no adjective for having met said married father in your choir - he was a tenor, you were an alto. Suffice it to say, my grandparents were beside themselves with worry about the potential shame this pregnancy would bring to my mother and their family. <br />
<br />
They hounded her about this shame while she was pregnant. It was a sign of the times, and I've learned to reflect on these situations and the people in them taking "the times" into account. This makes me admire my mother for being a woman of her time who did the unthinkable out of love. <br />
<br />
My grandparents insisted she give me up for adoption and tell no one of the pregnancy. She had no other support - so she had no other options. How alone she must have felt. She'd given up a baby before --- my brother, John. She had a teen pregnancy and my grandparents sent her away to St. Vincent DePaul's in Baltimore. She gave birth to him there and named him "John." John's adoptive parents kept that name, and he grew up to be a great guy, a wonderful husband and father, and a successful businessman. We met him later when he reached out to find Mama.<br />
<br />
My mother married the love of her life when she was eighteen and had three children by the time she was twenty-two. There was no happier couple than they, I'm told. Tragically, her husband was killed in the line duty as a DC Fireman just six years after they were married. He was 29 and she 26. She never got over that blow. She managed to settle herself in a community near her parents, and gradually got out again and started to make friends. She went back to the church choir, and she and my father had a wild affair. She loved him. In the few conversations I ever had with my mother about my father she said only three things. He was very handsome. He was so much fun. He had the most beautiful singing voice she'd ever heard. <br />
<br />
When I got to know my father, I found these things to be so true. Handsome he was. And he was virtual party. The first time I heard him sing was at the Holiday Inn restaurant in Waterloo when he spontaneously (in public) broke out into "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the kind of Cre- aaaaaa- tion" as if he were Luciano Pavarotti at the Met. Though I was mortified at the time - as most adolescents would be, I remember thinking, "Wow! What a voice."<br />
<br />
I never asked my mother if she expected my father to leave his wife and family and marry her once she discovered she was pregnant. I suspect that she wouldn't have answered that question. What she told me and what he told me were the same well-crafted story. They both decided that the best thing for me was to give me up for adoption. Although, my father added the "I had no idea she would go back and get you" footnote to his version.<br />
<br />
No one will ever know the back-story to that love affair and how they dealt with a baby coming into the picture. It doesn't really matter anyway because it's the oldest story in the world lived by many married men and the women who loved them. I do know that my father loved his wife, deeply. He not only told me, but I could hear it in his voice when he talked about his life. My parents' entanglement was one of those love affairs that occurs, and then ends when the unthinkable happens and everyone comes to their senses... and the woman - who is now the mother - is left to deal with consequences. <br />
<br />
My mother told me how she had to have labor induced so that she could schedule the birth. She couldn't risk going into labor because there was no one to support her, to take her to the hospital, to tend the children. She couldn't even see the family doctor because he was everyone's family doctor. She had to travel outside the community for medical care in order to keep her horrible secret from dripping shame into her family's insular world. So she confided in her sister Chi-chi and asked her to come stay with kids. Chi-chi was her sole support - and her soul support. When Chi-chi arrived by bus from Texas, my mother said good-bye and drove herself to Bethesda to have labor induced the next day.<br />
<br />
I was born on April 26, 1959. My mother got to hold me and feed me for two days before the Daughters of Charity came to take me away. She told me how she cried from the time I was born until she left the hospital saying, "I can't believe I had that many tears." She did it all alone, because that's what women did in those days. They were the brunt of everyone's judgement -- and people wielded judgements freely. <br />
<br />
I was shuttled off by the Sisters to St. Ann's Infant and Maternity home, and Mama went back to her home in Riverdale without a baby. During the months when the Sisters were trying to find adoptive parents, my mother went to St. Ann's every Sunday to visit me. She told me that the nuns wouldn't let her hold me, but that she could look at me through the glass. It was during these visits that she noticed they'd assigned my care to one of the young unwed mothers waiting to deliver there. That unwed mother started calling me "Mindy" and the rest of St. Ann's staff followed suit. Baby names at St. Ann's were temporary because adoptive parents would choose a permanent name for each child.<br />
<br />
Mama gave me the name Maryanne when I was born. She told me that she'd named me after the two most blessed mothers who ever lived - Jesus' mother and his grandmother. She said, "I prayed to them before you were born and told them that I would name you after them if they would always take care of you." Maryanne was my birth name, but for my time at St. Ann's I was Mindy.<br />
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When I was about four months old, St. Ann's found adoptive parents. My mother was devastated. My Aunt Chi-chi convinced my mother to follow her heart and not sign the papers yielding her rights. Chi-chi assured my mother that they'd come up with some kind of plan to bring me home. They did. They crafted a story about how I was the baby of an American GI and German woman that Chi-chi and her husband knew when stationed in Germany. The mother died in childbirth and the father couldn't take care of a little baby. Chi-chi told my Mama about me. Mama said she'd adopt me. So Chi-chi and her husband brought me to America and I legally became Mama's adopted "German" child. (I'm laughing as I type this.)<br />
<br />
Crazy as it sounds, that's the story they told the family, and it stuck. Mama retrieved me from St. Ann's when I was about six months old (according to her). She had this picture taken of me at Woodward and Lothrop's shortly after she brought me home. She told me it reminded her of how happy she was to finally have me back. It hung on the living room wall in our house in Riverdale until she finally sold it when I was in my forties (the house - not the picture). Now it hangs in my bedroom as a reminder of Mama and me and the strength of a mother's love. <br />
<br />
Eventually, my grandparents lightened up and forgot all about the scandal. I'm pretty sure my mother's four brothers believed the adoption story at least for a time. I had to set one of them straight just a few years ago who still believed it. <br />
<br />
Since I was used to the name Mindy, Mama let that stick. It's not my
legal name, but it's what I've always been called since that unwed mother
at St. Ann's gave me the name. When I asked the normal "how did I come into the world" questions that other kids ask their mothers, Mama told me "I picked you out of a bunch of babies. There was a big room, full of babies and I walked around and around until I saw the prettiest one - and that was you. And you were the one I took home." <br />
<br />
