tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45599009311514208642024-03-13T21:56:45.195-07:00Education Abode...because a whole lot of learning is taking place here!Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-33198872781579612342012-07-14T10:23:00.000-07:002012-07-14T10:23:31.713-07:00Best Homemade Play Dough Ever!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Seriously. Playdough is so cheap to buy, I usually don't make it. But when we run out I'm definitely NOT running to the store just to buy some. And some times, the play dough bug bites and you've just GOT to play with some play dough.</div>
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<img height="200" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-XaTZ8kB0vaw/UAGnkUyAvMI/AAAAAAAAD_c/BMPRTrvBtKQ/IMAG0275.png" width="112" /> This takes less than 10 minutes (That includes the time it takes to gather all of the ingredients. Honestly, probably less time than that.) and it is TRULY the BEST homemade play dough recipe.<br />
<b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white;">Play Dough</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Ingredients:</span><br />
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<ul>
<li>1 cup white flour</li>
<li>1/4 cup salt</li>
<li>2 tablespoons cream of tartar</li>
<li>1 cup water</li>
<li>1 tablespoon vegetable oil</li>
<li>2 teaspoons food coloring</li>
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Directions:</div>
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<li>Mix flour, salt and cream of tartar in a medium pot.</li>
<li>Add water, food coloring and oil.</li>
<li>Stir over medium heat for 3-5 minutes. (it will start looking like a globby, lumpy mess. Just go with it. Keep stirring.)</li>
<li>When the mixture forms a ball in the center of the pot, take it out and put it on a lightly floured surface.</li>
<li>Play to your hearts content! (Play dough will obviously be on the hot side straight from the pot. I usually break it up into a few pieces to help it cool faster.)</li>
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When you're finished playing, be sure to store in in a plastic bag or some sort of airtight container in the fridge.</div>
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</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-54199907631320194282012-05-15T06:00:00.000-07:002012-05-15T06:00:02.722-07:00Braiding Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do your children ever amaze you with their simple creativity? <br />
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My house is bursting at the seams with all sorts of random scraps and miscellaneous items for crafting and creating. Every day my girls are making SOMETHING to entertain themselves or eachother. I wish I had pictures of every little creation they have made.<br />
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My seven year old has been learning to braid. Recently, she showed me something that she made to practice this new found skill.<br />
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Three little scrap ribbons glued to a strip of paper with a heart stamped on top.</div>
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So cute!<br />
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Is your home filled with random creations?</div>
</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-30968277878926826472012-05-12T13:54:00.000-07:002012-05-12T13:58:05.212-07:00When Queens Ride ByI hope you enjoy this little story as much as I do. It is a simple, old story from the 1920's. I wanted to share this with you for Mother's Day as it highlights what mother's do best: Magnify their womanly strengths, and bless their families in a way that only a mother can.<br />
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I don't remember the first time I read this short story. At the time, I was afraid to admit to anyone how deeply it touched me. In a world where misconstrued feminism reigns supreme, it is hard to acknowledge that the strongest of women's traits are uniquely feminine and nurturing. And yet, through this story, I saw how not only can woman's feminine and nurturing traits be an ultimate strength, they can also be traits that must be practiced and perhaps even learned. They don't always come naturally. They can be suppressed and squelched. I believe as we work on these traits, we begin to find what power lies within each woman. True, womanly power is at its strongest when fueled by love and a desire to please our Heavenly Father, not the world.<br />
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Happy Mother's Day!<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?num=10&hl=en&biw=1920&bih=955&tbs=ic:gray&tbm=isch&tbnid=16iWr18LB3wYcM:&imgrefurl=http://www.guardian.co.uk/pictures/image/0,8543,-10404350177,00.html&docid=OipoK67_f42CcM&imgurl=http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/gallery/2002/02/05/queen3.jpg&w=300&h=350&ei=IcyuT4bgJMjw2gXJ_dnpCA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=170&vpy=155&dur=1695&hovh=243&hovw=208&tx=163&ty=178&sig=113108443224757303074&sqi=2&page=1&tbnh=126&tbnw=108&start=0&ndsp=57&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0,i:76" target="_blank">Picture from the Gaurdian</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Old English Text MT'; font-size: 24pt;">When Queens Ride By<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">by Agnes Sligh Turnbull, 1926<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie Musgrave woke at the shrill rasp of
the alarm clock as she always woke—with the shuddering start and a heavy
realization that the brief respite of the light's oblivion was over. She had only time
to glance through the dull light at the cluttered, dusty room, before John's
voice was saying sleepily as he said every morning, "All right, let's go.
