tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19290203307960246802024-03-19T00:58:18.829-07:00Devil Slaying Amongst Other ThingsChristina Rowell YA Fantasy AuthorChristina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.comBlogger628125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-68624221629489877832024-03-09T05:43:00.000-08:002024-03-09T05:43:22.042-08:00March #Doing It For The Girls<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ig44Y47vx0Oop66U_yHsXnmw3iHwJV5xlHXp_s30i4l4TMRlmMUf0Lh4IFOujyylkmAjZrLIBUVbgVecEMfkiaFeCzuH96X3jCWO4GuBFlgaBVyA8t2lHgSEVmiLpPMuI4A429OeIAcCNG8iXiMPcHCUbInqmNUD-MXw5dSOpjm5hhFiDA5SwcorZ8g/s4288/ST%20ANDREWS%20066.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ig44Y47vx0Oop66U_yHsXnmw3iHwJV5xlHXp_s30i4l4TMRlmMUf0Lh4IFOujyylkmAjZrLIBUVbgVecEMfkiaFeCzuH96X3jCWO4GuBFlgaBVyA8t2lHgSEVmiLpPMuI4A429OeIAcCNG8iXiMPcHCUbInqmNUD-MXw5dSOpjm5hhFiDA5SwcorZ8g/s320/ST%20ANDREWS%20066.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">This week we've been celebrating ‘International Women's Week’ on 4th -10th March 2024 and ‘International Women's Day’ on 8th March 2024. This year's theme is ‘Inspire inclusion.’ <br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYg-igP23zHdZspTS2O9cZXayg5l7kppwG3OHH00cY8llVQ-YZSM6ckf9CYw9guq0u3COwHo7MkbeYQPQ6JjOuK9HbncJ8xxqB8xMTVl8kVchx4oJIDies6MPwh_kDfl01k7MhCuXaEt97Qec2DnJE_0gcBBMZuIAeCdwBHWI2el2B0lIWYi4d8VxMjk/s4288/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20017.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYg-igP23zHdZspTS2O9cZXayg5l7kppwG3OHH00cY8llVQ-YZSM6ckf9CYw9guq0u3COwHo7MkbeYQPQ6JjOuK9HbncJ8xxqB8xMTVl8kVchx4oJIDies6MPwh_kDfl01k7MhCuXaEt97Qec2DnJE_0gcBBMZuIAeCdwBHWI2el2B0lIWYi4d8VxMjk/s320/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20017.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Through the centuries, it has been hard for women to have gender equality and inclusion. Because of this, many talented women have been excluded from society and branded as being different, causing them to lead a secluded and lonely life.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYMZK2LaLlQZTrp3-PzfaKExNNEACSwjczO69XyBVkkLGq4GkwdajoSzjoctdgfONl-pS5PR4FdXz3KbAfFts2MQpGFDn39p68Zp4-3WRX-3Iu-VuWWe8uJg4m4iS6IjuLX82QWdQl8kXBIa4EItxqEkZt3ePcmxv-xbjuDRsDi58s6V_6gA2ZLrF01E/s4288/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20021.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYMZK2LaLlQZTrp3-PzfaKExNNEACSwjczO69XyBVkkLGq4GkwdajoSzjoctdgfONl-pS5PR4FdXz3KbAfFts2MQpGFDn39p68Zp4-3WRX-3Iu-VuWWe8uJg4m4iS6IjuLX82QWdQl8kXBIa4EItxqEkZt3ePcmxv-xbjuDRsDi58s6V_6gA2ZLrF01E/s320/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20021.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Their work not being recognized until they were sadly not with us. One such talent was the American poet, Emily Dickinson. Today I want to pay homage to her and I've included one of her poems. Some of the #photographs I took in the month of March a few years ago, so I felt were fitting. I hope you enjoy it.<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Remember, we’re #DoingItForTheGirls!!<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvU0ovlPPINKU909Z7frrou1tCvPgSbwTOS819NpB3yn8nP3PROGFslDpcHe_xDf5rdYJnMW5Anz9KyVRqMYab_ED4JAiEQTw38yYWaxjkAvi6B3HSZ4cO78kZVk3KANlYuU1J90jDezTaEymGRvtDYET8l8N6ekvRnKQ1JUV-6fM69ZSCKnIsZhVgZAY/s4288/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20029.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvU0ovlPPINKU909Z7frrou1tCvPgSbwTOS819NpB3yn8nP3PROGFslDpcHe_xDf5rdYJnMW5Anz9KyVRqMYab_ED4JAiEQTw38yYWaxjkAvi6B3HSZ4cO78kZVk3KANlYuU1J90jDezTaEymGRvtDYET8l8N6ekvRnKQ1JUV-6fM69ZSCKnIsZhVgZAY/w278-h240/Helix%20Park%20March%202017%20029.JPG" width="278" /></a></span></div></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Dear</b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> March</b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJevDQIz0BlxkfWFniBaGOR0Npi1zL-xLij_lUZHEGb0mqwaCZzlexxI4NJtlX5Vota0uQ1hEeiWUlztCVngLmeAsOT8nBqrvq1Hx1EV8YzzejH8Pu1l5MMhOY1i6JJXxrklCMg-CJluE0-cb1CVZoIf5ij87HfzA2Y68BhyphenhypheneQ3W6Rw1jQTEjNECpbLE/s4288/Dollar%20Glen%20041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJevDQIz0BlxkfWFniBaGOR0Npi1zL-xLij_lUZHEGb0mqwaCZzlexxI4NJtlX5Vota0uQ1hEeiWUlztCVngLmeAsOT8nBqrvq1Hx1EV8YzzejH8Pu1l5MMhOY1i6JJXxrklCMg-CJluE0-cb1CVZoIf5ij87HfzA2Y68BhyphenhypheneQ3W6Rw1jQTEjNECpbLE/s320/Dollar%20Glen%20041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dear March ... Come in ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">How glad I am ... </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hoped for you before ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Put down your hat ...<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You must have walked ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">How out of breath you are ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dear March, how are you and the rest ...<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Did you leave nature well ... <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Oh March, come right up the stairs with me ...<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have so much to tell ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I got your letter, and the birds ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Maples never knew that you were coming ... </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I declare, how red their faces grew ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But March, forgive me ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> And all those hills you left for me to hue ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was no purple suitable ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You took it all with you ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeXTklNm9kWWiMUmR5AFmcGadQMOH8yyee8kX8m_xuGDJJKRq8gvbnj6jpmNK7MgCNS23MCjD9TTPJWRnZAKKLfHC8IEcp_Ml9D681yhPHlv8uTuZFwaxhE_igHBdKcr-ClKGJsUN3uUBETfXwD0rgA7m8lYF-ahx2na4YMwlt1_OPGbWSS3wkzNjebg/s4288/P8090040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeXTklNm9kWWiMUmR5AFmcGadQMOH8yyee8kX8m_xuGDJJKRq8gvbnj6jpmNK7MgCNS23MCjD9TTPJWRnZAKKLfHC8IEcp_Ml9D681yhPHlv8uTuZFwaxhE_igHBdKcr-ClKGJsUN3uUBETfXwD0rgA7m8lYF-ahx2na4YMwlt1_OPGbWSS3wkzNjebg/w282-h320/P8090040.JPG" width="282" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who knocks? that April ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lock the door ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I will not be pursued ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He stayed away a year to call.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I am occupied ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But trifles look so trivial <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As soon as you have come</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That blame is just as dear as praise, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And praise as mere as blame ...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Emily Dickinson 1830 ⁄ 1886</i></b><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-68444980567133946492024-02-13T08:00:00.000-08:002024-02-13T08:02:51.131-08:00Words from the Heart<p style="text-align: center;"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfaF08_v3YklC9_wqYS6lQvkZLt81YvT850y5xYjyQeMyeHjGZL4VcOGuxppagtUeS-y7eL3UPuHZRLh3kteCJXuNiOAoymjYV25tMVNxSBfmQkFsdEm-KioMXZeYuc0FOizGxVcLd6tMwUPPBFA1qx0ZAt5Il5Dg4L4Tr9AB7y00khCvNHMnJHPu-L8/s3072/Vina%20038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfaF08_v3YklC9_wqYS6lQvkZLt81YvT850y5xYjyQeMyeHjGZL4VcOGuxppagtUeS-y7eL3UPuHZRLh3kteCJXuNiOAoymjYV25tMVNxSBfmQkFsdEm-KioMXZeYuc0FOizGxVcLd6tMwUPPBFA1qx0ZAt5Il5Dg4L4Tr9AB7y00khCvNHMnJHPu-L8/s320/Vina%20038.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>To love, is to cherish</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To cherish, is to adore</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To adore, is to treasure <br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To treasure, is to be devoted to </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To be devoted to, is to be faithful</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To be faithful to, is to be committed to </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">To be committed to, is what I am to you</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">My darling Valentine </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJBMbkz3NGLsMbQXhRulaQY3vvU37vxaz-zmw6spBEvj7JhZuDpYd5O-b5mF9V9yobSetiqNILCFNwOgZNrwpsDU8lLSF3eXdCj-zscVqyI3Asx1MkI7QUuX9q6eiUy7WPy1dHRGd3D9FbsljgPAFPRxmZs2Mz4wKw2lpTjkUFDaztCAj213X4bjk2Go/s3072/Vina%20044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="2304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJBMbkz3NGLsMbQXhRulaQY3vvU37vxaz-zmw6spBEvj7JhZuDpYd5O-b5mF9V9yobSetiqNILCFNwOgZNrwpsDU8lLSF3eXdCj-zscVqyI3Asx1MkI7QUuX9q6eiUy7WPy1dHRGd3D9FbsljgPAFPRxmZs2Mz4wKw2lpTjkUFDaztCAj213X4bjk2Go/s320/Vina%20044.JPG" width="240" /></a></i></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /> </i></span><br /><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-16786850820508079432024-02-06T09:11:00.000-08:002024-02-06T09:11:33.440-08:00Watching You Watching Me<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLZiGHgsMqxZY-ijpoXNwG7S2RI4Jpn_pWnCzw2SiEGgEtMWmXAvG0TL3CAxrbo-9K1cczdqhS1ERdaJ8HRW26Ra1FpN-VzAzAHbRAf_tG1B3AV8Nhbo5yQA2De_517PLIJqn93GNOCi6L8VSla9NPqnH4jWQwLUsyOyX6zEU4vzVMesKDWJpVohwELM/s483/IMG_20240201_212158~3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="483" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLZiGHgsMqxZY-ijpoXNwG7S2RI4Jpn_pWnCzw2SiEGgEtMWmXAvG0TL3CAxrbo-9K1cczdqhS1ERdaJ8HRW26Ra1FpN-VzAzAHbRAf_tG1B3AV8Nhbo5yQA2De_517PLIJqn93GNOCi6L8VSla9NPqnH4jWQwLUsyOyX6zEU4vzVMesKDWJpVohwELM/s320/IMG_20240201_212158~3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> A few years ago I wrote about a little unexpected housemate I encountered in my home at the time.<a href="https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2014/09/meeting-my-room-mate.html?m=1">https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2014/09/meeting-my-room-mate.html?m=1</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> In my house now, in the last few months one of her distant cousins has set up home with us. We had suspected for a while that a gecko had moved in, after catching </span><span style="font-size: medium;">fleeting glances </span><span style="font-size: medium;">as she darted behind the fridge/freezer or, dishwasher. ( For the sake of the story I'm genderising as she.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> But, she has grown comfortable in our environment and has now made home behind our sideboard. The lizard realizes we do not pose a threat to her. How do I know that? Each night at 18.20 p.m. on the dot she climbs out of her hideaway and sits in full view. I'm not sure if it's a, watching you, watching me scenario. No connection to the Bill Withers song.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> A few times this normally nocturnal creature has freaked me out a little, but she does a good job of keeping unwanted insects at bay. Because of the warm climate here, mosquitoes, and ants are a common pest in the home.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> She is a little camera shy, but I did manage to photograph her the other night when she was roaming around. Unfortunately, the flash did scare her and she darted behind the print on the wall for the rest of the evening.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> However, she must have went home in the hours of darkness, as she appeared same time, same place the following evening.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever you're watching, or doing this week enjoy!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>Care for the Lowest</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I would not enter on my list of friends</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span>Yet wanting sensibility t</span><span>he man</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span>Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">An inadvertent step may crush the snail</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That crawls at evening in the public path;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But he that has humanity, forewarned,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A visitor welcome, into scenes</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The chamber, or refectory, may die:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A necessary act incurs no blame.