Perhaps I'd have had a better life with adoptive parents. I might have had more opportunities, finished college, made more money, had a few letters after my name, been less a hog for attention and not so much an over-achiever. But I wouldn't trade one minute of life in this crazy clan for any other family. And I wouldn't have chosen another mother. She found a way to to keep me with her, to rise above the shame and scandal and to make it all seem like a magical beginning to me... from picking me out of a slew of babies to the "coming home" picture, to how I got my name.<br />
<br />
Every year around this time I think about our beginning together - Mama and me. I think about what it must have been like for her to go through nine months of pregnancy alone with no man to stand beside her, with her parents ashamed, no friends to confide in. I imagine her driving to a hospital in another county -- passing all of the cherry blossoms and Redbuds as the landscape budded new life. But she had to be ashamed of herself and the new life she was bringing into the world. The mother-child bond shamed us both. The only absolution for the sin of adultery was to sever the tie. <br />
<br />
What I can't seem to imagine is the agony of birthing a child, drawing her to yourself, holding her and feeding her all under a pall of shame. No visitors, no happy family rallying around this miraculous birth - no one to help you count the fingers and toes and say who she looks like, no joy, no celebration --- and then doing the unthinkable. Handing that helpless little part of yourself over to strangers knowing you'll never see her again. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0V0QPcdVx0IYiN1WfdXWYmSGjz_0GWZ7TIxMm8y43vDFwBw9XuDrB7bKyYPe8a00AjEyYeQE720_sS21nGetVc-tNpS9Elgm6IJE14FYVrVGEPTqt-lFg8RxeSv83QazlKVeR/s1600/anita.2jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0V0QPcdVx0IYiN1WfdXWYmSGjz_0GWZ7TIxMm8y43vDFwBw9XuDrB7bKyYPe8a00AjEyYeQE720_sS21nGetVc-tNpS9Elgm6IJE14FYVrVGEPTqt-lFg8RxeSv83QazlKVeR/s1600/anita.2jpg.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
Here's to Mama who did the hard thing and kept her baby in a time when unwed mothers who gave into maternal instincts were judged harshly and deemed selfish. Mama gave me the wonderful gift of my true family. And here's to all women who have singularly shouldered the responsibility, shame and consequences of out-of-wedlock pregnancies. And kudos to the Daughters of Charity and the St. Ann's staff who have been picking up the broken pieces of shattered lives and reshaping them into new beginnings and happy endings since <a href="http://www.stanns.org/about/history" target="_blank">they opened Washington DC's first foundling home in 1860.</a> <br />
<br />
And praise for those who the give the comfort and support of soul friendship to these women who are so harshly judged, especially my Aunt Chi-chi who was there for my mother to lean on, who convinced her to follow her heart, and who helped her find a way to do what she was meant to do.<br />
<br />
And a good word for my Daddy, who did the best he could in his time, was always kind to me, loved me and made me laugh. My mother never spoke an ill word about him. <br />
<br />
I can't imagine having different parents. I was a musician most of my life and rested on the talent of my ancestors. I come from a long line of musicians, music teachers, and pastoral ministers, and spent over 20 years in music ministry. Though I moved away from Riverdale when I was fifteen, my very first job as a choir director brought me back to St. Bernard's where my parents met. I returned to direct the same choir they were in. It was 30 years later, and there were two singers left in the choir who were there when my parents were members. They had no idea.<br />
<br />
I didn't tell them. marylandwriter@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08027813659755875755noreply@blogger.com19Marion Station, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.7707639000000212.517256 -117.07935790000002 63.561325 -34.462169900000021tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-60186312016161820532013-11-19T12:02:00.000-05:002017-12-04T07:34:12.314-05:00Thanksgiving Traditions & Recipes - It's Good to Be Stuck in a Food Rut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8Hu4WF4yw3EWARM3dtAbJU6gQuGZvfhrOFEdGMkBZcX68GFPjpGooo89Sa9iwk3qKhuRVxP4S3q8dTXbNSc0P3iU12GHuTIycPrGuxS0HPAHocmN_QeLaveTWqFtHo_RqM9g/s1600/gobblegobble.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gobble Gobble Gobble" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8Hu4WF4yw3EWARM3dtAbJU6gQuGZvfhrOFEdGMkBZcX68GFPjpGooo89Sa9iwk3qKhuRVxP4S3q8dTXbNSc0P3iU12GHuTIycPrGuxS0HPAHocmN_QeLaveTWqFtHo_RqM9g/s320/gobblegobble.png" title="Gobble Gobble Gobble" width="239" /></a></div>
<h3>
Some Things Should Never Change - Like the Thanksgiving Menu</h3>
As far back as I can remember we have always prepared the same Thanksgiving recipes on Thanksgiving. There was never a deviation. The menu was always the same.<br />
<br />
When I began cooking Thanksgiving dinner, I served the same food my mother serves and she the same as her mother.<br />
<br />
Later, when my siblings hosted our family Thanksgivings - they might add a dish or two (from their spouse's family traditions) but we always had "our" same Thanksgiving foods prepared the exactly the way they'd been prepared for three generations.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving was not a time to get creative with new recipes. <br />
<br />
Once somebody thought it would be good to have oyster and sausage in the stuffing. I remember thinking "Why?"<br />
<br />
It wasn't a hit. It wasn't that we were adamant or committed about having the same old food. We just ....always had the same old food. Not to have it was awkward. Our subconscious minds were dictating ... "of course we'll have avocado salad with crab meat, turkey, cranberries, candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, green beans with garlic, stuffing, sauerkraut (I honestly don't know how that got started), pumpkin pie and apple pie with genuine whipped cream."<br />
<br />
The Thanksgiving menu was always the same. You be as creative as you please with food on Christmas or Easter or birthdays, but if we didn't have the same old food on Thanksgiving - it wasn't Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>TRADITION AND RITUALS </b></h3>
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<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/AVvXsEie70_qzRehwQ0qpnz8HMNNtkiHg61j8Lzs0QBHkyPOIPZAapLxV1BBAkIAsPg7EkEWEYGuXTT1lw0xnLAmhCRiCMACJUqMZvfWvh4km5iznQC04JszGxcrGUnIBdGHY9W_kNQq/s1600/Thanksgiving1979.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie70_qzRehwQ0qpnz8HMNNtkiHg61j8Lzs0QBHkyPOIPZAapLxV1BBAkIAsPg7EkEWEYGuXTT1lw0xnLAmhCRiCMACJUqMZvfWvh4km5iznQC04JszGxcrGUnIBdGHY9W_kNQq/s320/Thanksgiving1979.png" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1979 - Son, Dominic's first Thanksgiving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Besides the traditional food you always eat, there's the things you always do. You don't know why you do these things. You just do them.<br />
<br />
The Thanksgiving rituals in our house, and in my mother's house, and in my grandmother's house were the same. I don't particularly love the traditions. I just do them. Because it's what we do. It's like Catholic guilt. You just can't overcome it. The traditions are bred into you.<br />
<br />
Don't even think about not having sauerkraut smell up the house first thing in the morning or not serving sweet potatoes. I hate sweet potatoes and so do most of my children. But I make them. Because you have to have sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
Guilty confession: I dropped the avocado and crab meat salad. Avocados make me puke and putting crab meat next to an avocado is like creme brulee next to dog poop. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Eating off the fine china </b>- no paper plates for us. My grandmother had six children and those six gave her thirty grandchildren. When her house became too small for the whole family to gather at Thanksgiving, we rented the Candlelight room at St. Bernard's Church.<br />
<br />