It doesn't seem as if we'd been in bed at all!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie dressed quickly in the clothes,
none too clean, that, exhausted, she had flung from her the night before. She
hurried down the back stairs, her coarse shoes clattering thickly upon the bare
boards. She kindled the fire in the range and then made a hasty pretense at washing
in the basin in the sink. John strode through the kitchen and on out to the
barn. There were six cows to be milked and the great cans of milk to be taken
to the station for the morning train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie put coffee and bacon on the stove,
and then, catching up a pail from the porch, went after John. A golden red disk
broke the misty blue of the morning above the cow pasture. A sweet, fragrant
breath blew from the orchard. But Jennie neither saw nor felt the beauty about
her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She glanced at the sun and thought, It's
going to be a hot day. She glanced at the orchard, and her brows knit. There it
hung. All that fruit. Bushels of it going to waste. Maybe she could get time
that day to make some more apple butter. But the tomatoes wouldn't wait. She
must pick them and get them to town today, or that would be a dead loss. After
all her work, well, it would only be in a piece with everything else if it did
happen so. She and John had bad luck, and they might as well make up their
minds to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She finished her part of the milking and
hurried back again to the overcooked bacon and strong coffee. The children were
down, clamorous, dirty, always underfoot. Jim, the eldest, was in his first
term of school. She glanced at his spotted waist. He should have a clean one.
But she couldn't help it. She couldn't get the washing done last week, and when
she was to get a day for it this week she didn't know, with all the picking and
the trips to town to make!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Breakfast was hurried and unpalatable, a
sort of grudging concession to the demands of the body. Then John left in the
milk wagon for the station, and Jennie packed little Jim's lunch basket with
bread and apple butter and pie, left the two little children to their own
devices in the backyard, and started toward the barn. There was no time to do
anything in the house. The chickens and turkeys had to be attended to, and then
she must get to the tomato patch before the sun got too hot. Behind her was the
orchard with its rows and rows of laden apple trees. Maybe this afternoon— maybe
tomorrow morning. There were the potatoes, too, to be lifted. Too hard work for
a woman. But what were you going to do? Starve? John worked till dark in the
fields.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She pushed her hair back with a quick,
boyish sweep of her arm and went on scattering the grain to the fowls. She
remembered their eager plans when they were married, when they took over the
old farm—laden with its heavy mortgage—that had been John's father's.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">John had been so straight of back then and
so jolly. Only seven years, yet now he was stooped a little, and his brows were
always drawn, as though to hide a look of ashamed failure. They had planned to
have a model farm someday: blooded stock, a tractor, a new barn. And then such
a home they were to make of the old stone house! Jennie's hopes had flared
higher even than John's. A<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">rug for the parlor, an overstuffed set
like the one in the mail—order catalogue, linoleum for the kitchen, electric
lights!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">They were young and, oh, so strong! There
was nothing they could not do if they only worked hard enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">But that great faith had dwindled as the
first year passed. John worked later and later in the evenings. Jennie took
more and more of the heavy tasks upon her own shoulders. She often thought with
some pride that no woman in the countryside ever helped her husband as she did.
Even with the haying and riding the reaper. Hard, coarsening work, but she was
glad to do it for John's sake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The sad riddle of it all was that at the
end of each year they were no further on. The only difference from the year
before was another window shutter hanging from one hinge and another crippled wagon
in the barnyard which John never had time to mend. They puzzled over it in a
vague distress. And meanwhile life degenerated into a straining, hopeless struggle.
Sometimes lately John had<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">seemed a little listless, as though
nothing mattered. A little bitter when he spoke of Henry Davis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry held the mortgage and had expected a
payment on the principle this year. He had come once and looked about with something
very like a sneer on his face. If he should decide someday to foreclose—that
would be the final blow. They never would get up after that. If John couldn't
hold the old farm, he could<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">never try to buy a new one. It would mean
being renters all their lives. Poor renters at that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She went to the tomato field. It had been
her own idea to do some tracking along with the regular farm crops. But, like
everything else, it had failed of her expectations. As she put the scarlet
tomatoes, just a little overripe, into the basket, she glanced with a hard tightening
of her lips toward a break in the trees a half mile away where a dark,
listening bit of road caught the sun. Across its<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">polished surface twinkled an endless
procession of shining, swift—moving objects. The State Highway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie hated it. In the first place, it
was so tauntingly near and yet so hopelessly far from them. If it only ran by
their door, as it did past Henry Davis's for instance, it would solve the whole
problem of marketing the fruits and vegetables. Then they could set the baskets
on the lawn, and people could stop for them. But as it was, nobody all summer
long had paid the least attention to the sign John had put up at the end of the
lane. And no wonder. Why should travelers drive their cars over the stony
country byway, when a little farther along they would find the same fruit
spread temptingly for them at the very roadside?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">But there was another reason she hated
that bit of sleek road showing between the trees. She hated it because it hurt
her with its suggestions of all that passed her by in that endless procession twinkling
in the sunshine. There they kept going, day after day, those happy, carefree
women, riding in handsome limousines or in gay little roadsters. Some in plainer
cars, too, but even those were, like the others, women who could have rest,
pleasure, comfort for the asking. They were whirled along hour by hour to new
pleasures, while she was weighted to the drudgery of the farm like one of the great
rocks in the pasture field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">And—most bitter thought of all—they had
pretty homes to go back to when the happy journey was over. That seemed to be
the strange and cruel law about homes. The finer they were, the easier it was
to leave them. Now with her—if she had the rug for the parlor and the stuffed
furniture and linoleum for the kitchen, she shouldn't mind anything so much
then; she had nothing, nothing but hard slaving and bad luck. And the highway
taunted her with it. Flung its impossible pleasures mockingly in her face as
she bent over the vines or dragged the heavy baskets along the rows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The sun grew hotter. Jennie put more
strength into her task. She knew, at last, by the scorching heat overhead that
is was nearing noon. She must have a bit of lunch ready for John when he came
in. There wasn't time to prepare much. Just reheat the coffee and set down some
bread and pie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She started towards the house, giving a
long yodeling call for the children as she went. They appeared from the
orchard, tumbled and torn from experiments with the wire fence. Her heart
smothered her at the sight of them. Among the other dreams that the years had crushed
out were those of little rosy boys and girls in clean suits and fresh ruffled
dresses. As it was, the children had just grown like<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">farm weeds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">This was the part of all the drudgery that
hurt most. That she had not time to care for her children, sew for them, teach
them things that other children knew. Sometimes it seemed as if she had no real
love for them at all. She was too terribly tired as a rule to have any feeling.