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not so when, held within their proper bounds,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And guiltless of offense, they range the air,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Or take their pastime in the spacious field:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There they are privileged; and he that hunts</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Disturbs the economy of nature's realm,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who, when she formed, designed them on an abode.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sum is this: If man's convenience, health, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Else they are all the meanest thing that are</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As free to live, and to enjoy that life,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As God was free to form them at the first,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> To love it too.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>By William Cowper </b><br /></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-72057553723315548092024-01-29T10:03:00.000-08:002024-01-29T10:06:24.280-08:00Inspiration from the Tedium<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT34MyVtFYwBKBPAjFLWDJsioz7Qv_Bxso5wk2DLIdbjzvp8u6cnX-9Lu7-cBbncRq6hxO5SwycATKtz7QdVKjo6lXCGjtkcjwcRhvRaSZ4IKCP8zNvclSTVqIZr7izV9kP1y5dE2Chtwp7YrW1-aJSFXFb67_YOR30SGYyJ3LPfpSPYLLeFI8_vKExCA/s4288/PC180210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT34MyVtFYwBKBPAjFLWDJsioz7Qv_Bxso5wk2DLIdbjzvp8u6cnX-9Lu7-cBbncRq6hxO5SwycATKtz7QdVKjo6lXCGjtkcjwcRhvRaSZ4IKCP8zNvclSTVqIZr7izV9kP1y5dE2Chtwp7YrW1-aJSFXFb67_YOR30SGYyJ3LPfpSPYLLeFI8_vKExCA/s320/PC180210.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The last few weeks I’ve been nursing a cold and annoying cough. The good news, for my partner is that I lost my voice for a few days. Of course, for every piece of great news, there is a piece of not-so-good that seems to come along and smack you in the face. Yes, my voice has returned.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Due to the tedium of spending all day at home and my eyes feeling a little tired, with screen time, I decided it was time to look through old notebooks and files.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Some notebooks contain the blogs I've written over the last eleven and a half years. That's six hundred and twenty-five to be exact. I even came across a few surprises along the way, as to how I chose my subject matter in the early years.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Now, my completed and unfinished manuscripts, are contained in plastic folders. Some of the unfinished works have been printed out on paper and some not, I hold them all on my hard disk drives anyway. But, each file has a notebook enclosed and sometime these are also accompanied by sheets of lined A4. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> These notebooks/A4 sheets contain outlines, descriptions of characters, plots and rough drafts for each of the chapters. All written in longhand, as unfortunately, shorthand is not something I ever managed to grasp.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> There was one of these unfinished works that caught my eye dating back to 2015. I started to try and remember why I just never finished it. The answer is that in everything I write, I always require to know how it's going to end. This story I just could never think of an ending.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I read through the notes and character outlines, call it inspiration or, boredom, the ending came to me in a flash. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> So guess what I’m working on?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Have a great week.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-22740603634515268112024-01-15T04:46:00.000-08:002024-01-15T05:45:25.833-08:00Nature Sculpting the Landscape<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhwVSMT3t3ynAJ65X-MCvWYUd3YxNYMWqYOv3t903M7VXoNRtrszty6-mnVww8zhn-JHxfyw5njIwuFzKTeF_KZuU4jgQvIpfcg09ci1PxmA0dpraHzPONWhmTsRX5e2Odk0u2-6APwrf2hqVRaO17FCn1OWj7hSuRCM0C0KdbPKZmtbuhqCiLomnxug/s720/FB_IMG_1702474127835.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhwVSMT3t3ynAJ65X-MCvWYUd3YxNYMWqYOv3t903M7VXoNRtrszty6-mnVww8zhn-JHxfyw5njIwuFzKTeF_KZuU4jgQvIpfcg09ci1PxmA0dpraHzPONWhmTsRX5e2Odk0u2-6APwrf2hqVRaO17FCn1OWj7hSuRCM0C0KdbPKZmtbuhqCiLomnxug/w320-h240/FB_IMG_1702474127835.jpg" title="Mount Teide" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> If you live in Tenerife or any of the principal Canary Islands, it's impossible to not realize
that the landscape has been resculpted by volcanic explosions in
years gone by. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xQqBluwv4VKai1xtchNtIZ9bE9sfRx2euPiLQtjf0n233OXFj9maJTgM1g8Hb2PXMPHcDhc_Bi1fneBjert8qAiEhPA6xudXPf9ZrJl9zHYCytDzNU1gMRma_2zWRlq3QlhzFLLWQhQTQHdJ3-be3u87mYAajFLWEilSWm0Wx5KZERDlRFBqWsmjFnA/s998/20140216_130128~2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="998" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xQqBluwv4VKai1xtchNtIZ9bE9sfRx2euPiLQtjf0n233OXFj9maJTgM1g8Hb2PXMPHcDhc_Bi1fneBjert8qAiEhPA6xudXPf9ZrJl9zHYCytDzNU1gMRma_2zWRlq3QlhzFLLWQhQTQHdJ3-be3u87mYAajFLWEilSWm0Wx5KZERDlRFBqWsmjFnA/s320/20140216_130128~2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The last one in Tenerife was November 18 1909. The following extract
from a poem by William Cowper, although written about Mount Etna, Italy,
is very appropriate and could have been written about Mount Teide.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC89FXiYHLr97vpcogFjkiFawOhPculq67twSe8Qk0Fa8IFA2q8w9yy7_2xcvjmJptjEKyWdpiz-zI2dZU-2MYc7rwQaGLenOKZ7BExMP_-4DqZ0ZL4NfOMNbni_rLQBrIwRFrM5lKuVQTZd6wBk96eiEfLuesz0PZEG7AIbIKsjBIp_do9ZdOSFVvRtM/s4032/IMG_20220322_140603.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3016" data-original-width="4032" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC89FXiYHLr97vpcogFjkiFawOhPculq67twSe8Qk0Fa8IFA2q8w9yy7_2xcvjmJptjEKyWdpiz-zI2dZU-2MYc7rwQaGLenOKZ7BExMP_-4DqZ0ZL4NfOMNbni_rLQBrIwRFrM5lKuVQTZd6wBk96eiEfLuesz0PZEG7AIbIKsjBIp_do9ZdOSFVvRtM/s320/IMG_20220322_140603.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When, conscious of no danger from below, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She towered a cloud capped pyramid of snow,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No thunders shook with deep intestine sound</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The blooming groves that girdled her around.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her unctuous olives and her purple vines</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The peasant’s hopes, and not in vain, assured,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In peace upon her sloping sides matured.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When on a day, like that of the last doom,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A conflagration laboring in her womb,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She teemed and heaved with an infernal birth,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That took the circling seas and solid earth.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dark and voluminous the vapor rise,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And hang their horrors in the neighboring skies,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In dazzling streaks the vivid lightning's play.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> But oh! what muse, and in what powers of song,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can trace the torrent as it burns along?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Havoc and devastation in the van,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It marches over the prostrate works of man; <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtUMeeXbVP0ZqL7Kt5N_pFYPmlBRB9PhprLh25Jjsv9LXmhZ2dwfzmfy-rR3ezuIwLDFChVXL5LzAirv_8C6Fq8u9nQJwR-UDQvE43RoDq5GpOpopThmbrdP-SIWqGCzd-B1QVIl3Dru4VP9vaKUY4JG4FK1as_mRlUFd8ULOqZYmC4rrSet1D6IcF0o/s965/FB_IMG_1645271919887.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtUMeeXbVP0ZqL7Kt5N_pFYPmlBRB9PhprLh25Jjsv9LXmhZ2dwfzmfy-rR3ezuIwLDFChVXL5LzAirv_8C6Fq8u9nQJwR-UDQvE43RoDq5GpOpopThmbrdP-SIWqGCzd-B1QVIl3Dru4VP9vaKUY4JG4FK1as_mRlUFd8ULOqZYmC4rrSet1D6IcF0o/s320/FB_IMG_1645271919887.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Heroism by William Cowper (1731-1800)</b><br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-4010375861236491292024-01-02T09:58:00.000-08:002024-01-02T09:58:44.983-08:00Best Foot Forward !!<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b> </b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizBX5Gue2eL1jsKJnDuGQFL24pginfZ2hNjaWdRdXEgt2SjSgqilGPcQlEus3D_wvDjMKa4zyiFBQwMcLr_bx-azSJL2ce6-7a-eI60a0RQklPIR6fthJ6KJys7KbF7hp11teDrzNQzDQXEB9YQE8ueVoAUwEx7TR6iku6JXEcxuRoELIBZbOwDVhpRQ/s4288/Dumfries%20Oct%202015%20007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizBX5Gue2eL1jsKJnDuGQFL24pginfZ2hNjaWdRdXEgt2SjSgqilGPcQlEus3D_wvDjMKa4zyiFBQwMcLr_bx-azSJL2ce6-7a-eI60a0RQklPIR6fthJ6KJys7KbF7hp11teDrzNQzDQXEB9YQE8ueVoAUwEx7TR6iku6JXEcxuRoELIBZbOwDVhpRQ/s320/Dumfries%20Oct%202015%20007.JPG" width="240" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> Happy New Year! to you all</b>. Yes, it's that time again when</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> we think about our past year and</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> we make positive plans for the future. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Thinking about the past can make us a little melancholy, but also brings a smile to our face. One of the many memories that brought a smile to my face, was when I was recalling New Year's Eves or <b>Hogmanay</b>s as it is called in Scotland.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> In particular, I was remembering the parties my mother and father had in their home. My mother would spend all day preparing a midnight feast, which normally consisted of scotch broth, steak pie, boiled peas and mashed potatoes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> This feast was given to all who had gathered to see the bells in, <b><i>(strike of midnight)</i></b>. Before the clock struck twelve, the first foot was selected. This man, (yes, no equal opportunities then), had to be tall with dark hair, not part of the household and didn’t enter the home until after twelve.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Tradition was he would bring the householders good luck for the year ahead. Similar to the three kings he had to come bearing gifts, which included a lump of coal and whisky.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> As a party usually lasted all night, sandwiches, beef stew, soup and shortbread were provided for any of the later revellers. In our home, they were free to fill their bellies after they gave the company, (<b><i>other celebrators</i></b>) a song.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The normal for many of the partygoers was to go from house to house in a street, most would carry a piece of coal and whisky, just in case they happened to be the, ‘<b>First foot</b>’.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> These were fun times, a tradition which died a long time ago. However, the memory definitely won't, hopefully for a long time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Have a great year and remember in the words of <b>Robert Burns</b>;</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>‘Now’s the day and now’s the hour’</i></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMHzwzAIYBrIC-truzNCG-2mnZI_qbMeuy7FA0E2qU8ytBhSSDUbtSGvtzBCRiz6J77rYNBEnlRovw5lwaVOLVa25cNNgMfEmpE6dkIXXkUkkEUWtMoZmllBprRx74C47m-M08zvLX_PnpazJXfQdGPk4KvQqjo5bpi1ORvllxRGd-JXnnv-MlPRCFwE/s2050/362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1384" data-original-width="2050" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMHzwzAIYBrIC-truzNCG-2mnZI_qbMeuy7FA0E2qU8ytBhSSDUbtSGvtzBCRiz6J77rYNBEnlRovw5lwaVOLVa25cNNgMfEmpE6dkIXXkUkkEUWtMoZmllBprRx74C47m-M08zvLX_PnpazJXfQdGPk4KvQqjo5bpi1ORvllxRGd-JXnnv-MlPRCFwE/s320/362.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <br /><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-78905637476294303142023-12-26T08:21:00.000-08:002023-12-26T08:24:50.320-08:00Come To My Sun–land!<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHvAfma0TRmeEKONKWcOzxtqF6pgkZwQIBBssLGxMW5TvZgYkWwePKvtxtsm7woGTe-bgASZFj_qlIPWO47BanJ91azv7vDNeeMFn7K8B52zrYTPDiaUED6yMMVL7f3s7ugaCMWuE8geYbKe8tTTc5FJh1E1QN2BVZ6GEHgEMilBildf-ayVJ8fIR4u4/s2880/20231226_143936-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHvAfma0TRmeEKONKWcOzxtqF6pgkZwQIBBssLGxMW5TvZgYkWwePKvtxtsm7woGTe-bgASZFj_qlIPWO47BanJ91azv7vDNeeMFn7K8B52zrYTPDiaUED6yMMVL7f3s7ugaCMWuE8geYbKe8tTTc5FJh1E1QN2BVZ6GEHgEMilBildf-ayVJ8fIR4u4/s320/20231226_143936-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Do the first, second, and third words or lines of poems and books capture your imagination when you first read them? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Yes, it is a rhetorical question, I know. For many of us, that's why we keep reading an author’s work. It reminds us of something we've already experienced or want to add to our bucket lists.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Today, I've included an excerpt from a poem written by Joaquin Miller, which reminds me of the sights I've seen on my trips around Tenerife.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I've also included a collage of some of the pictures I've taken along the way. Hoping that if you haven’t already visited the island, you will definitely want to add it to your travel bucket list.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXUGYk-Ycr2rmUqVM811MjVA3JUfK6v3aot9Zq1pPLAxnbRkZTq8ToT8F7a_0iL7WobGUe0YiSCp_UEt3nwWGic6qwqnbw9LV04t6vtvyNbhwmSid-v06_dp_3Tm8o8gYsb7NUgv-EwYGpCgdKc24m3Kt2tnISvj1x7VvBGjmEIxJ-fsot1HRjcrnGqs/s2880/20231226_151717-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXUGYk-Ycr2rmUqVM811MjVA3JUfK6v3aot9Zq1pPLAxnbRkZTq8ToT8F7a_0iL7WobGUe0YiSCp_UEt3nwWGic6qwqnbw9LV04t6vtvyNbhwmSid-v06_dp_3Tm8o8gYsb7NUgv-EwYGpCgdKc24m3Kt2tnISvj1x7VvBGjmEIxJ-fsot1HRjcrnGqs/s320/20231226_151717-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></i></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Come to my sun-land! Come with me,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">To the land I love; Where the sun and sea</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Are wed forever; where the palm and the pine</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Are filled with singers; where tree and vine</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Are voiced with prophets! O come, and you</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Shall sing a song with the seas that swirl</span></i></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">And kiss their hands to that cold white girl,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">To the maiden moon in her mantle of blue. </span></i><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The Arizonian by Joaquin Miller</b></span><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-82611549633399712452023-12-18T09:24:00.000-08:002023-12-18T10:32:21.743-08:00The Bells Are Ringing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOrR_Gox2hg_Zs3mTruAJKuGVzEo3Ujvi1mqV2gb00BTH6h-iop2obFvyHBv2VoIVYwGog3kgzUbptf0zJgaYqj1WEXKUhy_L0JoM1MeSSaVPwBvFoB5gXuB4maSvY2uTpgIWIfj6ea7iLJc1VIar1xlcU2fP9m9jFCXtCtikRVCMr37NH0WWHp6pmVk/s3264/IMG_20220519_204402950_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOrR_Gox2hg_Zs3mTruAJKuGVzEo3Ujvi1mqV2gb00BTH6h-iop2obFvyHBv2VoIVYwGog3kgzUbptf0zJgaYqj1WEXKUhy_L0JoM1MeSSaVPwBvFoB5gXuB4maSvY2uTpgIWIfj6ea7iLJc1VIar1xlcU2fP9m9jFCXtCtikRVCMr37NH0WWHp6pmVk/s320/IMG_20220519_204402950_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> All over Puerto De La Cruz, the name of Tomas De Iriarte is celebrated, with a street, a school and a library bearing his name. Born in the city in 1750 the poet was educated in Madrid under the supervision of his uncle Juan De Iriarte, who was librarian for the King of Spain.</p><p> Every time I visit the city, I can't help but take photos of the cathedral and churches of the city and surrounding areas. Since it's the time of year when church bells ring out regularly, I've included a fable by the poet and some of my photos.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_lulEkrysJRkI4JPFKxNOHWlejoznNmOKUVF0874OElzpczxlrAplswZX2ZACkubUcjxRYxwkqViYerY4HZXDFovI8uCVDEVw5OwiuY4162lYWAEB8WJq7nFaw9hOKgxXqceVJDQawQY4XA0QNcgXKSE-Wvj5YveY2YDB8FbGWA8meJr9poHsCWg87g/s3264/IMG_20230813_103002749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_lulEkrysJRkI4JPFKxNOHWlejoznNmOKUVF0874OElzpczxlrAplswZX2ZACkubUcjxRYxwkqViYerY4HZXDFovI8uCVDEVw5OwiuY4162lYWAEB8WJq7nFaw9hOKgxXqceVJDQawQY4XA0QNcgXKSE-Wvj5YveY2YDB8FbGWA8meJr9poHsCWg87g/s320/IMG_20230813_103002749.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><u>The Cathedral Bell and The Little Bell</u></b></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63gA4VcfoP91Os83qujFP1JVGvpWbOxt3N_T-xy7JCbiO0A7V5zjP6ncoPPZPuEDVwo_swRagJT4vmh2LS0JJPcj1gaqMCdQ3zGyp_i-Z-1eMj8VMm2AeC2NBpckJrf8Df7cOu0wdsrgjkqufOLVnawayKES9G9TcUDXImMaR0tXrOY7f8tc7snghEtE/s720/FB_IMG_1647782327469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63gA4VcfoP91Os83qujFP1JVGvpWbOxt3N_T-xy7JCbiO0A7V5zjP6ncoPPZPuEDVwo_swRagJT4vmh2LS0JJPcj1gaqMCdQ3zGyp_i-Z-1eMj8VMm2AeC2NBpckJrf8Df7cOu0wdsrgjkqufOLVnawayKES9G9TcUDXImMaR0tXrOY7f8tc7snghEtE/s320/FB_IMG_1647782327469.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">In a certain cathedral a huge bell there hung,</p><p style="text-align: center;">But only on solemn occasions was rung;</p><p style="text-align: center;">It's echoes majestic, by strokes three or four,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Now and then, in grave cadence, were heard never more,</p><p style="text-align: center;">For the stately reserve and its wonderful weight,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Throughout the whole parish, its glory was great.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">In the district the city held under its sway,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Of a few wretched rustics, a hamlet there lay;</p><p style="text-align: center;">And a poor little church, with a belfry so small,</p><p style="text-align: center;">That you hardly would call it a belfry at all,</p><p style="text-align: center;">There a little cracked cowbell, that in it was swinging,</p><p style="text-align: center;">For the poor little neighbor who did all the ringing.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Now that this little belfry might ape in renown,</p><p style="text-align: center;">The cathedral's huge tower, that loomed up up over the town;</p><p style="text-align: center;">That briefly and seldom on festivals noted,</p><p style="text-align: center;">The safe little bell should be rung it was voted,</p><p style="text-align: center;">By this cunning device, and their rustical eyes,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It's tinkle soon past for a bell of great size. <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSpKTCt3MXSNzR09BcTHPscju6A9WYAXUM79WdNSf0uq5yMNU9cR8DdaFaXPwqmmZXIj5aPc0a42h5OfjWOu7U0ROMpl8y4IxJvENNO6cIm1aEof60u23DrgnzcLacRz4TWmgRzpjSvEr4fwuFewkulB-mOxg317VpieYF6ToOnSQlBeiZ4x2tQVZFnA/s3264/IMG_20230813_104450458_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSpKTCt3MXSNzR09BcTHPscju6A9WYAXUM79WdNSf0uq5yMNU9cR8DdaFaXPwqmmZXIj5aPc0a42h5OfjWOu7U0ROMpl8y4IxJvENNO6cIm1aEof60u23DrgnzcLacRz4TWmgRzpjSvEr4fwuFewkulB-mOxg317VpieYF6ToOnSQlBeiZ4x2tQVZFnA/s320/IMG_20230813_104450458_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>A fable by Tomas de Iriarte</b><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-49807687685218204572023-11-26T08:24:00.000-08:002023-11-26T08:24:32.658-08:00#NoExcuse<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfpgxN2xWiNJQLriFQbKwgS6kHZs9ajwtNRCI9VTUG80EtepQJdSXYSzzCJC0Z4mpYOAgAnyAc6-1xnWcOw9vJTaIDLj0Tp097RcZMWpJo6jgKN09pj8p0XU9ymrtgB5w5pN79X8dQ977UypJEQJe_qoAgpRTwnGckjfNUaK-hoj9_31ySqTX9a3n5Dtw/s4288/P8090033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfpgxN2xWiNJQLriFQbKwgS6kHZs9ajwtNRCI9VTUG80EtepQJdSXYSzzCJC0Z4mpYOAgAnyAc6-1xnWcOw9vJTaIDLj0Tp097RcZMWpJo6jgKN09pj8p0XU9ymrtgB5w5pN79X8dQ977UypJEQJe_qoAgpRTwnGckjfNUaK-hoj9_31ySqTX9a3n5Dtw/s320/P8090033.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women was marked on the 25th of November all over the world. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Violence against women and girls continues to be a problem in our world, and the UN wants us to join together to show that we do care. We are asked to remind our worldwide governments that there is no place for violence in our societies in any way we can.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The UNiTE campaign, incorporating this violation of human rights commenced on the same day and will last for 16 days, their slogan this year is #NoExcuse.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Today I've included a poem By Lord Byron from the early 19th century. I've included this because I want to celebrate women for their beauty inside and out. Women deserve to be respected for who they are and there is #NoExcuse.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoutKEnTKB8rQLcT6mjsnF6XTTpgVlB45bpJUq53_5PxZxjm88joVln6dtq4etdwETXY3ESQNoRa51rUXi5yCseeqrSgDIF70EXX8uYdG3Hd3ku5FAK7mzULn2S3iUEW1NCdWTeXGNY0_Ofz6IOPpBVhpK5tZyZVO9tZSDA_o8VMC9Isai9gMG6TTN-Ng/s4288/P7090107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoutKEnTKB8rQLcT6mjsnF6XTTpgVlB45bpJUq53_5PxZxjm88joVln6dtq4etdwETXY3ESQNoRa51rUXi5yCseeqrSgDIF70EXX8uYdG3Hd3ku5FAK7mzULn2S3iUEW1NCdWTeXGNY0_Ofz6IOPpBVhpK5tZyZVO9tZSDA_o8VMC9Isai9gMG6TTN-Ng/s320/P7090107.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>She Walks in Beauty</b><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She walks in beauty, like the night</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of cloudless climes and starry skies;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And all that’s best of dark and bright</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Meet in her aspect and her eyes;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus mellowed to that tender light</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which heaven to gaudy day denies.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One shade the more, one ray the less,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Had half impaired the nameless grace</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which waves in every raven tress,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Or softly lightens over her face;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where thoughts serenely sweet express</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">How pure, how dear their dwelling place.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And on that cheek, and over that brow,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The smiles that win, the tints that glow,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But tell of days and goodness spent,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A mind at peace with all below,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A heart whose love is innocent!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>George Gordon Byron 1814</i><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-64977585294560830982023-11-17T07:00:00.000-08:002023-11-17T07:00:38.628-08:00Water, Water, Every where!!<p> </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsGnl1HWcK_Co_5_27Af8WyXToWfSTe94IFP_PqmtDN39uogOrm53dCbrcFpfW28CB3aevf_Fi-mTmGqPUrJVDEmpLn-JpWbiZYXiB43y3mEmcdSL0MnZ16nHGiLkU-ovodWSrCq3RgfLPKso4gL4B1gXvBMgh71aZHALdWCkXWmGdcg67-StTMrqgEs/s4288/P8090049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsGnl1HWcK_Co_5_27Af8WyXToWfSTe94IFP_PqmtDN39uogOrm53dCbrcFpfW28CB3aevf_Fi-mTmGqPUrJVDEmpLn-JpWbiZYXiB43y3mEmcdSL0MnZ16nHGiLkU-ovodWSrCq3RgfLPKso4gL4B1gXvBMgh71aZHALdWCkXWmGdcg67-StTMrqgEs/s320/P8090049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Cruz<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The world we live in as we know is made up of land and vast areas of water. Unfortunately, the water we’re surrounded by is not always easily available or, drinkable.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Through the ages, man has continued to pursue different ways to provide us all with this vital drink for life.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Our supply in Tenerife comes from the island's own water resources and desalination plants. Whilst the water is not harmful to drink, I can't say it is very pleasant to taste. There is a high mineral content because much of of it is desalinated sea water and therefore like most of the population I choose to buy bottled water.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX4xj1GlAMV6hyphenhyphenHtOy_zyD_7fEhFZt7u6kJfZoVz5TDEqDBrz_3JruISxokE8ur56W0VPlIcvMvz-JioaLaKer6aoeXogpR6pwtSlFjPiGswD9l3A0vAePrV9SXqS82wj5VFrt9xZnM2Gx9cHe-2gpQWCBWQue00FdOQuHF_yY94JJbm0k4afZJdzPVo/s3264/IMG_20211022_110450726.