All the Granados' showed up, and each family brought their own china. Folding tables were placed in one long row, with tablecloths and cloth napkins. Each family was identified by the plates on the table.<br />
<br />
China was something to brag about in those days. Young girls picked out a pattern before they got married and gradually acquired a full set for when their families could eat Thanksgiving dinner on their china. When my sister and I got married, my mother gave us the china we had chosen. Mine was Royal Doulton - Old Colony, and this year, like every year my family will be eating off that china.<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/AVvXsEjREucQmH4nAsYLkKcsHLxU-I2Lwsb5UC_3HQyuffyNM_afkRyYsNPlEOuAFzbaoi1q5ZuJow7nlLQLc7aZ8YgV7b5I1PzN73n47cNNag-8ZWLIzbl2fgEN84A2gB95NN7vfn79/s1600/tristans1stthankgiving.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREucQmH4nAsYLkKcsHLxU-I2Lwsb5UC_3HQyuffyNM_afkRyYsNPlEOuAFzbaoi1q5ZuJow7nlLQLc7aZ8YgV7b5I1PzN73n47cNNag-8ZWLIzbl2fgEN84A2gB95NN7vfn79/s320/tristans1stthankgiving.png" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2011 - Grandson Tristan's First Thanksgiving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Youngest gets the drumstick - </b>Whomever was the youngest on Thanksgiving would be awarded the drumstick. Then someone would invariably take a picture of this lucky kid with the drumstick carefully placed in front of him or her. Then there would be clapping and ooohing and ahhhing as the dumbfounded child was encouraged to "dig in" to the big prize.<br />
<br />
I think I got the drumstick for about 17 years because I was the youngest in the family. I was so glad when my nephew Preston was finally born and I could finally shake the "youngest gets the drumstick" legacy.<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/AVvXsEhyB1iv8O12qCAcv3GNBIEO1Oc8TpPNf694yXJMWFNyCDmZlnyQa3Hh6ZzS9sM1BnaSrc_6KtrBxNZmrO4ty1BMLT66HrwpbkdSvxWOf7jLMl849UYdMkDKh4kKdrzxuWw8Skb-/s1600/IMG_5861.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB1iv8O12qCAcv3GNBIEO1Oc8TpPNf694yXJMWFNyCDmZlnyQa3Hh6ZzS9sM1BnaSrc_6KtrBxNZmrO4ty1BMLT66HrwpbkdSvxWOf7jLMl849UYdMkDKh4kKdrzxuWw8Skb-/s320/IMG_5861.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2010 - Anabelle was the youngest - She got the Drumstick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Christmas music starts - </b>I start playing the Christmas music on Thanksgiving and then play it continually through the season. I still have 50-CD changer and have so much Christmas music that I can fill it up twice. I turn it on every day that I'm home all the way through the Epiphany (Jan 6) which marks the end of the Christmas season for us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohwMb-bGa76Ke4FquqewD5Dv6fSq6j0P5RU9wJi474v31kQ9qa2GrUFphMQZ6ITo1k4fR2d96XuphKe45xgIiPTyUbQ9f447v08Yzky9xF3RTTYTwWPr_t4GelMwFTK3cBuGB/s1600/miagraceeateturkey-(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohwMb-bGa76Ke4FquqewD5Dv6fSq6j0P5RU9wJi474v31kQ9qa2GrUFphMQZ6ITo1k4fR2d96XuphKe45xgIiPTyUbQ9f447v08Yzky9xF3RTTYTwWPr_t4GelMwFTK3cBuGB/s320/miagraceeateturkey-(1).png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2005 - Mia and Grace's first Thanksgiving with <br />
their drumsticks (on the Old Colony china)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>New Tradition - Little Girls eat off their "future" china. </b>This year I'm starting a new tradition. We have twin granddaughters who are seven this year. After they were born, I began buying them pieces of Homer Laughlin china, American table ware from the 1940-50s. I chose the pattern "Mary Ann" for Grace and "Tulips in a Basket" for Mia.<br />
<br />
By the time they are married I should have the full set done for them which is when I'll let them finally take it out of my china closet. This Thanksgiving, I'm going to let Mia and Grace eat off the china that I bought especially for them. So they can get a little feel for something that will be theirs one day. <br />
<b></b><br />
<b></b>
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<h3>
<b>RECIPES</b></h3>
Here are a few recipes from our Granados Thanksgivings. Don't expect culinary wonders here. We aren't chefs. Well, my cousin Katie is a chef - but I think she'd still make this same food on Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
These are my favorites.<br />
<br />
<b>Green Beans with Garlic</b><br />
<i>Totally unhealthy - heart attack inducing comfort food - serves 10 to 12</i><br />
<br />
Put 5 to 6 slices of bacon in a frying pan and fry until crispy.<br />
Remove bacon and drain off all but about 2 Tbs of bacon grease.<br />
Over medium heat, saute 4 cloves of chopped garlic in the bacon grease.<br />
Break up the bacon and add it in.<br />
Add steamed or canned green beans and turn lightly so all are coated.<br />
Cook the beans for about 10 - 15 minutes until they absorb the grease. <br />
Add a little garlic salt.<br />
Serve immediately.<br />
<br />
<b>Apple, Raisin and Sage Stuffing</b><i><br />This stuffing is addictive. You can't stop eating it.</i><br />
<i></i><br />
1 bag of herbed breaded cubes or 9 cups of bread cubes<br />
1/2 cup raisins (soak in hot water 1 hour before)<br />
3 stalks of celery - chopped (with leaves)<br />
1 lg. red onion<br />
3/4 cups butter<br />
2 apples - peeled and chopped<br />
2 tsp salt<br />
1 1/2 tsp crushed sage leaves<br />
1 tsp thyme leaves<br />
1/2 tsp pepper<br />
<br />
In large skillet, saute onion and celery in the butter. Stir in 1/3 of the bread cubes. Turn into a deep bowl. Add remaining ingredients and toss.<br />
<br />
If stuffing a turkey, add stuffing just before roasting. Cook additional stuffing in a covered casserole dish in 350 degree oven for 1 hour.<br />
<br />
<b>Sauerkraut with Pork</b><br />
<i>Super easy - nothing to this. Best part of making this is starting it first thing in the morning, making the house smell like sauerkraut, and tasting it constantly while cooking the meal </i><i><i>(with wine, of course). </i>Hopefully there will be some left by dinner and the cook is still sober enough to serve it. </i><b> </b><br />
<br />
2 lg cans of sauerkraut<br />
1lb pork shoulder butt (Westphalia Ham)<br />
<br />
Dump sauerkraut into a large saucepan. Cut up pork into chunks and add to the sauerkraut. Cook about 5 to 6 hours - simmering. Taste often.<br />
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<h3>
<i><span style="color: red;">Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I'd love to hear about your traditions. </span></i></h3>
<br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2009/11/five-tips-for-writing-perfect-christmas.html" target="_blank">Read 5 Tips For Creating the Perfect Christmas Letter </a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a><br />
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
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<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Burgoyne Christmas Letters</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2013/12/merry-christmas-from-marion-station-2013.html" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2013</a> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/merry-christmas-from-burgoynes-2012_22.html" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2012 </a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter11.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2011 </a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter10.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2010</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter09.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2009 </a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter08.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2008</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter07.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2007</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><a href="http://www.writingthevision.com/christmasletter06.htm" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2006</a></i></span></div>