The only times she used energy to talk to them was when she had to reprove them
for some dangerous misdeed. That was all wrong. It seemed wicked; but how could
she help it? With the work draining the very life out of her, strong as she
was. John came in heavily, and they ate in silence except for the children's
chatter. John hardly looked up from his plate. He gulped down great drafts of the
warmed-over coffee and then pushed his chair back hurriedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"I'm goin' to try to finish the
harrowin' in the south field," he said. "I'm at the tomatoes,"
Jennie answered. "I've got them' most all picked and ready for
takin'."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">That was all. Work was again upon them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">It was two o'clock by the sun, and Jennie
had loaded the last heavy basket of tomatoes on the milk wagon in which she
must drive to town, when she heard shrill voices sounding along the path. The children
were flying in excitement toward her.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Mum! Mum! Mum!" they called as
they came panting up to her with big, surprised eyes. "Mum, there's a lady
up there. At the kitchen door. All dressed up. A pretty lady. She wants to see
you." Jennie gazed down at them disbelievingly. A lady, a pretty lady at her
kitchen door? All dressed up! What that could mean! Was it possible someone had
at last braved the stony lane to buy fruit? Maybe bushels of it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Did she come in a car?" Jennie
asked quickly. "No, she just walked in. She's awful pretty. She smiled at
us." Jennie's hopes dropped. Of course. She might have known. Some agent
likely, selling books. She followed the children wearily back along the path
and in at the rear door of the kitchen. Across from it another door opened into
the side yard. Here stood the stranger. The two women looked at each other
across the kitchen, across the table with the remains of two meals upon it, the
strewn chairs, the littered stove—across the whole scene of unlovely disorder.
They looked at each other in startled surprise, as inhabitants of Earth and Mars
might look if they were suddenly brought face-to-face. Jennie saw a woman in a
gray tweed coat that seemed to be part of her straight, slim body. A small gray
hat with a rose quill was drawn low over the brownish hair. Her blue eyes were
clear and smiling. She was beautiful! And yet she was not young. She was in her
forties, surely. But an aura of eager youth clung to her, a clean and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">exquisite freshness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The stranger in her turn looked across at
a young woman, haggard and weary. Her yellowish hair hung in straggling wisps.
Her eyes looked hard and hunted. Her cheeks were thin and sallow. Her calico
dress was shapeless and begrimed from her work. So they looked at each other
for one long, appraising second. Then the woman in gray smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"How do you do? " she began.
"We ran our car into the shade of your lane to have our lunch and rest for
a while. And I walked on up to buy a few apples, if you have them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie stood staring at the stranger.
There was an unconscious hostility in her eyes. This was one of the women from
the highway.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">One of those envied ones who passed
twinkling through the summer sunshine from pleasure to pleasure while Jennie
slaved on. But the pretty lady's smile was disarming. Jennie started toward a chair
and pulled off the old coat and apron that lay on it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Won't you sit down?" she said
politely. "I'll go and get the apples. I'll have to pick them off the
tree. Would you prefer rambos?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"I don't know what they are, but they
sound delicious. You must choose them for me. But mayn't I come with you? I
should love to help pick them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie considered. She felt baffled by the
friendliness of the other woman's face and utterly unable to meet it. But she
did not know how to refuse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Why I s'pose so. If you can get
through the dirt."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She led the way over the back porch with
its crowded baskets and pails and coal buckets, along the unkept path toward
the orchard. She had never been so acutely conscious of the disorder about her.
Now a hot shame brought a lump to her throat. In her preoccupied haste before,
she had actually not noticed that tub of overturned milk cans and rubbish heap!
She saw it all now swiftly through the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">other woman's eyes. And then that new
perspective was checked by a bitter defiance. Why should she care how things
looked to this woman? She would be gone, speeding down the highway in a few minutes
as though she had never been there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She reached the orchard and began to drag
a long ladder from the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">fence to the rambo tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The other woman cried out in distress.