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX4xj1GlAMV6hyphenhyphenHtOy_zyD_7fEhFZt7u6kJfZoVz5TDEqDBrz_3JruISxokE8ur56W0VPlIcvMvz-JioaLaKer6aoeXogpR6pwtSlFjPiGswD9l3A0vAePrV9SXqS82wj5VFrt9xZnM2Gx9cHe-2gpQWCBWQue00FdOQuHF_yY94JJbm0k4afZJdzPVo/w180-h320/IMG_20211022_110450726.jpg" title="Dripstone" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dripstone</td></tr></tbody></table> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> There are still various reminders dotted around the island in the towns and cities of how the population accessed and cleaned their water. I've included some photos of a dripstone used for purification in times gone by and some of the public wells that are still dotted around.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM941hv2dgicCL8JBqkmUM4elIO7VFImrzixf49oC1PNqg5c-s2lMWibVWToFPSGq2bpLcvl6_6YxXIGJiH-2ZGAMbraO6C3GTOm78CrrW9xlEpB15aebWxqA9wszwCXBijBYdJQaU9pfcT5Q4ykBxi0ktIFBLzxuOTWjKx6hID4duFHTXzuPmFEn9UQ8/s2040/IMG-20231023-WA0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2040" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM941hv2dgicCL8JBqkmUM4elIO7VFImrzixf49oC1PNqg5c-s2lMWibVWToFPSGq2bpLcvl6_6YxXIGJiH-2ZGAMbraO6C3GTOm78CrrW9xlEpB15aebWxqA9wszwCXBijBYdJQaU9pfcT5Q4ykBxi0ktIFBLzxuOTWjKx6hID4duFHTXzuPmFEn9UQ8/w320-h240/IMG-20231023-WA0009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puerto de la Cruz<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I hope and pray that one day everyone will be able to turn on a tap and obtain clean drinking and cooking water throughout the world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Water, water, everywhere,</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">And all the boards did shrink,</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Water, water, everywhere,</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor any drop to drink.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Simon Taylor Coleridge .</span></i></b><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-91259818088164123492023-10-31T04:48:00.000-07:002023-11-17T07:01:52.515-08:00Hunter’s Moon<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtthwS7FFB4p34nR5cjpLOwCr6k1r0x2uUlxrSUZVR3sMwCsuQLGBMspsWKmJV23TtS6JCKrH0IbYHkwhsVZ7ft1nwDFV-f9GAT3giu4XpTJG-8x4VD7T8pFQaBL4F9Evsn9jN1lzAg63KAT2ZvUzWoSGAVzCoMGkfH3kwyyAuagvAbe8jFbCnJoq5YIw/s4288/Edinburgh%20museum%20023.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtthwS7FFB4p34nR5cjpLOwCr6k1r0x2uUlxrSUZVR3sMwCsuQLGBMspsWKmJV23TtS6JCKrH0IbYHkwhsVZ7ft1nwDFV-f9GAT3giu4XpTJG-8x4VD7T8pFQaBL4F9Evsn9jN1lzAg63KAT2ZvUzWoSGAVzCoMGkfH3kwyyAuagvAbe8jFbCnJoq5YIw/s320/Edinburgh%20museum%20023.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the distance what can the father and son hear?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They hope it is the grunt or snort of a deer.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Without the last of the season’s hunt, there will be no food.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For the boy’s siblings, and the rest of the man’s hungry brood.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The vegetation is now laid bare.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Through the darkness the two can with little hindrance stare.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The passing clouds cause the night shadows to deceive.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The snap of a twig, the hoot of an owl, the eager hunters could easily misconceive.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The moon rises high.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The clouds disperse from the sky.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The prize of the night, is now visible and in their sight.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thankfully this winter, the family's table can be laid with both bowl and spoon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thanks to nature and the Hunter’s moon. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspxTpLH3xQtMlV3Z-JF0cki81hkijR0VGQ39J8BnBQTsiemP3bEWb1qRD2_UMJF0tLRQGWV47bRDGAnCPKlVJVdHjJjjeQZcoGLBoC_ayhplICiOZyGFEU3e_v4x1k0fPejWkY03q1R0aMXmVhiz_gT9fzhP6YbJxtX9OUgcEUOMeVyRclbhzqX3Pxws/s4288/Edinburgh%20museum%20024.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspxTpLH3xQtMlV3Z-JF0cki81hkijR0VGQ39J8BnBQTsiemP3bEWb1qRD2_UMJF0tLRQGWV47bRDGAnCPKlVJVdHjJjjeQZcoGLBoC_ayhplICiOZyGFEU3e_v4x1k0fPejWkY03q1R0aMXmVhiz_gT9fzhP6YbJxtX9OUgcEUOMeVyRclbhzqX3Pxws/s320/Edinburgh%20museum%20024.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> <br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> By Christina Rowell<br /></i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>Pictures of exhibits in National Museum Edinburgh, photographed by Christina Rowell<br /></b></i></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-46667369727920994972023-10-25T08:35:00.001-07:002023-10-25T08:39:49.980-07:00Heebie–Jeebies<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-_a8y4F0RQwxeG1Cz0vl1sWMSdnhW-EJum9hunQTHiISkJRkdDrDuRTlob0U_8xOk2vC7f2Xcwvdx0ohhPWabs0AH59VCs9SbQxxLjbfMi6HxihjVHhuqD7dVh9kG17Dc0uC4F2wFC9r7K_unj0bvIHAeS_ATft_LF5FGvihmlZQD1G8YCDDUmGyii4/s4288/Edinburgh%20museum%20018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-_a8y4F0RQwxeG1Cz0vl1sWMSdnhW-EJum9hunQTHiISkJRkdDrDuRTlob0U_8xOk2vC7f2Xcwvdx0ohhPWabs0AH59VCs9SbQxxLjbfMi6HxihjVHhuqD7dVh9kG17Dc0uC4F2wFC9r7K_unj0bvIHAeS_ATft_LF5FGvihmlZQD1G8YCDDUmGyii4/s320/Edinburgh%20museum%20018.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> It will soon be Halloween, and depending on how fertile the imagination of an individual kid is, it can be a scary time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> As a child, I loved reading scary books and poems at this time of year. My imagination ran amok, and of course, it still does.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Books by Lewis Carrol gave me the heebie-jeebies, following Alice </span><span style="font-size: medium;">as she tried to decide what path to take in her life, amongst other things. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> In</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> reality, navigating from childhood to adulthood can be tricky and frightening occasionally with Carrol portraying the darker-side perfectly. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWgYa3UTox42oZfM_l_hyphenhyphenKFQSBwxx-ixewiO9AOIfAppMTcHud40M5WM_TsY3Z6z6WWHfYKfBAvU8z68jmEKZBawf3yiYZTPU5S-q5DXyADFKvh_rQ0NC678M_iOmkyN-6pkcezevLqtq8qqUxfRZB0vnliKAPIRHBa2Jo1UPK831nNLYSp_dVStgshs/s4288/Edinburgh%20museum%20019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWgYa3UTox42oZfM_l_hyphenhyphenKFQSBwxx-ixewiO9AOIfAppMTcHud40M5WM_TsY3Z6z6WWHfYKfBAvU8z68jmEKZBawf3yiYZTPU5S-q5DXyADFKvh_rQ0NC678M_iOmkyN-6pkcezevLqtq8qqUxfRZB0vnliKAPIRHBa2Jo1UPK831nNLYSp_dVStgshs/s320/Edinburgh%20museum%20019.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I enjoyed his nonsensical poem, Jabberwocky and being someone who loves anything about good versus evil, e</span><span style="font-size: medium;">specially if the protagonist is slaying mythical creatures, it’s perfect.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b><u>Extract: Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll</u><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> One, two! One, two! And through and through</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The vorpel blade went snicker-snack!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He left it dead, and with its head</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He went galumphing back.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Come to my arms, the beamish boy!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He chortled in his joy.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>Alice in Wonderland books by Lewis Carroll</u></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Alice’s Adventures Under Ground</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There</span></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>(Sorry, I didn’t have any pics of the Jabberwocky) he was a little camera shy!!<br /></b></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-66853169393841228852023-10-09T02:11:00.000-07:002023-10-10T04:01:30.188-07:00Prickly Heat<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMaYnfjiy7igu1OasC9YFEgzbff8rhH_P3mtChWcFTw686jOI75EhkE9fiBN5EXq1q0XIPnUNYWDbCQXO7m9UQpO5s9gWDf1WfG48m8ZcVYa9jRuYaDJO_KgPvLuEQ45hjyd1g5NdzDhdf3FyL06vUsutf455up4JrRX4Qqu6dL86A0BUtb8ITMqyM3G0/s4032/IMG_20220119_120548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3016" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMaYnfjiy7igu1OasC9YFEgzbff8rhH_P3mtChWcFTw686jOI75EhkE9fiBN5EXq1q0XIPnUNYWDbCQXO7m9UQpO5s9gWDf1WfG48m8ZcVYa9jRuYaDJO_KgPvLuEQ45hjyd1g5NdzDhdf3FyL06vUsutf455up4JrRX4Qqu6dL86A0BUtb8ITMqyM3G0/s320/IMG_20220119_120548.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The weather here in Tenerife has been on the hot side the last few weeks, today for example nearer forty than thirty degrees Celsius. Trying to keep the plants on my terrace alive has been near impossible as the heat has been relentless.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfgwcbea9AgXXXCgZay9ClME5_YJqLgDnJt1jOCVeevQLni6_sF2LA0ZYAwrqiULcGAMRhdn8-Nzof4LdsMj1XmKBTP-hnbgn6gdZkGmiC_FVLsdAxCNsOVHoVdxOo6xQV9UPFlN9bSRfYC1TPnQD1pkSx8XVOSrWIQC3f4lKvz5QJuPtk4WieWiqYqw/s4160/IMG_20190701_134534004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfgwcbea9AgXXXCgZay9ClME5_YJqLgDnJt1jOCVeevQLni6_sF2LA0ZYAwrqiULcGAMRhdn8-Nzof4LdsMj1XmKBTP-hnbgn6gdZkGmiC_FVLsdAxCNsOVHoVdxOo6xQV9UPFlN9bSRfYC1TPnQD1pkSx8XVOSrWIQC3f4lKvz5QJuPtk4WieWiqYqw/s320/IMG_20190701_134534004.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> It’s not a huge area by any manner of means, but it is nice to surround yourself with a little greenery. So, the other day we traveled 7 kilometers to our nearest garden center.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> To be honest the center itself isn’t so different from the ones there are in the UK. Lots of accessories for around the home as you enter. Including rugs, throws, mirrors and terrace furniture. Not forgetting seasonal items, Halloween and Christmas are the stars of the show at present.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7Cf2a1OeZiDPAUqLq5pBY-OcZHvZGLOVIryFlV8MxKvT24-mKI1p0CpQeFnC8odpiDZVaK6eDC2zUnG1RSphGptjurZSfhRmee0nC0NlNuO6i_kuTw2XMGF8V4fXWmqhsawK-F1t8N6Z0TAIRHNCRhmkdTmu9u9PT_ByZ6DVAvCAOIF1eOM1Q23w_B8/s4160/IMG_20190508_153613147_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3120" data-original-width="4160" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7Cf2a1OeZiDPAUqLq5pBY-OcZHvZGLOVIryFlV8MxKvT24-mKI1p0CpQeFnC8odpiDZVaK6eDC2zUnG1RSphGptjurZSfhRmee0nC0NlNuO6i_kuTw2XMGF8V4fXWmqhsawK-F1t8N6Z0TAIRHNCRhmkdTmu9u9PT_ByZ6DVAvCAOIF1eOM1Q23w_B8/s320/IMG_20190508_153613147_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Leaving the homeware behind you enter a vast area filled with all kinds of plant life. The air is humid and very warm, some of the plants and trees have shade others just love to soak up the sun.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> After walking around for a good hour or so, I still didn’t make my mind up. However, I have decided that cacti and other succulent plants are best for my outside space. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Until we head back to the garden center I’ll just have to make do with the local park and other beautiful areas that are in my community.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlF6dQeDN_Vnu9DWHWYIBTFJC8nxHvVB0CiL4_mEXxv7d51XtNz5sgYviS6ydcXR1Fg4z6nAIQhYbY2wFEHtKmUfSP5iaYnRRW2UzcQpgXrhkNS0hhuhvds8xLAazmJkrz-d0AiTSJGF1qf-p9wljj6WBRgb7OnUaqrtw4BOXmq5Fyqq1w_WwO7MnAxCw/s3264/IMG_20230705_221607176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlF6dQeDN_Vnu9DWHWYIBTFJC8nxHvVB0CiL4_mEXxv7d51XtNz5sgYviS6ydcXR1Fg4z6nAIQhYbY2wFEHtKmUfSP5iaYnRRW2UzcQpgXrhkNS0hhuhvds8xLAazmJkrz-d0AiTSJGF1qf-p9wljj6WBRgb7OnUaqrtw4BOXmq5Fyqq1w_WwO7MnAxCw/s320/IMG_20230705_221607176.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-90168796540381273532023-10-04T04:22:00.001-07:002023-10-10T04:01:03.627-07:00Hope In The Heart<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiTS8R_ozfH9CVQPqB7pNuMWubbhFKJsRoQ6tmkrIad2nFx_rbSIIWEJqL5cDwKqXjL_ZKtxOSLkNf9SFkBch2TgT-JyiYi096zbgDplBpUTZvDCh8WaruA7LVeN_MQWv1raZmFLhFn6ygwknAXXipk2_OyVUcHvBs7tdiRnrR3pnoE4KSOe6vi05QDg/s3252/Refugee%20boat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3252" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiTS8R_ozfH9CVQPqB7pNuMWubbhFKJsRoQ6tmkrIad2nFx_rbSIIWEJqL5cDwKqXjL_ZKtxOSLkNf9SFkBch2TgT-JyiYi096zbgDplBpUTZvDCh8WaruA7LVeN_MQWv1raZmFLhFn6ygwknAXXipk2_OyVUcHvBs7tdiRnrR3pnoE4KSOe6vi05QDg/w392-h309/Refugee%20boat.jpg" width="392" /></a></div> <br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> They cram together sometimes one hundred or more, <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In search of another shore.