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com3Marion Station, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.7707639000000212.517256 -117.07935790000002 63.561325 -34.462169900000021tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-26239301106416802872012-12-20T11:31:00.000-05:002017-12-05T10:10:17.691-05:005 Christmas Traditions - Enrich Your Holidays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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/AVvXsEj6Mo80Fb1YH0oKPV9kNCEoMLXUgwJj1XdHIxvdDVuTjNzZn6vaZeKB3CHahRtkUDoTI1_tEpKEPcpcq4xGQ1160a6Qqh3Mn5Xy9BtutUqGE_spw3BJUNCjtvhMmEET2K-VQATd/s1600/cheers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mimosas - A Christmas Breakfast Tradition" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Mo80Fb1YH0oKPV9kNCEoMLXUgwJj1XdHIxvdDVuTjNzZn6vaZeKB3CHahRtkUDoTI1_tEpKEPcpcq4xGQ1160a6Qqh3Mn5Xy9BtutUqGE_spw3BJUNCjtvhMmEET2K-VQATd/s320/cheers.JPG" title="Mimosas" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Mimosa Toast on Christmas Morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Christmas traditions make our holidays richer and can give continuity to family Christmas celebrations generation after generation. The traditions are often what the kids remember most. Here are five Christmas traditions that have enriched our holidays over the years.<br />
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<h3>
Gifts under the Tree Early with Code Names</h3>
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<h3>
</h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZAxYBP-cCkbDBW8lWrczwsjOBTNDrYjxwdxUeAtRcKnxtapm7KVShsystsoWmfkdUOfU0HREZKw2h9X513_9-OFy0MRLr-Z0WVQp7srEB7H42iKx-pbjmRz9yJ8asVezURp6/s1600/presents.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Christmas presents" border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZAxYBP-cCkbDBW8lWrczwsjOBTNDrYjxwdxUeAtRcKnxtapm7KVShsystsoWmfkdUOfU0HREZKw2h9X513_9-OFy0MRLr-Z0WVQp7srEB7H42iKx-pbjmRz9yJ8asVezURp6/s320/presents.JPG" title="Presents on Christmas" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This was a great tradition once my children no longer "believed." In December as I purchased gifts for the kids, I would wrap them and put them under the Christmas tree. But I had code names for each child. So the name tags, instead of reading Dominic or Daniel or Lara would read Dasher or Dancer or Comet. The kids would pick up the gifts and shake them and examine the sizes and try to figure out which name identified their gifts. Every year the code changed.... always a trio of some sort like Michael, Gabriel and Raphael ... or Snoopy, Linus and Charlie.<br />
<br />
This tradition built great anticipation, and made it so fun for the kids. Plus, I could wrap as the gifts were purchased and didn't have to keep them hidden somewhere. Christmas morning I'd break the codes and say, "Dominic - you are Dasher. Lara, you are Dancer. Daniel, you are Comet." <br />
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<br />
<h3>
No Baby Jesus in the Manger Until Christmas Eve - Youngest Puts Them in Place</h3>
<h3>
</h3>
<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/AVvXsEi5sVPbfgLn-6yu4fcTzrDJpRpqqTyKRaF2f7HQQyvJ3PPY-mdutB35_ist363Fwvkj9lGwRplhGPkrXvuh6dQFTuCP1vS5JPq09OezZdZRdGO1xHpMz5syeusUW3gNaInmbfZt/s1600/P1050250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Baby Jesus is Places in the Manger by the Youngest Child" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sVPbfgLn-6yu4fcTzrDJpRpqqTyKRaF2f7HQQyvJ3PPY-mdutB35_ist363Fwvkj9lGwRplhGPkrXvuh6dQFTuCP1vS5JPq09OezZdZRdGO1xHpMz5syeusUW3gNaInmbfZt/s320/P1050250.JPG" title="Baby Jesus in the Manger" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Jesus is Places in the Manger by the Youngest Child</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was a Spanish thing, but in my home growing up as well as in my grandparents' house the nativity set would come out with the Christmas decorations but baby Jesus was never in his manger until Christmas Eve. The empty manger was a reminder that Jesus was coming (but wasn't here yet). Then on Christmas Eve, just before going to bed, that the youngest child in the family placed the Baby Jesus in his manger. This tradition created anticipation and excitement during Advent, and made the youngest child feel special. It was also a reminder of what Christmas was all about.<br />
<br />
FUNNY: I have nearly a dozen Nativity sets. One year I forgot where I put all the Baby Jesuses. The mangers didn't got filled that year and Lara (our youngest) was outraged! I found all of them later that year when I was cleaning out a drawer in the dining room. <br />
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<h3>
Eat off of Christmas Dishes - All 12 Days</h3>
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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/AVvXsEhddOSVoYiKlwAJ5RHPWvvjUxQ5nrqGje8-XMZnbjIU9_01DfveDmw8mN4mxcEDSMq6Un8NQXzgggOzeqewO96BJZwxAgv_exyQP894Da2eIayexjLqjC2toQP4qEJ_HjUBFxzj/s1600/spode.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Spode Christmas Tree" border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddOSVoYiKlwAJ5RHPWvvjUxQ5nrqGje8-XMZnbjIU9_01DfveDmw8mN4mxcEDSMq6Un8NQXzgggOzeqewO96BJZwxAgv_exyQP894Da2eIayexjLqjC2toQP4qEJ_HjUBFxzj/s320/spode.JPG" title="Spode Chrismtas Tree" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spode Christmas Tree Dishes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Starting December 24th and continuing through the Epiphany (Jan 6th), we use Christmas dishes for our family meals, entertaining, snacks and even the morning coffee. In the early years, I had plastic, mismatched plates. I started collecting Spode Christmas Tree china in my 30s and now I have a complete set. Sometimes guests are hesitant to use the Spode fearing they will break a piece. I always tell them that get great joy from using these dishes and that I expect some will get broken over time. We don't worry about breakage.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter what kind of Christmas dishes a family has or how expensive they are. Using them is fun. They are a memorable accent to the special foods we have at Christmas, and they are tool of celebration - just like party hats and candles on a birthday cake. <br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
Strada for Christmas Breakfast</h3>
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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/AVvXsEig8EPvzKLv1rc_TlDjjyWjqNPa73iJzn6idjIWZg-JFTq7PVWpwa9Mn3IjvOglaR5JAe6jWp911czrnr5ZSXbEJcdg2PQ5IHfBUGe3OhyRJozZXIxM6LDEo5motGa7RfsF5sYV/s1600/227064_4045709342762_460710321_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Italian Strada for Christmas Breakfast" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8EPvzKLv1rc_TlDjjyWjqNPa73iJzn6idjIWZg-JFTq7PVWpwa9Mn3IjvOglaR5JAe6jWp911czrnr5ZSXbEJcdg2PQ5IHfBUGe3OhyRJozZXIxM6LDEo5motGa7RfsF5sYV/s320/227064_4045709342762_460710321_n.jpg" title="Italian Strada for Christmas Breakfast" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italian Strada for Christmas Breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Every Christmas morning, we have Italian Strada for breakfast, a dish we make with sausage, eggs, cheese and bread. It's easy to make the night before, it's all served in one dish and it's very filling. My family loves it.<br />
<br />
Recipe: <br />
2 lbs ground pork sausage (browned & drained)<br />
12 eggs<br />
1 1/2 tsp dry mustard<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
2 cu shredded cheddar cheese<br />
5 slices white bread cubed<br />
<br />
Mix up the eggs, mustard and salt with an electric mixer - just until mixed pretty well.
Lay the bread in a layer across a 9X13 inch pan
Sprinkle sausage over the bread.
Pour egg mixture over that.
Put cheese on the top.
Bake at 350 for about an hour.