"Oh, but you can't do that! You mustn't. It's too heavy for you, or even
for both of us. Please just let me pick a few from the ground."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie looked in amazement at the
stranger's concern. It was so long since she had seen anything like it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Heavy?" she repeated.
"This ladder? I wish I didn't ever lift anything heavier than this. After
hoistin' bushel baskets of tomatoes onto a wagon, this feels light to me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The stranger caught her arm. "But—but
do you think it's right? Why, that's a man's work."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie's eyes blazed. Something furious
and long-pent broke out from within her. "Right! Who are you to be askin'
me whether I'm right or not?" What would have become of us if I didn't do
a man's work? It takes us both, slaving away, an' then we get nowhere. A person
like you don't know what work is! You don't know—"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie's voice was the high shrill of
hysteria; but the stranger's low tones somehow broke through.
"Listen," she said soothingly. "Please listen to me. I'm sorry I
annoyed you by saying that, but now, since we are talking, why can't we sit
down here and rest a minute? It's so cool and lovely here under the trees, and
if you were to tell me all about it—because I'm only a stranger—perhaps it
would help. It does sometimes, you know. A little rest would—"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Rest! Me sit down to rest, an' the
wagon loaded to go to town? It'll hurry me now to get back before dark."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">And then something strange happened. The
other women put her cool, soft hand on Jennie's grimy arm. There was a
compelling tenderness in her eyes. "Just take the time you would have
spent picking apples. I would so much rather. And perhaps somehow I could help
you. I wish I could. Won't you tell me why you have to work so hard?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie sank down on the smooth green
grass. Her hunted, unwilling eyes had yielded to some power in the clear,
serene eyes of the stranger. A sort of exhaustion came over her. A trembling
reaction from the straining effort of weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"There ain't much to tell," she
said half sullenly, "only that we ain't gettin' ahead. We're clean
discouraged, both of us. Henry Davis is talking about foreclosin' on us if we
don't pay some principle. The time of the mortgage is out this year, an' mebbe
he won't renew it. He's got plenty himself, but them's the hardest kind."
She paused; then her eyes flared. "An' it ain't that I haven't done my
part. Look at<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">me. I'm barely thirty, an' I might be
fifty. I'm so weather-beaten. That's the way I've worked!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"And you think that has helped your
husband?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Helped him?" Jennie's voice was
sharp. "Why shouldn't it help him?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The stranger was looking away through the
green stretches of orchard. She laced her slim hands together about her knees.
She spoke slowly. "Men are such queer things, husbands especially. Sometimes
we blunder when we are trying hardest to serve them. For instance, they want us
to be economical, and yet they want us in pretty clothes. They need our work,
and yet they want us to keep our youth and our beauty. And sometimes they don't
know themselves which they really want most. So we have to choose. That's what
makes it so hard".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She paused. Jennie was watching her with
dull curiosity as though she were speaking a foreign tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Then the stranger went on: I had to choose
once, long ago; just after we were married, my husband decided to have his own
business, so he started a very tiny<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">one. He couldn't afford a helper, and he
wanted me to stay in the office while he did the outside selling. And I
refused, even though it hurt him. Oh, it was hard! But I knew how it would be
if I did as he wished. We would both have come back each night. Tired out, to a
dark, cheerless house and a picked-up dinner. And a year if that might have
taken something away from us—something precious. I<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">couldn't risk it, so I refused and stuck
to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"And then how I worked in my house—a
flat it was then. I had so little outside of our wedding gifts; but at least I
could make it a clean, shining, happy place. I tried to give our little dinners
the grace of a feast. And as the months went on, I knew I had done right. My
husband would come home dead-tired and discouraged, ready to give up the whole
thing. But after he had eaten and sat down in our bright little living room,
and I had read to him or told him all the funny things I could invent about my
day, I could see him change. By bedtime he had his courage back, and by morning
he was at last ready to go out and fight again. And at last he won, and he won
his success alone, as a man loves to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Still Jennie did not speak. She only
regarded her guest with a half-resentful understanding. The woman in gray
looked off again between the trees. Her voice was very sweet. A humorous little
smile played about her lips. "There was a queen once," she went on,
"who reigned in troublous days. And every time the country was on the
brink of war and the people ready to fly into a panic, she would put on her
showiest dress and take her court with her and go hunting. And when the people
would see her riding by, apparently so gay and happy, they were sure all was
well with the Government. So she tided over many a danger. And I've tried to be
like her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Whenever a big crisis comes in my husband's
business—and we've had several—or when he's discouraged, I put on my prettiest
dress and get the best dinner I know how or give a party! And somehow it seems
to work. That's the woman's part, you know. To play the queen—"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">A faint honk-honk came from the lane. The
stranger started to her feet. "That's my husband. I must go. Please don't
bother about the apples. I'll just take these from under the tree. We only
wanted two or three, really. And give these to the children." She slipped
two coins into Jennie's hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie had risen, too, and was trying from
a confusion of startled thoughts to select one for speech. Instead she only