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They have said their farewells,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And risk the ocean’s perilous swells.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A mixture of races including African and Asian,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Longing for a safe haven.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Seeking shelter from dangers and distress,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With a heartfelt hope of protection and even success. </span><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-67235513653726966672023-10-02T03:05:00.004-07:002023-10-10T04:02:45.241-07:00It’s All In The Way We Say It<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimg4NIaW2XZkInOt-boHIE9t2I9vubM-VjEEC9nddt5yeVHDiKNUsx8XN1ejoVh5gdBSvTfY2hMFP6jFEhPtJwH8_0xfZGTJS_UmXNCre5IvHTlaXkt3fB1rJa7zJnDOq9JBsvUPV9zO6G46CKUC4HTuoRsn313gtCVAb8bCaa2vNQE-yoIUN6qnkdjrE/s4032/1642608164622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3016" data-original-width="4032" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimg4NIaW2XZkInOt-boHIE9t2I9vubM-VjEEC9nddt5yeVHDiKNUsx8XN1ejoVh5gdBSvTfY2hMFP6jFEhPtJwH8_0xfZGTJS_UmXNCre5IvHTlaXkt3fB1rJa7zJnDOq9JBsvUPV9zO6G46CKUC4HTuoRsn313gtCVAb8bCaa2vNQE-yoIUN6qnkdjrE/s320/1642608164622.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Language is complicated, many words have multiple meanings and of course, some words are different but sound the same (homophones). <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Everything can change when we use an incorrect term in a sentence. That one wrong pronunciation can change a simple turn of phrase into something vulgar or uncouth. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> This I have learned to my detriment when speaking Spanish. I’ve asked all sorts of strange questions over the years, some have been answered politely, others have received a quizzical look.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> On Saturday night my partner and I went out to eat, my bulging waistline is a testament to that. The restaurant was busy and we were seated close to the next table, where two English ladies in their senior years were seated. They had finished their meal and were in the process of getting their bill. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> When the waiter arrived with the itemized check, one of the ladies looked it over and questioned an item. The waiter who spoke perfect English answered clearly and with precision. However, the lady didn’t quite understand and after some discussion, both became a little frustrated. Wanting to put her at ease he asked her if she would like him to copulate it again. At this point, my ears pricked up. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Initially, I thought I had misheard, but after he repeated the sentence 3 or 4 times over, I realized I hadn’t. Of course, he had meant to use the word calculate. Yes, a slight faux pas on his behalf. I'm ashamed to say I did chuckle at the time and I still am. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Do you think after a few gin and tonics, the word may become a homophone?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Cheers folks have a great week!<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-79108276898095396592023-09-23T08:31:00.001-07:002023-10-10T04:03:14.683-07:00Seeing Nature's Gold<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDfpBCrFVPJuN3mYfqsZG7hzEQdeGLmrfN2TgsFu5NcePkPG7owdSbYoptstiJkbqnTuzH3nDkQ1XKVk7I0vuzgir2cau5M6IwGDLBR_PwNMKz38SVbAazRAvcPK2ZfH3mzKhaqMSr5X3UV5zb5loYRdyQsBuWajdo0GMvN3jrBVQIytqpL9TXY3J9Ik/s4288/Dollar%20Glen%20060.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDfpBCrFVPJuN3mYfqsZG7hzEQdeGLmrfN2TgsFu5NcePkPG7owdSbYoptstiJkbqnTuzH3nDkQ1XKVk7I0vuzgir2cau5M6IwGDLBR_PwNMKz38SVbAazRAvcPK2ZfH3mzKhaqMSr5X3UV5zb5loYRdyQsBuWajdo0GMvN3jrBVQIytqpL9TXY3J9Ik/s320/Dollar%20Glen%20060.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> OMG, where has the year gone? It’s Autumn already. The colors of the flora and fauna don’t change a lot here in the south of Tenerife as the seasons change. That's because our climate doesn’t fluctuate as much as it does in other parts of the world. However, when the sun disappears early in the day we know Autumn has arrived.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6HVv7_VXpjBn7D-SGd1avcq33rneLTfwcxPULYPwhT6X8KH3ZwQNSU-pZN5wgIPE1tGAeNo4jKiz_at5NvmPMLjo6H4aqanWFDAcNKziqjFYUGgSF_LFjOEqMyE0nXTPw1RTSVidd9XzN0sv_zy7FTIUYJVap4N3-SDfGfZPctqx8IrFTV0pvAH9kzs/s4288/Dollar%20Glen%20041.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6HVv7_VXpjBn7D-SGd1avcq33rneLTfwcxPULYPwhT6X8KH3ZwQNSU-pZN5wgIPE1tGAeNo4jKiz_at5NvmPMLjo6H4aqanWFDAcNKziqjFYUGgSF_LFjOEqMyE0nXTPw1RTSVidd9XzN0sv_zy7FTIUYJVap4N3-SDfGfZPctqx8IrFTV0pvAH9kzs/s320/Dollar%20Glen%20041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> While I was never a lover of the plummeting temperatures and rainy days in Scotland, I miss the changes in the color of the flora when Autumn arrives.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I've included some photographs from Scotland that capture those Autumn moments and a short poem by, American poet, Robert Frost. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqiNGUltNwlGylC4SCksfnvhPgA8DP26sAGLgE4CksChVlTyIQTk--g1yWCZasIqvOH_8X46pxOmQ9aVaoMgAE9ApPEJilsVuILOcVgm6dTOgIJwzvV6Z1qwToEUqRUnqftvCCvyZ3uYR8ZVrRzhf7LfbGWgsRArslfKSH4WZPWI0YI9jyinD-FYcf9M/s4288/Dollar%20Glen%20053.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqiNGUltNwlGylC4SCksfnvhPgA8DP26sAGLgE4CksChVlTyIQTk--g1yWCZasIqvOH_8X46pxOmQ9aVaoMgAE9ApPEJilsVuILOcVgm6dTOgIJwzvV6Z1qwToEUqRUnqftvCCvyZ3uYR8ZVrRzhf7LfbGWgsRArslfKSH4WZPWI0YI9jyinD-FYcf9M/s320/Dollar%20Glen%20053.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> I would also like to thank the loyal readers of my blog which is celebrating its eleventh year this month. THANK YOU. <br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>Nothing Gold Can Stay</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nature first green is gold,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her hardest hue to hold.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her early leaf's a flower;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But only so an hour,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then leaf subsides to leaf.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So Eden sank to grief,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So dawn goes down to day.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nothing gold can stay.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>Robert Lee Frost 1874-1963<br /></b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-85350182680859383372023-09-16T03:03:00.000-07:002023-10-10T04:03:49.856-07:00Saving our World<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ugIGHl8rOLv-Q_PRK1Dx1FcYhD3Ywl-o9rQD3eGF6ljq-X74BhP1zAVLd-6hlwqrVVn1-hDE8XmNODsARY389GzBCUYoOInOsEJ17xO-aRJYudE_OjbyCVhLIVNYwTHw2iPCDuPYW8UDs61vrlZJt40GMjdBKaVJR9pECKkFCkhxKQ29R0cqsJYtxgo/s4288/Culross%20Winters%20day%20February%202017%20029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ugIGHl8rOLv-Q_PRK1Dx1FcYhD3Ywl-o9rQD3eGF6ljq-X74BhP1zAVLd-6hlwqrVVn1-hDE8XmNODsARY389GzBCUYoOInOsEJ17xO-aRJYudE_OjbyCVhLIVNYwTHw2iPCDuPYW8UDs61vrlZJt40GMjdBKaVJR9pECKkFCkhxKQ29R0cqsJYtxgo/s320/Culross%20Winters%20day%20February%202017%20029.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />In the last few years, the world has suffered many major ecological disturbances. Here in Tenerife for example </span><span style="font-size: medium;">this year </span><span style="font-size: medium;">we have experienced the worst forest fires in 40 years. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> In 2021 the lives of our neighbors on the island of La Palma were turned upside down when the volcano, Cumbre Vieja erupted. It had been nearly 50 years since another one of the island’s volcanoes, Teneguía had spewed lava over the islanders and this new eruption came as a surprise to the islanders. It was known Cumbre Vieja was active as the old ridge groaned and moaned regularly, similar to my old spine. However, it never was imagined that these threats of eruption would come to fruition.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Many of you reading this may have experienced a natural ecological disturbance first-hand in the forms I have mentioned above, or caused by ocean currents, and in the Earth’s orbital changes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkPZEC82TfxtRKsnNIKvbi5yQD08eCpWw9TGROimGoSk5vGefsmpxyWRHqwaA8Jtgxm95kFheXE5XCIdI-taU5pWsHM5O9Lh0x92TC6sSenRzHx50lIsmaLqCviSV8hRNHqNdjkYZqMxWuIll17Ly_66_xC-MJIL912FW-fZ7P4HKjNRpDVC3gDVq-I8/s4288/Culross%20Preston%20Island%20and%20Squirrel%20020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkPZEC82TfxtRKsnNIKvbi5yQD08eCpWw9TGROimGoSk5vGefsmpxyWRHqwaA8Jtgxm95kFheXE5XCIdI-taU5pWsHM5O9Lh0x92TC6sSenRzHx50lIsmaLqCviSV8hRNHqNdjkYZqMxWuIll17Ly_66_xC-MJIL912FW-fZ7P4HKjNRpDVC3gDVq-I8/s320/Culross%20Preston%20Island%20and%20Squirrel%20020.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Then again we also now know that many disturbances are brought about by us humans ourselves. Whether, through industrial development, deforestation, and pollution we now know that certain actions are destroying the atmosphere around us.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Today September 16 is International Day For the Preservation of the Ozone Layer the theme this year is, <b>fixing the ozone layer and reducing climate change.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrceptapBnar2VMK7adr4bLSFv3siZsOhUxgjRKYxcon2Dt865pr4kMLiGnDqSdBYlAKaKZ7fVnyukUTpXb1HvfsvfR5ij2jfyV5w-q6v3Egpj-ce3Ufu1AxdCM1yTQFfpDbtjgOSW7qsw7ptf98FgQY9qcfLnOAJBhK0D25alj0pFrK5-Zh5yFxKiL0/s4288/Culross%20Preston%20Island%20and%20Squirrel%20012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrceptapBnar2VMK7adr4bLSFv3siZsOhUxgjRKYxcon2Dt865pr4kMLiGnDqSdBYlAKaKZ7fVnyukUTpXb1HvfsvfR5ij2jfyV5w-q6v3Egpj-ce3Ufu1AxdCM1yTQFfpDbtjgOSW7qsw7ptf98FgQY9qcfLnOAJBhK0D25alj0pFrK5-Zh5yFxKiL0/s320/Culross%20Preston%20Island%20and%20Squirrel%20012.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I want to finish today with an extract from the poem, <b>There Will Come Soft Rains</b> by,<b> Sara Teasdale</b>. She wrote this poem with the Great War in mind but I believe her words are pertinent today.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, </i></b></span><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>If mankind perished utterly;</i></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn </i></span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Would scarcely know that we were gone. </i></b> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-31976219063817998892023-09-11T10:22:00.000-07:002023-10-10T04:04:28.300-07:00Little Treasures<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4gvcqRmrjuGUgaoQpljiyz_R7na-ns8bG-ij_2i8fnxIzuF1xrJ8txQKb9Lc40-layS2PB1EaZWtbokQ-v2QJdfkrKxKEhc2bZteq5egL6IHvuCj5AP8A0xFMSAiHYen3WRRfXbCkPj0e_JC0Mzt01WVhkv0Tb001q9UZ9XwGC0PTUgmgKCUYQpGa0k/s3264/IMG_20210703_152555674_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4gvcqRmrjuGUgaoQpljiyz_R7na-ns8bG-ij_2i8fnxIzuF1xrJ8txQKb9Lc40-layS2PB1EaZWtbokQ-v2QJdfkrKxKEhc2bZteq5egL6IHvuCj5AP8A0xFMSAiHYen3WRRfXbCkPj0e_JC0Mzt01WVhkv0Tb001q9UZ9XwGC0PTUgmgKCUYQpGa0k/s320/IMG_20210703_152555674_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Here in the Canary Islands, potatoes play a huge part of the everyday diet. Due to high tourism and local love for these little treasures, the island’s locally produced supply can’t keep up with the demand. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1DKDrQyhX3MHI_EryUf0E0akQNWJqgjXVYUTBumV4f-g_7ZsyesXTMr2K6fBavcHvMzZqM0Zi76Sv2vAXbwa1b6uN2dcNb0cLEhZtoLg57GJ9v-tqekO-zNW_XggflnuH0R6Y08mRkV5wpJR_QKnvabAUzuytYeljRYQd7-dqM8bCfpUQOP7wcxoXqw/s3264/IMG_20220520_205043068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1DKDrQyhX3MHI_EryUf0E0akQNWJqgjXVYUTBumV4f-g_7ZsyesXTMr2K6fBavcHvMzZqM0Zi76Sv2vAXbwa1b6uN2dcNb0cLEhZtoLg57GJ9v-tqekO-zNW_XggflnuH0R6Y08mRkV5wpJR_QKnvabAUzuytYeljRYQd7-dqM8bCfpUQOP7wcxoXqw/s320/IMG_20220520_205043068.jpg" width="180" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> Therefore, 80-90% of this versatile vegetable, </span><span style="font-size: medium;">the King Edward variety to be exact, </span><span style="font-size: medium;">is supplied from Kent, England. Unfortunately, imports have had to be suspended because of a plague of the Colorado beetle having been found recently. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHVQzrMW9WuiuEX5dJ7hhHbGB8Mk_cDTsUWDscrI2GYmPqVz0tvUBgkdR9CtKvPxWx95uZ7DKybrziRswG37_G1iqH6J-jkF58HkBw0SFPBOCgWD9apVHMcAipu7WEXJsvY2tHxNuuD-xbahChztLOOHSe2igkgN2SSumsPYVNOdXrnNjZ5WQ31XcBvU/s4032/IMG_20211130_212352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3016" data-original-width="4032" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHVQzrMW9WuiuEX5dJ7hhHbGB8Mk_cDTsUWDscrI2GYmPqVz0tvUBgkdR9CtKvPxWx95uZ7DKybrziRswG37_G1iqH6J-jkF58HkBw0SFPBOCgWD9apVHMcAipu7WEXJsvY2tHxNuuD-xbahChztLOOHSe2igkgN2SSumsPYVNOdXrnNjZ5WQ31XcBvU/s320/IMG_20211130_212352.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> Meaning, that to a nation of spud lovers there is now a shortage, caused by a potato rush. Of course, these greedy profiteers have been buying in bulk, which has now led to supermarkets and wholesalers limiting purchases.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyy76wYljYICDDX9iVZB-MuOTHuAUbBBjhNflgTdc4qTyKQNtF-yeUSUxlHFPVYrmPiqMJzmQ6aYlgO1-8R7qpFCPXDAKhvvay86THyxKNLDBy8N_yqWkHppg3foj13gBG81gIdux2-Zb2r_mU-pk0nwRjUjUKcq9mxhCbvjLCS4qspbZOSk9TCQCvzA/s3264/IMG_20210710_202034067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyy76wYljYICDDX9iVZB-MuOTHuAUbBBjhNflgTdc4qTyKQNtF-yeUSUxlHFPVYrmPiqMJzmQ6aYlgO1-8R7qpFCPXDAKhvvay86THyxKNLDBy8N_yqWkHppg3foj13gBG81gIdux2-Zb2r_mU-pk0nwRjUjUKcq9mxhCbvjLCS4qspbZOSk9TCQCvzA/s320/IMG_20210710_202034067.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> Hopefully, new trade deals will be made and new imports will begin soon, but this quote from Louisa May Alcott says it all, <i><b>‘Money is the root of all evil, and yet it is such a useful root that we cannot get on without it any more than we can without potatoes.’</b></i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b> </b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b> </b><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-45884446696180441322023-08-28T01:33:00.000-07:002023-08-28T01:35:43.453-07:00Magical Moments<p><span style="color: white;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBb401yTeONRUHFfvAPH7avl1SbBNIyO2fuYOWw2vSvG69xZ3hPnk-6x-Pu1rXX5tzcxnEaCjJBbMyUoFjivuiyHTVpUOf4iubDrqLet47hXQ0OuXt3SdETiAdL82a_zQRUAArAvVIw9-IVjyJ-bdblVoj2kZbsqvYUK2s4jbnPxTm45KD2UWO9hXBQ7s/s3072/edinburgh%20004.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBb401yTeONRUHFfvAPH7avl1SbBNIyO2fuYOWw2vSvG69xZ3hPnk-6x-Pu1rXX5tzcxnEaCjJBbMyUoFjivuiyHTVpUOf4iubDrqLet47hXQ0OuXt3SdETiAdL82a_zQRUAArAvVIw9-IVjyJ-bdblVoj2kZbsqvYUK2s4jbnPxTm45KD2UWO9hXBQ7s/s320/edinburgh%20004.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: white;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;"> When I lived in Scotland, for many years I worked in Edinburgh. For me, it was anything from a twenty to fifty-minute commute each way by train, to earn my daily bread. By car, <i>hmm</i>, how long is a piece of string? <span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU21umcAsS1_ZhMwt4zIQsUVEtiL0oz3AztM1XtBbROoFB7_3_EKtUuoI7tBseVC5Lrz5SGIPZ2PSAUsv46AUYVpXAOqzP4LI7oiEF1DTVRfS2fVstJZRc3a_7NcbZ_yg5HbsqkCpWDkClujfIyItO6D38y7Q7MxViIzELUS3ZqbAqNCjeevuheMCNqC8/s3072/edinburgh%20003.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1731" data-original-width="3072" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU21umcAsS1_ZhMwt4zIQsUVEtiL0oz3AztM1XtBbROoFB7_3_EKtUuoI7tBseVC5Lrz5SGIPZ2PSAUsv46AUYVpXAOqzP4LI7oiEF1DTVRfS2fVstJZRc3a_7NcbZ_yg5HbsqkCpWDkClujfIyItO6D38y7Q7MxViIzELUS3ZqbAqNCjeevuheMCNqC8/s320/edinburgh%20003.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /> Yes, it could be quite a drudge to get to and from work. However, in the months of August and September each year, the daily trip never seemed so bad. That was because, the Edinburgh Festival which attracts huge crowds to the city, enlivened the streets and I found being there exhilarating.<br /></span></span><p></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3Ou8TkS2QlSCU0qujaaRR3ejHTHffdLSIPkg_mW-_aOZkIWcNRJl_ZA_F5h6zFBvjOkHXNNj0uTZG-JXC6Viz0adbqVzv1iMs_CxjwBKNUAZkIVwcbXuQRIF5xG3pyOyExyGmxudBMyKBHRBhegUtaL1N-bUB-48XKzrqfEsDoZCaGXnofH75wPCdZY/s3072/edinburgh%20005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3Ou8TkS2QlSCU0qujaaRR3ejHTHffdLSIPkg_mW-_aOZkIWcNRJl_ZA_F5h6zFBvjOkHXNNj0uTZG-JXC6Viz0adbqVzv1iMs_CxjwBKNUAZkIVwcbXuQRIF5xG3pyOyExyGmxudBMyKBHRBhegUtaL1N-bUB-48XKzrqfEsDoZCaGXnofH75wPCdZY/s320/edinburgh%20005.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /> The city has celebrated this International Festival since 1947 and draws in excess of 4 million visitors to the city each year. There is something for everyone there, whether you’re interested in films, books, art, culture, or just want to tap your toes to the sounds of an army pipe band at the Tattoo, it’s the place to be.<br /></span></span><p></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFN4_FjrTGdE3KEhcnNOdpo-DZPvgWLK-wCuK_6wlG18AUdseUCje-PW1DnF_m5t3wLF-yvc0LzZX99SDDdRof-wb0hR5XNK7bSqgFJBGeO3wtiE9pnkK7bdAkOJhqqnwJKV1oLb-qge3J7GRBcLu5KUUr6gnrxQc5g-MJwELBflVfD46ajUBC0bBsMkU/s3072/edinburgh%20002.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFN4_FjrTGdE3KEhcnNOdpo-DZPvgWLK-wCuK_6wlG18AUdseUCje-PW1DnF_m5t3wLF-yvc0LzZX99SDDdRof-wb0hR5XNK7bSqgFJBGeO3wtiE9pnkK7bdAkOJhqqnwJKV1oLb-qge3J7GRBcLu5KUUr6gnrxQc5g-MJwELBflVfD46ajUBC0bBsMkU/s320/edinburgh%20002.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: white; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">No, I can’t be there this year but I can trawl through some old photographs to relive the magical moments.<br /></span></span></p><p></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-18364735266580479632023-08-20T07:57:00.000-07:002023-08-20T07:57:38.137-07:00Hemingway’s Way With Words<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKUjVuaYAtZ3bapPGQa-tvaJgOihC7QnRJIvk2jj-uVCNiFVFWxEIoz24XSrn5945nJopHSTTiMi0HyM046r86gnV0lonjgJtyyAMGvRdXirjJbkLiUpZSWWhyTwQFott9r1UUFz7pz2KHxNywg6BC6vNkHu60cFcPo2jF6KUAntrza7lXKGhQQ2m7nI/s4288/P9180169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKUjVuaYAtZ3bapPGQa-tvaJgOihC7QnRJIvk2jj-uVCNiFVFWxEIoz24XSrn5945nJopHSTTiMi0HyM046r86gnV0lonjgJtyyAMGvRdXirjJbkLiUpZSWWhyTwQFott9r1UUFz7pz2KHxNywg6BC6vNkHu60cFcPo2jF6KUAntrza7lXKGhQQ2m7nI/s320/P9180169.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I’m a lover of Hemingway’s work, and, A Farewell to Arms, plays a part of the story in my book, <b>No Kissing Required</b>. This poem of his I’m featuring today, I find kind of sexy. The man most definitely had a way with words.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHo0sSizXAKtAG6oAMSaBNITFD8CFZz-TspV4d5JfUN-1c3hGRf7pKl5wWcLtyWHb7fIXP70XrHoQ1mvEj6uI52wXRh7Xe45bkiEuD4mtc4VUtrd9bFyky2MMIZ411Gu1k7892llpKf7GxU-uZ0jEAqzHBWSjXt0sxaUZMlvucYfkovp9cGJlT6ejSBk/s3264/IMG_20220520_135345126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHo0sSizXAKtAG6oAMSaBNITFD8CFZz-TspV4d5JfUN-1c3hGRf7pKl5wWcLtyWHb7fIXP70XrHoQ1mvEj6uI52wXRh7Xe45bkiEuD4mtc4VUtrd9bFyky2MMIZ411Gu1k7892llpKf7GxU-uZ0jEAqzHBWSjXt0sxaUZMlvucYfkovp9cGJlT6ejSBk/w221-h320/IMG_20220520_135345126.jpg" width="221" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oily Weather</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sea desires deep hulls,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It swells and rolls.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The screw churns a throb,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Driving throbbing progressing.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sea rolls with love,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Surging, caressing.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Undulating its great loving belly,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sea is big and old.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Throbbing ships scorn it. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Ernest Hemingway (Stories and Ten Poems, 1923)</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A-y3w7JVJ_i6xJtDCepGPZB22Y7_Evs-BFwBQyvdWenhvhtO1zBzRHdxoDARiItbw6YTBaE4IeZGh_wQeQmstF4y_oJGUChdgsBMm8gwPVoMJREAXU6926nkX_uUUSGhVd_G64ZcovMOOvjtLZF_mkamT6wosKqqZBh6w_rktdfnYe1fhRyOqiUzF1c/s3264/IMG_20230813_104728493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A-y3w7JVJ_i6xJtDCepGPZB22Y7_Evs-BFwBQyvdWenhvhtO1zBzRHdxoDARiItbw6YTBaE4IeZGh_wQeQmstF4y_oJGUChdgsBMm8gwPVoMJREAXU6926nkX_uUUSGhVd_G64ZcovMOOvjtLZF_mkamT6wosKqqZBh6w_rktdfnYe1fhRyOqiUzF1c/w259-h320/IMG_20230813_104728493.jpg" width="259" /></a></i></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /> </i></span><br /><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-55610029211215170252023-07-27T09:39:00.000-07:002023-07-29T03:48:04.390-07:00Pied Beauty, a Poets Thanks<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0U8koSaKQoXOLIkkk_v79_Uo_Ujg3bHeOJEuY2wncfQF5OPb0qYlH_QKK6atUGO05MUM7-JhVC-JTqhjqniD5EWm98FEjRohYfuPxJaj8qk_ogOp8BnZgOEP_0bkPHCXlo3j4fco0TOYOtHof-T1P4IftUkxIgLSPrW-JxDBbcy-_1YwxEDEz864IjI/s3072/120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0U8koSaKQoXOLIkkk_v79_Uo_Ujg3bHeOJEuY2wncfQF5OPb0qYlH_QKK6atUGO05MUM7-JhVC-JTqhjqniD5EWm98FEjRohYfuPxJaj8qk_ogOp8BnZgOEP_0bkPHCXlo3j4fco0TOYOtHof-T1P4IftUkxIgLSPrW-JxDBbcy-_1YwxEDEz864IjI/s320/120.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I love colors, the brighter they are the better. Anything that has bold color combinations, from lipsticks to clothes. I can't walk by without admiring.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERYOrDtoJgtf0xRwwyXWUGVJGWyPnORtOxQA5gqbx50pYxeJYtYRJ6HmrZfFq2fLyWEXIf1mR3jknRcAy2SlWI4wU8Y0_j_ZmFfapMSAuVPI9NqWarOG_2DGsnzj_-mDMD4bndqmhCs1gHJAY78qghZ1Urgw2DOGqqLBV8SB3maj3KQXAC_PhcUdq1Eo/s4288/2013%20DEC%20014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERYOrDtoJgtf0xRwwyXWUGVJGWyPnORtOxQA5gqbx50pYxeJYtYRJ6HmrZfFq2fLyWEXIf1mR3jknRcAy2SlWI4wU8Y0_j_ZmFfapMSAuVPI9NqWarOG_2DGsnzj_-mDMD4bndqmhCs1gHJAY78qghZ1Urgw2DOGqqLBV8SB3maj3KQXAC_PhcUdq1Eo/s320/2013%20DEC%20014.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> These all of course depend on a little human intervention. However, I adore the nature that surrounds us. It's ever giving contrast of colors, in the way of wildlife, our skies and seas. They all give us variants of color that change without notice, in a blink of an eye.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vGJcvQVM97dyo6-aqJSz6Q0pnJziyS_A6fbimk2gVW5sLinYSA5XyhJNqnwdywA7ovZm3w4jeUkbhiMkxgZwwzO-7pFhupo7kPI97i23HtjqTXvTZGtogofOiUF0MWsRmmW6Tzmt-84C9MkEr6_JRKJImPsYdkbcJQrLx-RMTYL8sy1-lwRkrxWGG70/s4288/P2070215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vGJcvQVM97dyo6-aqJSz6Q0pnJziyS_A6fbimk2gVW5sLinYSA5XyhJNqnwdywA7ovZm3w4jeUkbhiMkxgZwwzO-7pFhupo7kPI97i23HtjqTXvTZGtogofOiUF0MWsRmmW6Tzmt-84C9MkEr6_JRKJImPsYdkbcJQrLx-RMTYL8sy1-lwRkrxWGG70/s320/P2070215.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I found a sonnet by the poet, Gerard Manly Hopkins, which I want to share with you today on the anniversary of his birth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> He is believed to be thanking and praising God for the creation of the world Gerard lived in. Whatever any one of us believes in, is up to us as individual humans. But, it is nice if we can stop to admire the beauty and be thankful for what is around us, in any which way we can and if we can. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Today I'm writing about the beauty I have experienced and I'm featuring some photos, in my way of thanks.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Have a great weekend people.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyR-BNN7QKCcWjNDNfm-nEKZN61a_mtYfMsKCJfKBfmtLewY5eEjrEW7UpiCqibvPO7nyA8KnC33JPHt3ExQ25x5JjVcsxJmpGyAY2nmUgsonm37roL_944QC-7X6NPOWYFE3S19pZAVfBKW_AN05qfcH95do9ID02f-ldUFETHeiNAPdAJiFnLM6S2k/s4288/Dollar%20Glen%20060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyR-BNN7QKCcWjNDNfm-nEKZN61a_mtYfMsKCJfKBfmtLewY5eEjrEW7UpiCqibvPO7nyA8KnC33JPHt3ExQ25x5JjVcsxJmpGyAY2nmUgsonm37roL_944QC-7X6NPOWYFE3S19pZAVfBKW_AN05qfcH95do9ID02f-ldUFETHeiNAPdAJiFnLM6S2k/s320/Dollar%20Glen%20060.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pied Beauty</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Glory be to God for dappled things</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For skied of couple color as a brinded cow</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For rose-moles all the stipple upon trout that swim</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fresh-fire coal chestnut-fall, finches' wings</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Landscape plotted and pierced, fold, fallow and plough</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfyrh9rboCmIHeh4X7fYQjigc8hVpzPhHEV_BJgoyOcXTxrg17lOfx2qtJTK_fDcXks5QgU5k0LemiBVwyltbpxOjSzmVNKy06OY4I1_dKbFHKQ0uaI0vdp6Dc0aYXaMd51h97mAWyizAKHSWz566w6vYKO1u1LbzqyzOPRraaqJTcQcI_ZSaNLlvDyI/s4288/Sir%20Walter%20Scott%20Abbotsford%20Oct%20%202015%20070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfyrh9rboCmIHeh4X7fYQjigc8hVpzPhHEV_BJgoyOcXTxrg17lOfx2qtJTK_fDcXks5QgU5k0LemiBVwyltbpxOjSzmVNKy06OY4I1_dKbFHKQ0uaI0vdp6Dc0aYXaMd51h97mAWyizAKHSWz566w6vYKO1u1LbzqyzOPRraaqJTcQcI_ZSaNLlvDyI/s320/Sir%20Walter%20Scott%20Abbotsford%20Oct%20%202015%20070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All things counter, original, spare, strange</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With swift, slow, sweet, sour, adazzle, dim</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her father's-forth whose beauty is past change</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Praise him.