Let sit at least 15 minutes before serving.<br />
<br />
<b>Mimosas - </b>Another part of the Christmas Breakfast tradition for us is Mimosas (Orange juice mixed with Champagne) to complement the Strada - adults only, of course.<br />
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<h3>
The Christmas Walk</h3>
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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/AVvXsEhvCTnu_4eMbpPxLWab5dm-mzKL5OC3LlEhWIioQeaxdtyXV1UloniQnga60cwf5UlH8PGrHaSLVfmUW0JqIF-OAbxP4LGBapBCB0THaAlHE6uqQTdqXgUPM-UV_zg-6BpAUCNx/s1600/P1050340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Family Christmas Walk" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCTnu_4eMbpPxLWab5dm-mzKL5OC3LlEhWIioQeaxdtyXV1UloniQnga60cwf5UlH8PGrHaSLVfmUW0JqIF-OAbxP4LGBapBCB0THaAlHE6uqQTdqXgUPM-UV_zg-6BpAUCNx/s320/P1050340.JPG" title="Christmas Walk" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of my family walking our neighborhood on Christmas Morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
As simple as this sounds, it's become a nice tradition for our family. After breakfast and presents, we go for a walk - all of us - adults and children and dogs. Most times it's around the neighborhood, some times we drive to a park or wildlife refuge. It's a time to relax, get fresh air and all be together in the Christmas outdoor landscape. We live in a pretty temperate climate, but we'd do this whether it was cold and snowy or sunny and mild. This is also a great photo op. <br />
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<br />
For our family, these traditions frame our Christmas memories and give us some continuity. The traditions are what we remember about Christmas years later.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Get a FREE copy of Mindie Burgoyne's ebook (pdf file) <i>Christmas Letters: 2006 to 2016, </i>which contains a collection of her Christmas letters for ten years - - when you sign up for the free Travel Hag Newsletter. </a></span></span></h3>
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<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a><br />
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2009/11/five-tips-for-writing-perfect-christmas.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">5 Tips for Writing the Perfect Christmas Letter</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a><br />
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Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-72153400172812793682012-12-12T09:21:00.000-05:002017-12-05T10:10:55.864-05:00Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgBx_1ssjiTXabk6yuG6yzyV6P4v2xvIFCN6cLtuk9AJ5AqTsu3vn6m4v1X5FjYGcvIZ-XP8ehajRsR8Xxcf2uaBNfDa4cjnTHOGJevlkHbr_I4zdNodQbvlQ3F7pVx3xViTg/s1600/graciesanta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgBx_1ssjiTXabk6yuG6yzyV6P4v2xvIFCN6cLtuk9AJ5AqTsu3vn6m4v1X5FjYGcvIZ-XP8ehajRsR8Xxcf2uaBNfDa4cjnTHOGJevlkHbr_I4zdNodQbvlQ3F7pVx3xViTg/s320/graciesanta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I was in Target the other night and ordered a soda and pretzel from the lady at the snack bar. She must have said "Merry CHRISTMAS" five times during our short transaction. I replied, Merry Christmas once or twice.<br />
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After the transaction was done and I sat down to eat my pretzel, I got the whole schpeel. The lady went on ad nauseum about how she says "Merry Christmas" and not Happy Holidays, and it's Jesus' birthday and Jesus is the reason for the season and political correctness is killing our culture, and the Happy Holidays and Seasons Greetings phrases are anti-Christian. ...and she's a Christian. <br />
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Geez. I just wanted a pretzel.<br />
<br />
I was once married to an Iranian. This was back before the Iranian Revolution and before the conservative Islamic traditions were adopted in Iran. My ex husband was raised in a good Muslim (Moslem back then) family. His parents did the traditional prayers daily. <br />
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I was always overwhelmed to see this family react to Americans celebrating Christmas. They were enthralled by the magic, the decorations, the music, the food, wrapping, trees, Santa and the coming together of the entire country over one special day. And though they were not and never were going to be Christians, they wanted to be a part of the joy. Eventually they got a tree and did the presents and the wrapping and did their own version of celebrating.<br />
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They did things like spray that artificial snow on the tree. (this was back in the late 1970s - early 1980s) They would wrap as many presents as possible. And the presents weren't necesarily meaningful or needed. The thrill was in the unwrapping. Everyone would gather in the living room. The television would be on - with volume all the way down - and then it would start... this massive throwing of presents and wildly unwrapping. There was laughter and excitement and exclaiming about the gifts inside the wrap. All were joyful, and the whole thing would take about 20 minutes. They were modeling what they saw the Americans doing. It seemed so fun to them to do the decorations and the presents.<br />
<br />
The Christmas spirit is a living thing. It's palpable. And though the holiday itself is rooted in the birth Christ and the belief that Jesus was God incarnate, the Christmas message of peace on earth and good will to all can resonate with all faiths. It's something the entire world can embrace - even the non-Christians. Isn't that a beautiful thing? Must we quibble about words or coveting our holiday - shutting others out who don't believe exactly as we do?<br />
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Who cares how we greet each other if the greeting is filled with love and sincerity? If you wish me a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holidays, why should I scrutinize your intention or dilute the power of a spiritual moment by focusing on which words you chose? <br />
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Here's to wishing you happiness and joy during this holiday season.<br />
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Merry Christmas.<br />
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<h3>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Get a FREE copy of Mindie Burgoyne's ebook (pdf file) <i>Christmas Letters: 2006 to 2016, </i>which contains a collection of her Christmas letters for ten years - - when you sign up for the free Travel Hag Newsletter. </a></span></span></h3>
</div>
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</div>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a><br />
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2009/11/five-tips-for-writing-perfect-christmas.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">5 Tips for Writing the Perfect Christmas Letter</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a><br />
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<br /></div>
Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-82367793560264700862012-12-06T09:33:00.000-05:002017-12-05T10:11:15.300-05:00The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vaK3ePKNj8K5ORqf8zAWJGcYIrdqZHUTLci-FGsAdkRPc7ATz48Sf4Ug5uandIz0YO9fnh1gkP4tZ1StkfngY0JzdxGoMBjRafQp5YKOiyju7FFdW8iAsEQdYGC5ZE__I-8F/s1600/santa-diaries4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Santa Diaries - Memoris of a Small Town Christmas" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vaK3ePKNj8K5ORqf8zAWJGcYIrdqZHUTLci-FGsAdkRPc7ATz48Sf4Ug5uandIz0YO9fnh1gkP4tZ1StkfngY0JzdxGoMBjRafQp5YKOiyju7FFdW8iAsEQdYGC5ZE__I-8F/s320/santa-diaries4.jpg" title="Santa diaries" width="225" /></a></div>
In 2011, Eastern Shore writers Laura Ambler and Mala Burt took on a writing project that became <i>The Santa Diaries</i>:<i> Memories of a Small Town Christmas. </i>In a few short months they were able to collect letters to Santa, old Christmas photographs, newspaper clippings, recipes and oral commentary on how Christmas was celebrated in the small Bay Hundred community in Talbot County.<br />
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The end result was a delightful book filled with touching accounts of what Christmas means to close knit communities. It makes for inspiring reading. <br />
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<h3>
How the Book Came About</h3>
The inspiration for the book came from Tom Campi, who had played Santa in St. Michaels for decades - AND who was from a long line of St. Michaels Santa Clauses. Campi agreed to share his collection of the kids letters to Santa that he'd received from the local children. Mala and Laura began the project with Campi's letters, but then put a message out to the community that they were collecting Christmas memories. People began to send in photos and hand written recollections. Others recommend locals who could give oral commentary. Recalling how thrilling it was to hear these memories, Laura talked about visiting the home of an elderly lady who had her entire life chronicled in neatly arranged photo albums. As she showed the authors her photographs she talked of how she was the first in her family to go to college. She was a widow who had been married for 75 year and proclaimed that it was a "love story that ended too soon." The stories and memories woven into these collected quotes, pictures and letters make <i>The Santa Diaries </i>a book that stirs deep emotions in any reader who has a Christmas memory. <br />
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Inside the Book</h3>
<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/AVvXsEgDHXknyHeVn1laZhvr3KKpcdw6kOq7rSg0gt8xnbmJ0sif9PgCe30CoUv7Sf72bZEOCYnnEOM0_9swh5tlSzGeA4cOkcfhA2CYX3-O5-m-VUfrTCIJ-IlEihi6pCrLXrfNI4ys/s1600/santa-diaries-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHXknyHeVn1laZhvr3KKpcdw6kOq7rSg0gt8xnbmJ0sif9PgCe30CoUv7Sf72bZEOCYnnEOM0_9swh5tlSzGeA4cOkcfhA2CYX3-O5-m-VUfrTCIJ-IlEihi6pCrLXrfNI4ys/s400/santa-diaries-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Santa Diaries: Memories of a Small Town Christmas </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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One of the entries reads: <i>"When I was about 8, I wanted a penknife. All the boys wanted them. I got mine on Christmas Eve. It sure was shiny. I opened it and found the blade point broken off. My father said he did it so I wouldn't put my eye out." ~Wayne Reeser </i><br />