answered the other woman's bright good-bye with a stammering repetition and a
broken apology about the apples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She watched the stranger's erect, lithe
figure hurrying away across the path that led directly to the lane. Then she
turned her back to the house, wondering dazedly if she had only dreamed that
the other woman had been there. But no, there were emotions rising hotly within
her that were new. They had had no place an hour before. They had risen at the
words of the stranger and at the sight of her smooth, soft hair, the fresh
color in her cheeks, the happy shine of her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">A great wave of longing swept over Jennie,
a desire that was lost in choking despair. It was as though she had heard a
strain of music for which she had waited all her life and then felt it swept
away into silence before she had grasped its beauty. For a few brief minutes she,
Jennie Musgrave, had sat beside one of the women of the highway and caught a
breath of her life—that life which forever<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">twinkled in the past in bright procession,
like the happenings of a fairy tale. Then she was gone, and Jennie was left as
she had been, bound to the soil like one of the rocks of the field. The
bitterness that stormed her heart now was different from the old dull
disheartenment. For it was coupled with new knowledge. The words of the
stranger seemed more vivid to her than when she had sat listening in the
orchard. But they came back to her with the pain of agony.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"All very well for her to talk so
smooth to me about man's work and woman's work! An' what she did for her
husband's big success. Easy enough for her to sit talking about queens! What
would she do if she was here on this farm like me? What would a woman like her do?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie had reached the kitchen door and
stood there looking at the hopeless melee about her. Her words sounded strange
and hollow in the silence of the house. "Easy for her!" she burst
out. She never had the work pilin' up over her like I have. She never felt it
at her throat like a wolf, the same as John an' me does. Talk about choosin'! I
haven't got no choice. I just got to keep goin'—just keep goin', like I always
have—"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She stopped suddenly. There in the middle
of the kitchen floor, where the other woman had passed over, lay a tiny square
of white. Jennie crossed to it quickly and picked it up. A faint delicious fragrance
like the dream of a flower came from it. Jennie inhaled it eagerly. It was not
like any odor she had ever known. It made her think of sweet, strange things.
Things she had never thought about before. Of gardens in the early summer dusk,
of wide fair rooms with the moonlight shining in them. It made her somehow
think with vague wistfulness of all that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She looked carefully at the tiny square.
The handkerchief was of fine, fairy like smoothness. In the corner a dainty
blue butterfly spread his wings. Jennie drew in another long breath. The
fragrance filled her senses again. Her first greedy draft had not exhausted it.
It would stay for a while, at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She laid the bit of white down cautiously
on the edge of the table and went to the sink, where she washed her hands
carefully. Then she returned and picked up the handkerchief again with
something like reverence. She sat down, still holding it, staring at it. This
bit of linen was to her an articulated voice. She understood its language. It
spoke to her of white, freshly washed clothes blowing in the sunshine, of an
iron moving smoothly, leisurely, to the accompaniment of a song over snowy
folds; it spoke to her of quiet, orderly rooms and ticking clocks and a mending
basket under the evening lamp; it spoke to her of all the peaceful routine of a
well managed household, the kind she had once dreamed of having.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">But more than this, the exquisite
daintiness of it, the sweet, alluring perfume spoke to her of something else
which her heart understood, even though her speech could have found no words
for it. She could feel gropingly the delicacy, the grace, the beauty that made
up the other woman's life in all its relations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She, Jennie, had none of that. Everything
about their lives, hers and John's, was coarsened, soiled somehow by the
dragging, endless labor or the days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie leaned forward, her arms stretched
tautly before her upon her knees, her hands clasped tightly over the fragrant
bit of white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Suppose she were to try doing as the
stranger had said. Suppose that she spent her time on the house and let the
outside work go. What then? What would John say? Would they be much farther behind
than they were now? Could they be? And suppose, by some strange chance, the
other woman had been right! That a man could be helped more by doing of these
other things she had neglected?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She sat very still, distressed, uncertain.
Out in the barnyard waited the wagon of tomatoes, overripe now for market. No,
she could do nothing today, at least, but go on as usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Then her hands opened a little; the
perfume within them came up to her, bringing again that thrill of sweet,
indescribable things. She started up, half-terrified at her own resolve.
"I'm goin' to try it now. Mebbe I'm crazy, but I'm goin' to do it
anyhow!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">It was a long time since Jennie had
performed such a meticulous toilet. It was years since she had brushed her
hair. A hasty combing had been its best treatment. She put on her one clean
dress, the dark voile reserved for trips to town. She even changed from her shapeless,
heavy shoes to her best ones. Then, as she looked at herself in the dusty
mirror, she saw that she was changed. Something, at least, of the hard
haggardness was gone from her face, and her hair framed it with smooth
softness. Tomorrow she would wash it. It used to be almost yellow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She went to the kitchen. With something of
the burning zeal of a fanatic, she attacked the confusion before her. By half
past four the room was clean: the floor swept, the stove shining, dishes and
pans washed and put in their places. From the tumbled depths of a drawer Jennie
had extracted a white tablecloth that had been bought in the early days, for
company only. With a spirit of daring recklessness she spread it on the table.