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOIbwnx2gRO_Wisu7GVs3R2vyV0bNUEdBLdqS5PikvDTod4MqTZEJkXvHCRJj8wOxvtZPrDK7IbU_--FKYij_-GVIHOWjpfOYTQSRtjKPPD0ofS0wWKIG2HaGKjUKRC6XiJOBrHBEMQdnVLY11RO_D68Twx5Vq1bjuZeY2hewBCUEmCoH_5e1egKHu_s/s4288/Culross%20Sept%202015%20015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOIbwnx2gRO_Wisu7GVs3R2vyV0bNUEdBLdqS5PikvDTod4MqTZEJkXvHCRJj8wOxvtZPrDK7IbU_--FKYij_-GVIHOWjpfOYTQSRtjKPPD0ofS0wWKIG2HaGKjUKRC6XiJOBrHBEMQdnVLY11RO_D68Twx5Vq1bjuZeY2hewBCUEmCoH_5e1egKHu_s/s320/Culross%20Sept%202015%20015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Gerard Manley Hopkins </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> (28 July 1844-8 June 1889)<br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-34051429824632744512023-07-24T02:59:00.000-07:002023-07-24T02:59:25.139-07:00A Queen's Poetic Retreat<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESMdCYTVuCmG8pXRgY1Sa_3OENxQ5fxr0uLRYT-Hl8QmfcywOemn-dUewno3IPkke152IIzRP_KbAy4sVpWcqOUO-1A7m0SkU6bqNZnEmDe01XrioEwT6wA0F9UfVigHN2DSVUY4BL4iKfNxaerdVBz8cWQf_o60ZVpCB1EeUjRAp-3lwurikcWhKRA0/s4288/Kinross%20010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Loch Leven Castle" border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESMdCYTVuCmG8pXRgY1Sa_3OENxQ5fxr0uLRYT-Hl8QmfcywOemn-dUewno3IPkke152IIzRP_KbAy4sVpWcqOUO-1A7m0SkU6bqNZnEmDe01XrioEwT6wA0F9UfVigHN2DSVUY4BL4iKfNxaerdVBz8cWQf_o60ZVpCB1EeUjRAp-3lwurikcWhKRA0/w320-h240/Kinross%20010.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> July 24th 1567, following a year of imprisonment in Loch Leven Castle in Perth and Kinross, Mary Queen of Scots was forced to abdicate. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Her time as queen was tumultuous, and she escaped from the reality and skullduggery that surrounded her by writing poetry.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi720k-2O9lRBO-amJWR84adQtpYfckAfXFyEiKuOJAgS3-1RhNioVP3tXXBOGIuMT9JMtiKOjPSIWgyFUEFiba83FkoXH0BDYTNmyIjz73ke3OLqRBaDxg2ajedn7sj6q0WQ9b6cAuOrDZ9WJ_fFwuo1oYPNmieQnylVztE_r9JhtpfUeo5pBqnwNW0PE/s3072/linlithgow%20june%2013%20027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Linlithgow Palace , Mary's birthplace" border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi720k-2O9lRBO-amJWR84adQtpYfckAfXFyEiKuOJAgS3-1RhNioVP3tXXBOGIuMT9JMtiKOjPSIWgyFUEFiba83FkoXH0BDYTNmyIjz73ke3OLqRBaDxg2ajedn7sj6q0WQ9b6cAuOrDZ9WJ_fFwuo1oYPNmieQnylVztE_r9JhtpfUeo5pBqnwNW0PE/w320-h240/linlithgow%20june%2013%20027.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> Today I've included a short sonnet of hers, believed to have been written about the Earl of Bothwell to whom she later married. A marriage that would throw her life into further turmoil. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Please enjoy and thanks for visiting my blog today. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0a0o2yzb40nNOPkULxtgjv2AnHt4Zmvr4FpRWLZitjgn7FTPo_y6y0urIMF7bQWAr8JaePfyNt1wSO9nj-gEo0hhM8325hdHza0W1a6ITMuCrkQSOHtTSfxwOHvjbZBU0JZ9v2CfFf0d-OoOy-EkGHkyBsNx1N5I6DMP1XDy8H9VtmtaLHHGKF28Aruk/s4288/Edinburgh%20museum%20050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0a0o2yzb40nNOPkULxtgjv2AnHt4Zmvr4FpRWLZitjgn7FTPo_y6y0urIMF7bQWAr8JaePfyNt1wSO9nj-gEo0hhM8325hdHza0W1a6ITMuCrkQSOHtTSfxwOHvjbZBU0JZ9v2CfFf0d-OoOy-EkGHkyBsNx1N5I6DMP1XDy8H9VtmtaLHHGKF28Aruk/s320/Edinburgh%20museum%20050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lord, grant your mercy unto me:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Teach me some way that he may know</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My love for him is not an empty show</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But purest tenderness an constancy</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For does he not, alas, ev'n now possess</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This body and this heart which would not flee</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Discord, dishonour, nor uncertainty,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor family hurt, nor evil's worst distress.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For his sake, I value all my friends as dust</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And in my enemies I seek to place my trust,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For him, my concience and good name to chance I've cast;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I would renounce the worls, were it his whim:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'd gladly die if it should profit him,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What more is there to prove my love steadfast.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mary Queen of Scots (8 December 1542-8 Feburary 1587)<br /></span></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-52235721646306617472023-07-21T03:29:00.001-07:002023-07-21T03:29:47.311-07:00Giant Leap for Mankind<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe_1MXWchZx1bmTxnQ4UCGQu_zjI23ku1T9n8SvznOgk3kzDj46MomXVmubM5JwEu8Wa8_cXObrBCINIX6LieV_OOf8UlI6k0qdRuFfcZvAYr0bJJTRdOeTpWM-tpHSYbnh1e1RlInKo2qa-JsTnGmSx32X4sInt5ligI2agavHiBdVRUyXmMUyJ6flA/s4288/moon%20and%20mussleburgh%20Sept%202015%20005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe_1MXWchZx1bmTxnQ4UCGQu_zjI23ku1T9n8SvznOgk3kzDj46MomXVmubM5JwEu8Wa8_cXObrBCINIX6LieV_OOf8UlI6k0qdRuFfcZvAYr0bJJTRdOeTpWM-tpHSYbnh1e1RlInKo2qa-JsTnGmSx32X4sInt5ligI2agavHiBdVRUyXmMUyJ6flA/s320/moon%20and%20mussleburgh%20Sept%202015%20005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br /><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> <br /></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">OMG, wh</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">ere do the years go? Fifty-four years ago, Apollo 11 landed on the moon. I can remember watching, Neil Armstrong taking one step for man and one giant leap for mankind. (Yes, I am that old, and remember a lady never discloses her age.)<br /></span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> My mother and I watched the scratchy black-and-white transmission of this historical moment. Yes, I know that many believe that it never happened. However, this gal believes it did, and I wanted today to relive that short time I felt was special in my life. </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Another historical event that happened on that date was that UK TV transmitted all night. This was also a momentous moment for the UK. </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> While I give some further thought to that day, I've included a poem by US poet, Emily Dickinson called, </span><b style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The Moon. </span></b><span style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Hoping you enjoy.</span></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bxBVhc7zbyKq2bAHGZQcMijfbJEKDNCNc2lwTKVqKEBp6cWy5XHteic6bNpk_HBjM_B3363ZfE_zmPayc2X3IvfwDdddx7OlK1xFcGBnjgfoefhxESSfYsT09fnX-StRhJhxuf7On5kJfzEURXxtoqzmGZBZqjCOt0vK95gbjlTle_bB0ATli2pLPJg/s4288/moon%20and%20mussleburgh%20Sept%202015%20003.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bxBVhc7zbyKq2bAHGZQcMijfbJEKDNCNc2lwTKVqKEBp6cWy5XHteic6bNpk_HBjM_B3363ZfE_zmPayc2X3IvfwDdddx7OlK1xFcGBnjgfoefhxESSfYsT09fnX-StRhJhxuf7On5kJfzEURXxtoqzmGZBZqjCOt0vK95gbjlTle_bB0ATli2pLPJg/s320/moon%20and%20mussleburgh%20Sept%202015%20003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The moon was but a chin of gold</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A night or two ago,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And now she turns her perfect face</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Upon the world below.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her forehead is of amplest blonde;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her cheek like beryl stone;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her eye unto the summer dew</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The likest I have known. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her lips of amber never part;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But what must be the smile</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Upon her friend she could bestow</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Were such her silver will!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And what a privilege to be</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But the remotest star!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For certainly her way might pass</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beside your twinkling door.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her bonnet is the firmament,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The universe her shoe, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The stars the trinkets at her belt,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her dimities of blue.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Emily Dickinson 1830-1886</span><br /></p><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-15959045814142012432023-07-18T07:06:00.002-07:002023-07-18T07:06:25.462-07:00Taking Time to Commemorate<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffHk3d_ZoJ9M2HYcz-a16WX8jB93Jr1s_eb1dmTyXLEVy3jHAyX0pmvlz93CLoosuFw_8GM9v4kMGxd4tGYdeVdvwnNdJ9KeeLdj1xlCMymEkxAWuUopP8ZUkNSogIU0Q626xDJu7U8mOTkz4naBKv9juOLP0U_r4OBLUVbzgOCenIkIK72DlgxnvaM0/s4160/IMG_20200124_142831006_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffHk3d_ZoJ9M2HYcz-a16WX8jB93Jr1s_eb1dmTyXLEVy3jHAyX0pmvlz93CLoosuFw_8GM9v4kMGxd4tGYdeVdvwnNdJ9KeeLdj1xlCMymEkxAWuUopP8ZUkNSogIU0Q626xDJu7U8mOTkz4naBKv9juOLP0U_r4OBLUVbzgOCenIkIK72DlgxnvaM0/w160-h320/IMG_20200124_142831006_HDR.jpg" title="Monumento a Los Caldos" width="160" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I have been a great admirer of the author, Ernest Hemingway, since high school and since my early teens I have read the book, For Whom the Bell Tolls, numerous times.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Like many great authors of that time, Hemingway took part in the Spanish civil war, spreading propaganda for the Republican cause, aided by the Russian army.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> He was not the only author who joined the fight against the Nationalist army, led by Fransisco Franco Bahamonde. UK writer, W.H. Auden and U.S. writer, Malcolm Cowley were amongst the many who took to arms. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> While I haven't read much of their work, I have read, Homage to Catalonia, by the British Indian author, George Orwell. Orwell's book is an account of his service in the Republican Army. Like the Hemingway book, it is a timeless read, considering the war started eighty–seven years ago. Similar to the Hemingway book it was also censored by the Franco regime.</span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SwNyz1ZvQVPbvwb6xQ8hGMPOgkwGC5K2bao1C9fz1EMC43_ROw9CvMS1L4vVt7fYeUrKrYKrfB6YWE1SeIAMoa5EBvWUj_Ks2OYUsLSyVF_vb6LNZCy9zxFeVVH2O6sdTh3_RVcXqKCxKyh42oXW8ezRFdphuSaUraibrECaigq4WXo5wyPvE0fQjl8/s4160/IMG_20200124_142853990_HDR(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SwNyz1ZvQVPbvwb6xQ8hGMPOgkwGC5K2bao1C9fz1EMC43_ROw9CvMS1L4vVt7fYeUrKrYKrfB6YWE1SeIAMoa5EBvWUj_Ks2OYUsLSyVF_vb6LNZCy9zxFeVVH2O6sdTh3_RVcXqKCxKyh42oXW8ezRFdphuSaUraibrECaigq4WXo5wyPvE0fQjl8/w160-h320/IMG_20200124_142853990_HDR(1).jpg" title="Monumento a Los Calodos" width="160" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The Canary Islands, and the island of Tenerife in particular play a part in this piece of history, that many Spaniards wish to forget. General Franco met here on the island with his other conspirators to plan the uprising against the democratically elected government. With the help of, Nazi Germany, Franco took the lead and the Spanish Civil War commenced, on 18 July 1936. His dictatorship did not end until his death, on 20 November 1975.</span><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEdJ9OCmXXwjgviGOEFuOt6LTRd5ZlIc1df6FnqsFQNp60cR8QbCEKyxeg8bJNk7xl9tenEzShpxQYDSTApL2vDkTLQLz7UFWMD_euSLFCdTBPDv83nE6MyYy5PUi4N7Y-fC5dmV2hVSrmdx5u_xG31fJKDoig5NEEYMFATepM4rthecLV21-jCk_xUE/s4160/IMG_20200123_132908490_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEdJ9OCmXXwjgviGOEFuOt6LTRd5ZlIc1df6FnqsFQNp60cR8QbCEKyxeg8bJNk7xl9tenEzShpxQYDSTApL2vDkTLQLz7UFWMD_euSLFCdTBPDv83nE6MyYy5PUi4N7Y-fC5dmV2hVSrmdx5u_xG31fJKDoig5NEEYMFATepM4rthecLV21-jCk_xUE/w160-h320/IMG_20200123_132908490_HDR.jpg" title="Plaza España" width="160" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> Today is not a day to celebrate, but a day to commemorate the fallen on both sides of the fight. </span><br /></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1929020330796024680.post-27966861360892989062023-07-12T02:32:00.001-07:002023-07-18T07:07:00.819-07:00No Kissing Required Chapter Two<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEd4BQ83jx0ZaCeWHI4POjWooXeB-I3qNfzM_P94TqjhcybZIXjA6LmzecQ3g2dVUC2MnOZ8AFt-9FQj3tn1se5rvK7-G82x6OcMi-UBcCam90AyfkfZnwQIcTYlRL2AgBlQWOr-QyT2LlkP1PRaObRb8HQPCL3vaKjrXDSWBJCbGO2r4FIxirte1udg/s1149/FB_IMG_4518764197096563136.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEd4BQ83jx0ZaCeWHI4POjWooXeB-I3qNfzM_P94TqjhcybZIXjA6LmzecQ3g2dVUC2MnOZ8AFt-9FQj3tn1se5rvK7-G82x6OcMi-UBcCam90AyfkfZnwQIcTYlRL2AgBlQWOr-QyT2LlkP1PRaObRb8HQPCL3vaKjrXDSWBJCbGO2r4FIxirte1udg/s320/FB_IMG_4518764197096563136.jpg" width="201" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><h2 style="text-align: left;">