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Another entry reads: <i>My dad was a farmer and we were really poor. Kenny and I wanted bikes really badly but knew Dad couldn't afford them. He kept telling us how badly he felt about it. Christmas morning there were two bikes by the tree. That strengthened our belief in Santa because he was the only one that could have done it. Dad acted as surprised as we did! We couldn't figure out how Santa got two bikes in the sled. Dad told us years later that he sold a couple of hogs to buy those bikes. ~Beverly Waller</i><br />
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The end of a hand-written recipe for Virginia ham reads: <i>Cook for 30 mins - turn oven off for 3 hrs. <u>DON'T OPEN THE DOOR.</u></i> <i>Set heat again at 500 and cook 30 mins. Turn oven off and have 3 hrs or over nite. <u>Never Open Door</u>. ~Edwina Murphy's recipe box.</i><br />
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In addition to the compilation of memories, there are spaces for the book's owner to jot down his or her own personal Christmas memories which adds a personal touch to the entire collection.<i> </i><br />
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<b>Inspiring, Touching and Uplifting</b> <br />
If you ever need to restore your faith in mankind, you only need to spend about fifteen minutes with this book. Reading about poor farmers who sell hogs to purchase luxuries for little children at Christmas and seeing the photos of happy communities celebrating together isn't just the St Michaels story - <b>it's everyone's story</b>.<br />
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<i>The Santa Diaries </i>was published and is distributed by <i><a href="http://christmasinstmichaels.org/" target="_blank">Christmas in St. Michaels</a>, </i>a non-profit group that puts on a Christmas event in St. Michaels' historic downtown every 2nd weekend in December. The organization receives all the profits from the sale of the book. Those wanting a copy of <i>The Santa Diaries </i>should go to the event which is being held this year on December 7, 8, and 9th. Of contact the organization at (410) 745-0745 or <a href="mailto:info@christmasinstmichaels.org">info@christmasinstmichaels.org </a><br />
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<h3>
The Santa Diaries Play</h3>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPQttbmDXRLTE675hswqS5IJ-JWC5CAkFKti9Ogo5Mp46jZl_awpg419C6MgKxyEfz9lP3BaS30jW8JqE3QLhg79xKr9NA8xu0jb087W-CS8gUQ-EKxuolPbxAjNvDjxAXWZl/s1600/Santa-Diaries1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPQttbmDXRLTE675hswqS5IJ-JWC5CAkFKti9Ogo5Mp46jZl_awpg419C6MgKxyEfz9lP3BaS30jW8JqE3QLhg79xKr9NA8xu0jb087W-CS8gUQ-EKxuolPbxAjNvDjxAXWZl/s320/Santa-Diaries1.jpg" width="207" /></a>Every year, the <a href="http://www.avalontheatre.com/" target="_blank">Avalon Theater</a> puts on a Christmas show the week before Christmas. It's community theater at its finest. All of the actors are local people, and most of the sold-out audience also live locally and make attending the Christmas show at the Avalon an annual event.<br />
<br />
Early in 2012 The Avalon Foundation sent word out to local writers inquiring about original plays with a Christmas theme for the 2012 Christmas show. Mala and Laura pitched the idea of doing a play based on <i>The Santa Diaries</i>, and the Avalon accepted their proposal. The authors wrote a screen play and the result of their hard work opens December 16th and is this year's Christmas show at the Avalon.<br />
<br />
The story is based on the Santa Diaries book. An iconic figure in a small town who defines Christmas in the community, has had an accident just before the holidays. His son, who has become a famous actor and lives in Los Angeles must fly home to take care of his ailing Dad. The son also fills in for his dad directing the annual community Christmas play and in the process - through reconnecting with his hometown he rediscovers the meaning of Christmas - and... falls in love.<br />
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The Avalon Theater will run seven performances of <i>The Santa Diaries </i>play from December 16th through December 23rd. The cast of 80 actors (57 of them are children) includes people from ages 3 to 87 and all of them are from the local community.<br />
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This is Community Theater at its finest hour. A romantic musical comedy written by local writers, produced in a local theater with local actors with a Christmas theme ... Talk about catching the Christmas spirit!<br />
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When Mala and Laura sent me this book last year just before Christmas, my initial thought was "that's nice... but I'm not from St. Michaels." Because I didn't connect with that community, I thought the book was not for me. But this year I picked it back up and began reading through it. The themes are all the same in every small town. The people in the <i>Santa Diaries</i> mirrored the personalities in my hometown of Riverdale and hometowns all over America.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mala Burt and Laura Amber in the St. Michaels Christmas Parade</td></tr>
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I'd recommend the book and play for all people who enjoy memoirs, history and Christmas stories, but also for those who occasionally need to re-energize and stir up their own Christmas spirit. You can't help but be joyful after reading this.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Get a FREE copy of Mindie Burgoyne's ebook (pdf file) <i>Christmas Letters: 2006 to 2016, </i>which contains a collection of her Christmas letters for ten years - - when you sign up for the free Travel Hag Newsletter. </a></span></span></h3>
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<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2009/11/five-tips-for-writing-perfect-christmas.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">5 Tips for Writing the Perfect Christmas Letter</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a></div>
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<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-30350726071029182432012-11-29T16:52:00.000-05:002017-12-04T07:54:10.541-05:00Zig Ziglar Gave Me Confidence When No One Believed in Me<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zig Ziglar </td></tr>
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Motivational speaker, author and well-known Christian leader,<a href="http://ziglar.com/" target="_blank"> Zig Ziglar</a> died yesterday, and the world is a little bit emptier for the loss. I am just one of the millions who was influenced by Zig. In fact, he changed my life. I was fortunate enough to meet him and spend a few days with him and his team at a "Born to Win" conference back in 1983 in Dallas, TX. <br />
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Having worked in direct sales for half of my adult life, I attended scores of motivational seminars. I've seen and heard the best of the best. I learned from all of them. But NONE of them changed my life or had the impact of Ziglar. Was it because he was so much better than the others? Probably not. But my connection and encounter with Zig came when I needed it the most. And it was life changing.<br />
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What a legacy he leaves.<br />
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To illustrate Zig Ziglar's impact on one little life in Maryland imagine a young mother aged twenty, a mother who has made some poor choices, who is married to a compulsive gambler. She is lonely. She hungers for recognition. She starts to sell Tupperware for extra cash but struggles getting people to buy. Her lack of social skills and self confidence is mirrored by the insensitive advice and jibes from family and friends who remark that she'll never be successful selling anything. What's her dream? A little house with a yard where the kids can play, maybe a dog, a garden, a place where the Christmas tree always goes, a warm kitchen with a table where meals are shared - in short - a home. <br />
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That young mother was me. And listening to motivational tapes by Zig Ziglar helped me hold on to that dream when no one believed in me. <br />
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I won my first set of Ziglar audio cassettes in a sales contest. Those tapes were playing the day I packed all my possessions up - the day before the sheriff came to evict us from our apartment. I was twenty years old and six months pregnant with my second child. I had an adorable little toddler who was eighteen months old at the time. A few days earlier when I found the eviction notice taped to our door. My husband admitted he'd lost all his money gambling and not paid the rent for several months. We had no where to live and no where to go where we could remain together as a family. I was devastated.<br />
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While I packed those possessions into boxes the Ziglar tapes were my background music. Zig's positive messages distracted me from the panic of having no home for my children. His words helped me focus on moving forward, not look at the defeat. I can't remember what was on those particular tapes. What is clear in my memory is how I felt, the empty rooms, the boxes, my son playing on the floor and the cool white vinyl cover of that six-tape package. I also remember thinking that it was going to be okay. Zig said so. <br />
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I delivered a baby boy three months later and after about a year, we managed to patch our life back together and get another apartment. I got most of my sales training from the Ziglar tapes, and I became one of the top sales people in my company. I was making a little bit of money, too. We even won a trip to Hawaii. Zig's tapes were my constant companions. Though I had tapes from other trainers and speakers, the Ziglar tapes delivered an impact like no other.<br />
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In 1983 we moved into a town house, and I saved enough money to go to Dallas and attend the Born to Win seminar put on by Zig Ziglar. I don't recall the details of the sessions there, but I do remember that I made good friends and that I came home changed. I returned home able to look my fears in the face. I knew my marriage was dead. My husband was addicted to gambling and with that addiction came lying and financial pressures. He was becoming violent. Somehow I gathered the nerve to tell him I wanted a divorce. <br />
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The next months were very hard. He pressured me, he abused me, he stalked me. But he finally left. I knew that losing him would mean I'd lose my home again and have to start all over with the boys in a small apartment. It would mean paying for daycare, being alone and still dealing with the ex's drama. But I stuck to my guns and knew I'd face this now or face it later. The seminar helped me see things clearly and inspired me to act.<br />