She polished the chimney of the big oil lamp and then set the fixture, clean
and shining, in the center of the white cloth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Now the supper! And she must hurry. She
planned to have it at six o' clock and ring the big bell for John fifteen
minutes before, as she used to just after they were married. She decided upon
fried ham and browned potatoes and applesauce with hot biscuits. She hadn't
made them for so long, but her fingers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">fell into their old deftness. Why, cooking
was just play if you had time to do it right! Then she thought of the tomatoes
and gave a little shudder. She thought of the long hours of backbreaking work she
had put into them and called herself a little fool to have been swayed by the
words of a stranger and the scent of a handkerchief, to neglect her rightful
work and bring more loss upon John and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">herself. But she went on, making the
biscuits, turning the ham, setting the table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">It was half past five; the first pan of
flaky brown mounds had been withdrawn from the oven, the children's faces and
hands had been washed and their excited questions satisfied, when the sound of
a car came from the bend. Jennie knew that car. It belonged to Henry Davis. He
could be coming for only one thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The blow they had dreaded, fending off by
blind disbelief in the ultimate disaster, was about to fall. Henry was coming
to tell them he was going to foreclose. It would almost kill John. This was his
father's old farm. John had taken it over, mortgage and all, so hopefully, so
sure he could succeed where his father had failed. If he had to leave now there
would be a double disgrace to bear. And where could they go? Farms weren't so
plentiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry had driven up to the side gate. He fumbled
with some papers in his inner pocket as he started up the walk. A wild terror
filled Jennie's heart. She wanted desperately to avoid meeting Henry Davis's
keen, hard face, to flee somewhere, anywhere before she heard the words that
doomed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Then as she stood shaken, wondering how
she could live through what the next hours would bring, she saw in a flash the
beautiful stranger as she had sat in the orchard, looking off between the trees
and smiling to herself. "There was once a queen." Jennie heard the
words again distinctly just as Henry Davis's steps sounded sharply nearer on
the walk outside. There was only a confused picture of a queen wearing the
stranger's lovely, highbred face, riding gaily to the hunt through forests and
towns while her kingdom was tottering. Riding gallantly on, in spite of her
fears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie's heart was pounding and her hands
were suddenly cold. But something unreal and yet irresistible was sweeping her
with it. "There was once a queen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She opened the screen door before Henry
Davis had time to knock. She extended her hand cordially. She was smiling.
"Well, how d' you do, Mr. Davis. Come right in. I'm real glad to see you.
Been quite a while since you was over."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry looked surprised and very much
embarrassed. "Why, no, now, I won't go in. I just stopped to see John on a
little matter of business. I'll just—"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"You'll just come right in. John will
be in from milkin' in a few minutes an' you can talk while you eat, both of
you. I've supper just ready. Now step right in, Mr. Davis!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">As Jennie moved aside, a warm, fragrant
breath of fried ham and biscuits seemed to waft itself to Henry Davis's
nostrils. There was a visible softening of his features. "Why, no, I
didn't reckon on anything like this. I 'lowed I'd just speak to John and then
be gettin' on."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"They'll see you at home when you get
there," Jennie put in quickly. "You never tasted my hot biscuits with
butter an' quince honey, or you wouldn't take so much coachin'!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry Davis came in and sat in the big,
clean, warm kitchen. His eyes took in every detail of the orderly room: the
clean cloth, the shining lamp, the neat sink, the glowing stove. Jennie saw him
relax comfortably in his chair. Then above the aromas of the food about her,
she detected the strange sweetness of the bit of white linen she had tucked
away in the bosom of her dress. It rose to her as a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">haunting sense of her power as a woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She smiled at Henry Davis. Smiled as she
would never have thought of doing a day ago. Then she would have spoken to him
with a drawn face full of subservient fear. Now, though the fear clutched her
heart, her lips smiled sweetly, moved by that unreality that seemed to possess
her. "There was once a queen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"An' how are things goin' with you,
Mr. Davis?" she asked with a blithe upward reflection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry Davis was very human. He had never
noticed before that Jennie's hair was so thick and pretty and that she had such
pleasant ways. Neither had he dreamed that she was such a good cook as the
sight and smell of the supper things would indicate. He was very comfortable
there in the big sweet-smelling kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">He smiled back. It was an interesting
experiment on Henry's part, for his smiles were rare. "Oh, so-so. How are
they with you?" Jennie had been taught to speak the truth; but at this
moment there dawned in her mind a vague understanding that the high loyalties of
life are, after all, relative and not absolute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She smiled again as she skillfully flipped
a great slice of golden brown ham over in the frying pan. "Why, just fine,
Mr. Davis. We're gettin' on just fine, John an' me. It's been hard sleddin' but
I sort of think the worst is over. I think we're goin' to come out way ahead now.
We'll just be proud to pay off that mortgage so fast, come another year, that
you'll be surprised!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">It was said. Jennie marveled that the
words had not choked her, had<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">not somehow smitten her dead as she spoke
them. But their effect<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">on Henry Davis was amazingly good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"That so?" he asked in surprise.