</h2><h2 class="western"> <span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter Two<br /><br /> </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;">“</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">These
in white robes - who are they, and where did they come from?”<br />
Revelation 7:13</span></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /><br /> <br />
Phoenix, Arizona<br /><br /> </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Thanks
for deciding to join me. I’ll fill you in and then you can keep up
with me the rest of the way. I’m sitting near the back of a
Greyhound bus, I boarded some seven hours or so ago. Mikey and I
arrived on Earth together; he said he had some business to take care
of in Las Vegas.<br /> He’s most probably following
up a sighting of Satan. But from what I can gather, these sightings
are as regular as people saying they saw a dead rock ‘n’ roll
star working behind the counter of a burger joint. Scary.<br />
Everything for my mission has been taken care of. I’ve got clothes,
money in my pocket, and even a tablet with an app especially
installed for heavenly beings. This app allows Heaven to contact me
24/7 and they can feed me useful information about my assignment,
amongst other things.<br /> I also have a small gold
stud in my right ear, but it’s no normal piece of jewelry, it’s
a demon early warning device. But it’s a prototype, so they’re
still uncertain on its reliability. That’s the </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">boooring</span></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the exciting stuff, like
me.<br /> My human form is that of a
seventeen-year-old male. I’m not too shy to say that I’m a
gooorgeous guy. Amigas, you’ll love me. You’ll love my buzz cut,
my piercing blue eyes, and of course my toned pecks and abs. I’m
not quite as tall as I would have liked, but hey, none of us are
perfect. Oh, I forgot to say, I’m a little tiger; grrr.
Amigos,don’t worry, you’ll like me a lot too. Why? Because I’m
a real cool dude to hang around with, that’s why. Need I say
more?<br /> I’m feeling pretty exhausted, I’ve
got roughly an hour to go before I reach my destination and meet my
guardian, she’s called Sylvia Angell. I’ll be living with her for
now. The cover story is that she’s my Aunt and I’m living with
her because my parents are working overseas.<br /> With me? Good.
I’ve got a little homework to do, you can read along with me, but
not aloud, because I need to concentrate. Information is downloaded
in story form on to my tablet, kind of like an e-book, and you’ll
be able to read what’s available to me. No pictures though, so I
hope you can read. Duh, that was a stupid thing for me to say, of
course you can!<br /> Hopefully no little gremlins,
or devils as the case may be, manage to hack into my system and
tamper with my data. The IT department is working on security
software as we speak. Unfortunately for heaven, they have no software
available here as yet to secure their system.<br />
Oh and another thing, if you see quotes from the bible dotted here
and there, well these are little messages sent to me by the Elders.
They have a couple of purposes, some are for my spiritual guidance,
you know; so I remember that I’m on God’s side and he’s on
mine. The others give me an indication, or as I like to call it; step
for a hint, as to what my day ahead may be all about.<br />
The step for hint stuff is based on information gathered from Earth.
I suppose it’s what government agencies would call their
intelligence. Now I have no idea if this intelligence is gathered
from intelligencers, a bug in Satan’s chambers, or geek angels
analyzing incoming data.<br /> All I know is that I
have to take some direction from these messages and act upon them
where appropriate. With me so far? Good. Right, eyes down, get
reading.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br />
Paul’s Story<br /><br /> </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> “</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Now
Paul, you take care walking home. Don’t detour, and use your cell
phone to call your pop at the first sign of trouble.” The small,
gray haired woman is full of concern and apprehension as she
addresses her grandson.<br /> “Gran, stop fussing.
I’m a big boy now.” The six foot, one hundred and seventy pound
seventeen-year-old tries to make light of her anxiety.<br />
“I know you are, but it’s not like it was when I was a teenager.
You could safely walk for miles and not a soul would bother you.”<br />
“Gran, nothing’s like it was when you were a teenager. You’re
prehistoric.”<br /> The old woman slaps the young
man playfully across the back of the hand. Then throwing her arms
around him, she hugs him with all her might.<br />
“Goodbye, I’ll call you later,” says the teenager and he kisses
his Gran on her cheek.<br /> “Goodbye, I love you
Paul.”<br /> “I love you too Gran.” The young
man leaves his grandmother standing on the top step of her front
porch.<br />He stops before finally stepping onto the side-walk. He
turns around, blows her a kiss, and then goes on his way. She blows
one back and she continues to wave until he is out of sight.<br />It
isn’t just Paul Mitchum’s grandmother who’s apprehensive about
her grandson’s walk home, Paul has his own doubts. But his father
made it clear in their last man-to-man talk that he expected his son
to fight his own battles. He told him that “he needed to start
acting like a man.”<br /> When his father, George,
went off on one, as he regularly did since Paul’s mom had gone,
there was no reasoning with him. There were regular heated exchanges
of words between father and son, caused by George drinking copious
amounts of liquor.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">On these
occasions, Paul is left with no alternative but to lock himself away
in his bedroom. Only coming out when he hears his pop snore, after
him falling into a deep</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">alcohol
fueled sleep. Paul’s only confidante is his Gran, but he doesn’t
like to tell her about his rows with his pop. After all it seemed
disrespectful, speaking to her about her own son.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br />
Phoenix, Bus Depot<br /><br /> </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">My bus draws
into the depot, and I’m feeling slightly nervous about the
challenges that lie ahead. There is only one man waiting, as the bus
finally draws to a halt.<br /> I know this has to be
Aunt Sylvia’s neighbor Isais. I stand up and tug at my backpack; it
drops heavily from the overhead parcel shelf onto my seat.<br />
Making my way down to the front exit, I notice the deep-set eyes of
the waiting man scour the length of the bus, presumably in search of
me. He hasn’t caught sight of me yet. I start to descend the steps
of the bus, and now he’s looking straight at me.<br />
“Are you Sylvie’s ward, Daniel?” His Native American face
lights up, he sure is a good-looking man for an oldie. I mean to say
he’s over forty years old.<br /> “I am, but call
me Dan. You must be Isais Bia?”<br /> “I surely
am boy and you can call me Isais.” He chuckles at what he thinks is
a witty reply and continues, “Sylvie will be so glad
you’ve arrived safely. She’s been baking pies all day. She’s
even tackled a new ‘un, mango and banana. Hell knows what that’ll
taste like.” He slaps me on the back heartily. Putting his large
arm around my shoulders, he pulls me towards him and hugs me. My
internal organs feel as though they have just been squished like an
accordion.<br /> According to my app, he’s six feet
five inches and two hundred and seventy pounds. His large frame
dwarfs all of my five feet seven inches, one hundred and thirty seven
pounds. I can’t help but like this guy, I hope we’re going to be
very good friends.<br /> “Isais, I don’t care
what the pie tastes like, I’m starved.”<br />
“Boy, you sure could do with some of Sylvie’s pies inside you.
Fatten you up a bit. Give me your backpack; it looks as though the
weight of it is going to snap you in two.” His arm remains tight
around my shoulders and I gladly hand over my bag.<br />
His firm grip assures me that I’m in safe hands. As he guides me
through the large bus depot, my feet only make contact with the
ground on every second or third step I take. I must look like a
puppet or cartoon character.<br /> Finally we’re
out into the warm July night, the parking bays across from the depot
are all taken. I couldn’t even take a guess at what this guy’s
going to drive. Whatever it is, it’s going to have to be big.<br />
“That’s my truck over there.” Isais releases his grip on me.
His big long legs take such wide strides that I have no alternative
but to start running. We cross the street to an old battered Nissan,
Isais puts a key into the driver’s door, and the central locking
clicks. “Climb in boy, I’ll throw your bag in the back.” Isais
opens the rear passenger door and I hear my bag thump onto the
seat.<br /> I climb up into the front passenger side
and look around. Brightly colored throws cover the leather seats of
the truck and a small leather bound dream catcher hangs from the
rear-view mirror. Its blue colored beads catch the street light and
its feathers move with a wisp from the warm breeze that’s coming in
through the now open driver’s door. There’s a picture of a kid
around my age fixed to the dashboard. I wonder if Isais has a son. I
wasn’t told about one, but then again maybe it’s for me to find
out.<br /> Isais climbs in, the truck groans gently
under his weighty movement, then he starts the engine and we move out
into the flow of traffic and head North.<br /> “How
long will it take us to reach Aunt Sylvia’s, Isais?”<br />
“Twenty minutes ride to Wingate, boy,” says Isais cheerfully.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br />
</b></span><span style="font-size: medium;">“</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">How
long have you been a neighbor of Aunt Sylvia’s, or Sylvie as you
call her?”<br /> “Sylvie is my pet name for her.
How long? Eh, I’m not sure exactly how long, because it seems as
though I’ve known her forever.” Isais scratches his head, as if
in a hope that he’s going to come up with the answer to my
question. But I think that’s one question he isn’t going to be
able to answer.<br /> Isais and I continued to chat
non-stop, like long lost friends, for the journey. The kid in the
picture is his son. But it seems I won’t have the pleasure of
meeting him. The kid’s the D word, same as me. I felt like such an
idiot when I asked about him, but hey ho, I had to ask. We finally
turned into a small street located in what I am reliably informed is
the older side of town. The wide streets are lined with small single
story homes; cacti and palms fill the gardens.<br />
The truck stops in front of number six, North Orange, Wingate,
Scottsdale. The porch lights are on and a woman I can only assume is
my new aunt sits on a rocking chair. As I jump out of the truck, she
smiles and outstretches her arms. I think I’m going to like her.</span></span></h2>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<br /><p><a href="https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/04/no-kissing-required-prologue.html" target="_blank">No Kissing Required Prologue </a><br /></p><p><a href="https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/04/no-kissing-required-chapter-one.html" target="_blank">No Kissing Required Chapter 1</a><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p>Christina Rowell Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17953241175695882619noreply@blogger.com0