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Two weeks after he finally left, I discovered I was pregnant. I confided in people I trusted searching for advice on what to do. A priest after hearing my circumstances admitted he understood why some women choose to have abortions, though he didn't advocate having one. No one had advice that resonated.<br />
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I was pro-life. I'd had an abortion when I was seventeen, and at the time was convinced it was the right thing to do. I felt no guilt. But when I gave birth to my first child ... call it a revelation, epiphany, insight, a a deep sense of knowing -whatever - I knew that abortion was just wrong as soon as I held him. How do we know when these precious little lives begin? Who can say? Shouldn't we give life the benefit of the doubt? <br />
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What a conundrum. I was pregnant. I had two small children, both in day care. I had a dangerous ex-husband who was already stalking me and looking for anything he could leverage to get back in our life. How could I keep three kids in day-care when I couldn't afford two? My income was spotty as my earnings were 100% commission. If I failed financially, my ex would swoop in, claim the children and move in with his family. I could lose everything.<br />
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Abortion would have been such an easy solution. <br />
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In the throws of this decision making, I received a letter from a Texan I'd met at the Born to Win seminar. He gave updates on his family in the letter, and he offered concern and prayers regarding my family troubles which I'd shared with him. The simple closure to his letter read, <i> Romans 8:28</i> <i>Good things come to those who love God and are called according to his purpose. </i>When I read that, I knew things would be okay. <br />
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I gave birth to a baby girl, and God has been rewarding me for trusting things would be okay ever since. She's a living testimony to what can happen when we let go of what we can't control, play the hand we're dealt, and walk in simple faith.<br />
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If I hadn't signed up for that seminar, who knows what direction my life would have taken? <i> </i><br />
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After my daughter was born the road was rough. But I continued in Sales and continued to lean on the lessons of Zig Ziglar. I found my life and my dream. I've had a few houses, all with yards and dogs and gardens. The life I found was better than the dream I imagined.<br />
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The two things I learned from listening to Zig Ziglar were to focus on the positive and face all fears. While this may sound trite and obvious ... like who doesn't already know that? Knowing a truth is quite different from living a truth. Zig's delivery of these simple truths connected me to what I needed to learn at the time. Then I found the way to live them. He was the perfect teacher and I was ripe for learning the lesson.<br />
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I can still recall some Ziglar-isms:<br />
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Check up from the neck up.<br />
Spit on 'em, man.<br />
I'll see you at the top.<br />
Give people a label and they'll live up to it<br />
You become part of what you're around<br />
FEAR=False Evidence Appearing Real<br />
It's not where you start it's where you finish<br />
There's no traffic jam on that extra mile<br />
You are the only person who can use your ability<br />
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One last thought. At the Born to Win seminar, Zig said he believed that God would judge us not only on what we do, but for all the deeds done as a result of our actions, both good and bad. Just as a sincere smile and greeting can cause a chain reaction of good deeds and positive energy, so too can one unkind act generate a profusion of hate and negativity. <br />
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With that thought in mind I bid farewell to the friend I made so many years ago. Zig Ziglar, in my life alone your influence has generate untold good. Magnify that by the millions you've helped and I figure you scored a good seat in heaven. <br />
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May God receive you lovingly, and bless those left behind who mourn your absence. <br />
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<i>photo credit: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ZigZiglar" target="_blank">Zig Ziglar Facebook Page</a> </i><br />
<br />Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-13382104677103966522012-11-13T08:00:00.000-05:002017-12-05T10:45:29.498-05:005 Tips for Writing the Perfect Christmas Letter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year we get between 10 and 20 Christmas letters. I read every single one, and keep them in a basket in the dining room so visitors and family members can easily scoop them up. I confess, a few of theses letters are terrible and the brunt of jokes and snickers. These are usually the letters that are braggadocios with self aggrandizing references to brilliant children, extravagant purchases, deserving job promotions, and luxurious vacations.<br />
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Sometimes I'm tempted to send responses to these letters saying, "Merry Christmas from the ordinary old Burgoynes who have pretty nice kids who haven't won any astounding awards, and I'm still at the bottom of the food chain in the same old government job and we're upside down on our mortgage since the crash so we probably will never move into a bigger house, and when we vacation we mostly camp .... AND we love each other to pieces and are happy happy happy" .... but I digress.<br />
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Since 2004 I have sent out a Christmas letter tucked inside a custom designed card. My letters have become so popular that friends and relatives have actually written back. Each year I get three or four letters answering my Christmas letter. I also get thank-you emails and thank you notes from grateful recipients. Last year I dropped some people from the list and one of them wrote to me and asked to be put back on. I believe my annual Christmas letter initiative works well because I write them with this thought in mind ..."What would I say to my friends and family if this were the last Christmas for me - or them? What if this Christmas message was my final communication. What would I say?" <br />
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This moves me to cut out all the meaningless drivel about possessions and accomplishments, write from the heart about how much each one of them means to us. It's usually mushy, but I think the success of our Christmas letter comes from it raw honesty.<br />
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Of course, I'm actually bragging here about writing a great Christmas letter which is sort of hypocritical. I'm sure some of my family members will read this post and be aghast that I can brag when I'm so long winded.... writing a two-page, single spaced letter - and it's SO mushy (a family keeps you from getting a big head). But I've not heard from them asking to be taken off the list. <br />
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Dan and I have large families and scores of friends we've made over the years. To some of our contacts, the Christmas card and letter is our only communication. We send out over 250 Christmas cards. I tuck my Christmas letter inside the cards of close friends and family. People have actually figured this out ... that not everybody gets a letter. We've had friends say, "Please, keep us on the A list" and others ask how they get on the "Letter List." These comments mean the world to me. To know that my message makes a difference. What could be a more important gift? <br />
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Many have asked how I do it ... "How do you think of what to write?" ... "How do you make it interesting?"<br />
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At the risk of appearing braggadocios myself, I am daring in this post to offer 5 tips for writing a Christmas letter that will opened with great anticipation, eagerly read, appreciated and shared.<br />
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<b>Tip 1: Keep News on Family Members to One Paragraph</b><br />
This may sound odd, since the contents of most Christmas letters is 90% news of the family ... son John got into Yale this year, Cindy won the regional skating championship, Sarah is still a soccer star, grandson Bob won a scholarship, our son Billy still doesnt' talk to us and we don't know where he is - do you?, husband Jack got a new job.....Friends and family want to know what your kids are up to, where they're living, how they're doing.. but one paragraph on the whole family news is enough. ADDED NOTE: My grown children don't like when I go on and on about them in a letter. It makes them uneasy. Simple news, to the point, is enough.<br />
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<b>Tip 2: Resist All Temptation to Brag or Appear Like You're Bragging</b><br />
It's just not okay to brag on paper. Remember braggarts are bores, and you do not have the benefit of "tone of voice" or "facial expression" when writing. So don't say "We just can't believe how smart she is ... straight A's for the fifth year in a row!" Talk more about how much you love her, support her, and are glad she's eager to learn. Avoid casually mentioning how expensive your new car is or how luxurious that vacation you took was. Bragging sours the letter and taints the intention of sending love and good will.<br />
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<b>Tip 3: Pick a Few Highlight of the Year - Then Elaborate on How You Feel or Felt About Those Events.</b><br />
If your spouse got a new job, talk about it ... how does it make him or her feel? What was the most outstanding moment in your family vacation? What was the most riveting memory of your child's wedding? What was going on in your heart when Jimmy went to the first day of kindergarten? Who have you lost this year? What comforting words can you say about the loss - or what were the most comforting words someone said to you? Did you move this year? Did you feel lonely? Make new friends? <br />
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<b>Tip 4: Be "You" Focused Instead of "Me" Focused</b><br />