"Well now, that's fine. I always<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">wanted to see John make a success of the
old place, but somehow—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">well, you know it didn't look as if—that
is, there's been some talk<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">around that maybe John wasn't just gettin'
along any too—you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">know. A man has to sort of watch his
investments. Well, now, I'm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">glad things are pickin' up a little."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie felt as though a tight hand at her
throat had relaxed. She spoke brightly of the fall weather and the crops as she
finished setting the dishes on the table and rang the big bell for John. There was
delicate work yet to be done when he came in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Little Jim had to be sent to hasten him
before he finally appeared. He was a big man, John Musgrave, big and slow
moving and serious. He had known nothing all his life but hard physical toil. Heaviness
had pitted his great body against all the adverse forces of nature. There was a
time when he had felt that strength such as his was all any man needed to bring
him fortune. Now he was not so sure. The brightness of that faith was dimmed by
experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">John came to the kitchen door with his
eyebrows drawn. Little Jim had told Jim that Henry Davis was there. He came
into the room as an accused man faces the jury of his peers, faces the men who,
though the same flesh and blood as he, are yet somehow curiously in a position
to save or to destroy him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">John came in, and then he stopped, staring
blankly at the scene before him. At Jennie moving about the bright table,
chatting happily with Henry Davis! At Henry himself, his sharp features softened
by an air of great satisfaction. At the sixth plate on the white cloth. Henry
staying for supper!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">But the silent deeps of John's nature
served him well. He made no comment. Merely shook hands with Henry Davis and
then washed his face at the sink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie arranged the savory dishes, and they
sat down to supper. It was an entirely new experience to John to sit at the
head of his own table and serve a generously heaped plate to Henry Davis. It
sent through him a sharp thrill of ufficiency,
of equality. He realized that before he had been cringing in his soul at the
very sight of this<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Henry consumed eight biscuits richly
covered with quince honey, along with the heavier part of his dinner. Jennie
counted them. She recalled hearing that the Davises did not set a very
bountiful table; it was common talk that Mrs. Davis was even more
"miserly" than her husband. But, however that was, Henry now seemed
to grow more and more genial and expansive as he ate. So did John. By the time
the pie was set before them, they were laughing over a joke Henry had heard at
Grange meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie was bright, watchful, careful. If
the talk lagged, she made a quick remark. She moved softly between table and
stove, refilling the dishes. She saw to it that a hot biscuit was at Henry
Davis's elbow just when he was ready for it. All the while there was rising within
her a strong zest for life that she would have deemed impossible only that
morning. This meal, at least, was a perfect success, and achievements of any
sort whatever had been few. Henry Davis left soon after supper. He brought the
conversation around awkwardly to his errand as they rose from the table. Jennie
was ready.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"I told him, John, that the worst was
over now, an' we're getting' on<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">fine!" She laughed." I told him
we'd be swampin' him pretty soon with our payments. Ain't that right
John?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">John's mind was not analytical. At that
moment he was comfortable. He has been host at a delicious supper with his
ancient adversary, whose sharp face arvelously
softened. Jennie's eyes were shining with a new and amazing confidence. It was
a natural moment for unreasoning optimism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Why that's right, Mr. Davis. I
believe we can start clearin' this off now pretty soon. If you could just see
your way clear to renew the note mebbe. . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">It was done. The papers were back in
Davis's pocket. They had bid him a cordial good-bye from the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Next time you come, I will have
biscuits for you Mr. Davis." Jennie had called daringly after him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Now you don't forget that Mrs.
Musgrave! They certainly ain't hard to eat."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">He was gone. Jennie cleared the table and
set the shining lamp in the center of the oilcloth covering. She began to wash
the dishes. John was fumbling through the papers on a hanging shelf. He finally
sat down with and old tablet and pencil. He spoke meditatively. "I believe
I'll do a little figurin' since I've got time tonight. It just struck me that
mebbe if I used my head a little more I'd get on faster." "Well now,
you might," said Jennie. It would not be John's way to comment just yet on
their sudden deliverance. She polished two big Rambo apples and placed them on
a saucer beside him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">He looked pleased. "Now that's what I
like." He grinned. Then making a clumsy clutch at her arm, he added,
"Say, you look sort of pretty tonight."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie made a brisk coquettish business of
freeing herself. "Go along with you!" she returned, smiling and
started in again upon the dishes. But a hot wave of color had swept up in her
shallow cheeks. John had looked more grateful over her setting those two apples
beside him now, than he had the day last fall when she lifted all the potatoes
herself! Men were strange, as the woman in gray had said. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Maybe even John had been needing something
else more than he needed the hard, backbreaking work she had been doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">She tidied up the kitchen and put the
children to bed. It seemed strange to be through now, ready to sit down. All
summer they had worked outdoors till bedtime. Last night she had been slaving
over apple butter until she stopped, exhausted, and John had been working in
the barn with the lantern. Tonight seemed so peaceful, so quiet. John still sat
at the table, figuring while he munched his apples. His brows were not drawn
now. There was a new, purposeful light upon his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie walked to the doorway and stood
looking off through the darkness and through the break in the trees at the end