Think about who you are writing to. Think about the faces of the loved ones who will read your Christmas letter. What can you say that will bring smiles to those faces? What will be interesting the those reading your letter? When will you welcome visits? Mention things in your letter that you'd want to hear from your closest friends.<br />
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<b>Tip 5: Mention Your Sincerest Christmas Wish at the End</b><br />
Christmas is a time when we remember everyone we ever loved. One recent Christmas, I was decorating my tree and becoming sentimental about the ornaments as I placed them. My ornaments could tell the story of my life. As I mentally went through my life marked by shiny baubles, I thought to myself, "What if this was my last Christmas? What would I want to tell everyone I love?" I jotted down a few thoughts and incorporated them into the sappy ending of my Christmas letter that year. I've repeated the process each subsequent year, and I believe this is the ultimate gift of the Christmas letter... my personal and sincere message of love to each loved one... the kind of thing you never think to say face to face. Christmas is the perfect time to put these thoughts into words before it's too late, and the message of love is left unsaid.<br />
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If you're interested in reading one of my past Christmas letters check out this one from 2014<br />
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2015/12/burgoyne-christmas-letter-2015.html" target="_blank">Christmas Letter 2015</a><br />
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<span style="color: red;">You can get a FREE copy of my entire collection of Christmas letters for the last ten years in a free ebook - entitled Christmas Letters 2006-2016 by <a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">signing up for the Travel Hag Newletter</a>. </span><br />
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Merry Christmas everybody.<br />
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Mindie<br />
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BONUS TIPS</h3>
<b>Don't waste the money on that special Christmas stationary.</b> I used to do this. It costs more money and it's a nightmare to get the layout right. I used colored paper in the printer - a pastel green usually because it's easy on the eyes. <br />
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<b>Customized Cards - </b>If you want to make your own card from one of your own photographs to match the message of your letter, consider a web service that will allow you to upload your own image and type in your own message. <a href="http://shutterfly.com/" target="_blank">Shutterfly</a> and <a href="http://vistaprint.com/" target="_blank">Vista Print</a> are both affordable. I'd also check with your local printer and see if he or she can match the price.<br />
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<a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Sign up here for your free copy of </a><i><a href="https://mailchi.mp/518563e3e046/travel-hag-news-sign-up-christmas-letters" target="_blank">Christmas Letters 2006-2016</a>.</i></h3>
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<b><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Other Christmas Posts: </span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/5-christmas-traditions-enrich-your.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Five Christmas Traditions to Enrich Your Holidays </span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/happy-christmas-hanukkah-and-festivus.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Happy Christmas, Hanukkah and Festivus for the Rest of Us</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2012/12/the-santa-diaries-private-look-at.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Santa Diaries - A Private Look at Christmas in St. Michaels</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/winter-on-eastern-shore-darkness-is.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">An Eastern Shore Solstice - Darkness is Ebbing</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.marylandwriter.net/2011/12/christmas-is-tough-for-those-sufferring.html"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 10.0pt;">When People Hurt at Christmas</span></a><br />
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Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com37Marion Station, 8, Lawsons, MD 21838, USA38.0392905 -75.770763938.0267845 -75.7905049 38.0517965 -75.751022900000009tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38582487.post-48898634052892961572012-10-04T08:47:00.000-04:002017-12-04T07:55:03.798-05:00St. Francis of Assisi - I Didn't Like Him at First<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. As a child and young adult I never liked St. Francis. I attended Catholic school and was socially entrenched in church life growing up. St. Francis was so common - so ordinary. His image was in almost every classroom, and it was always kind of girly with birds flying around him... unless it was one of him showing his wounds of Christ with skulls at his feet.<br />
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St. Francis was so overdone and ordinary</h3>
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St. Francis everywhere in my life. My first grade teacher was Sister Francis Clare, who took BOTH names of the saints who founded the first Franciscan orders. The first song she taught us was "Good St. Francis." <br />
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The family of my closest childhood friend started a Franciscan community. Every time I went to their house ... more pictures - more focus on Francis. Birdbaths, holy cards, statues, medals, a kid named Francis in every family. Geez - we were inundated with him. After awhile Francis was like an old movie replaying over and over with sound turned off. Combine this overkill with the stories of St. Francis loving poverty and he just got more unpopular in my mind... until I saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brother_Sun,_Sister_Moon" target="_blank">Franco Zeffirelli's </a><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brother_Sun,_Sister_Moon" target="_blank">Brother Sun, Sister Moon</a> </i>in my late twenties. By then it was an old movie, but this story of the life of St. Francis - who was born Giovanni Francisco Bernardoni - changed me.<br />
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St. Francis - the basic story - condensed</h3>
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Most people know <a href="http://www.st-francis-medal.com/" target="_blank">the story of Francis</a>. He was born in the late 12th century to a wealthy merchant. He fought in the Crusades, was wounded and changed by what he saw in the war. While recovering from his wounds (and nearly dying from them), Francis had a vision, and his world never looked the same after that. He saw the corruption in the Church and the disparity between the rich and poor. It disgusted him. After a brief but futile effort to convince his family to turn away from the selfish love of riches and recognize the poor among them, Francis did a radical thing. He stripped naked in the town square and gave all his possessions back to his father and walked away - forever.<br />
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Francis' method of protest was silent action. Pretty soon, others who could see the same truth joined him. He formed a community of brothers who lived away from town, practiced service in the community, and depended on them for sustenance and survival. Francis was big on service and <b>showing</b> others how it should be done rather than preaching about it or writing about it. Silent action was his method.<br />
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The Franciscan Community</h3>
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Francis' community grew and grew and produced some of our greatest saints - Anthony of Padua, Clare of Assisi, Bernadin, Bonaventure, Joseph of Cupertino, Elizabeth of Hungary (3rd order), Maximilian Kolbe, Padre Pio. John Vianney (3rd order), Frances Cabrini (3rd order) and Thomas More (3rd order).<br />
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I have friends who are Franciscan friars and I was surprised to learn that they really do live a life of poverty by our standards. Their order requires that they have no bank accounts, no great assets and they personally own very little. Everything is shared in community. They must practice obedience to their superiors, and their physical needs are met by the order. While other religious orders teach, preach, or pray, the Franciscan mission is to serve the community - face to face get-your-hands-dirty service to others. <br />
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The Real Franciscan Mission</h3>
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On the surface, the character of the Franciscans is a mixture of loving animals, being poor and helping the needy. But what finally won me over and drew me to the Franciscan order is the real charism - and the movie <i>Brother Sun, Sister Moon</i> illustrated this. The core of what St. Francis taught was humility and living your life according to the Gospels - basically following what Jesus said. So humility is the code and Jesus wrote the rule book for how we make life choices.<br />
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The humility they embrace is not self humiliation or berating oneself. A Franciscan friar once told me that humility is no more than a true sense of self. Just knowing exactly who you are and who you are not, and living out your life as the real you. It's the same concept Hans Christian Anderson brought us in <i>The Emperor's New Clothes. </i>We're all equal - emperor and little boy - and helping each other to get through this life is more important than the things we acquire that falsely elevate our worth.<br />
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Francis stripped away the clothes of the emperor. He demonstrated love through service and care to all people equally whether they were a leper or the pope. <br />
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So Francis finally caught me in the end. <a href="http://www.tssf.org/" target="_blank">I embraced the Franciscan 3rd order (lay order)</a> many years ago, and became a part of the largest religious order in the Christian world - and the second largest worldwide. These are amazing fruits yielded from seeds planted by one man from Assisi who rejected materialism and corruption, and chose to protest its existence by doing.<br />
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Happy feast of St. Francis. Mindie Burgoynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936334677882898071noreply@blogger.com3