of the lane. Bright and golden lights kept glittering across it, breaking dimly
through the woods, flashing out strongly for a moment, then disappearing behind
the hill. Those were the lights of the happy cars that never stopped in their
swift search for far and magic places. Those were the lights of the highway
which she had hated. But she did not hate it now. For today it had come to her
at last and left with her some of its mysterious pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie wished, as she stood there, that
she could somehow tell the beautiful stranger in the gray coat that her words
had been true, that she, Jennie, insofar as she was able, was to be like her
and fulfill her woman's part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">For while she was not figuring as John was
doing, yet her mind had been planning, sketching in details, strengthening
itself against the chains of old habits, resolving on new ones; seeing with
sudden clearness where they had been blundered, where they had made mistakes
that farsighted, orderly management could have avoided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">But how could John have sat down to figure
in comfort before, in the kind of kitchen she had been keeping?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Jennie bit her lip. Even if some of the
tomatoes spoiled, if all of them spoiled, there would be a snowy washing on her
line tomorrow; there would be ironing the next day in her clean kitchen. She
could sing as she worked. She used to when she was a girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Even if the apples rotted on the trees,
there were certain things she knew now that she must do, regardless of what
John might say. It would pay better in the end, for she had read the real needs
of his soul from his eyes that evening. Yes, wives had to choose for their
husbands sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">A thin haunting breath of sweetness rose from
the bosom of her dress where the scrap of white linen lay. Jennie smiled into
the dark. And tomorrow she would take time to wash her hair. It used to be
yellow—and she wished she could see the stranger once more, just long enough to
tell her she understood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">As matter of fact, at that very moment,
many miles along the sleek highway, a woman in a gray coat, with a soft gray
hat and a rose quill, leaned suddenly close to her husband as he shot the
highpowered car through the night. Suddenly he glanced down at her and
slackened the speed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"Tired?" he asked. "You
haven't spoken for miles. Shall we stop at this next town?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The woman shook her head. "I'm all
right, and I love to drive at night. It's only—you know—that poor woman at the
farm. I can't get over her wretched face and house and everything. It—it was
hopeless!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">The man smiled down at her tenderly.
"Well, I'm sorry, too, if it was all as bad as your description; but you
mustn't worry. Good gracious, darling, you're not weeping over it, I
hope!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: LucidaGrande, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">"No, truly, just a few little tears.
I know it's silly, but I did so want to help her, and I know now that what I
said must have sounded perfectly insane. She wouldn't know what I was talking
about. She just looked up with that blank, tired face. And it all seemed so
impossible. No, I'm not going to cry. Of course I'm not—but—lend me your
handkerchief, will you dear? I've lost mine somehow!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-6665727582933093682012-05-12T13:00:00.002-07:002012-08-02T11:48:33.746-07:00Mary, Mother of Jesus<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Ig0W3HaNmjg?rel=0" width="560"></iframe>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-41806230201040266082012-05-11T06:00:00.000-07:002012-05-11T06:00:05.944-07:00Friday A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 14<div style="text-align: center;">
Craft time.....<br />
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In a house where a family lives?<br />
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Making beautiful creations that bring joy to our surroundings.</div>
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Working together. Learning new skills. Talking and laughing.</div>
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Admiring our work....</div>
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..then checking to see where the little ones disappeared to...so quietly.</div>
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Oh, Hello.</div>
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Just doing a little study on Aboriginal face paints in here.</div>
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...with the giant tub of clay that was set aside for a school project in a presumably unreachable-by-children spot.</div>
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HAH! </div>
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And while you clean that up, we'll be in the bathroom. Doing what we do....</div>
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And while you clean that up we'll be in the bedroom....doing what we do.<br />
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SHEESH! When will I learn that when the family makes a mess, it is FRUITLESS to try and clean it up by myself??! Because if the kiddo's aren't helping with the current mess....they are (happily and contentedly) making a new one. My girls imagination cracks me up!! I love that they are NEVER bored.<br />
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Now you know why I don't apologize for fingerprints, smudges or dirty kitchen floors. Those are merely signs of everyday living (as opposed to adventurous, imaginative days) in a home where a family lives!<br />
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-41708318419085441792012-05-10T12:35:00.000-07:002012-05-10T12:35:36.851-07:00Love Her Mother<div style="text-align: center;">
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Fathers, want to know how to raise daughters in an increasingly toxic world? No better advice then that offered in this video:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3LQ80TFOGvw?rel=0" width="560"></iframe>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-15427176296317706962012-05-08T15:22:00.000-07:002012-05-08T15:34:45.712-07:003/14 Joan of Arc Opening Day A bit of delayed post. ;) We kicked off our Joan of Arc Component with a fabulous opening day.<br />
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Joan of Arc rode in on horseback carrying her banner!!!</div>
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The girls hearts were absolutely captured after this day! They could not stop talking about Joan of Arc and wanted to learn ALL about her. </div>
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After listening to Jeanne La Pucelle tell us all about her life (she spoke for over half an hour without any notes! Impressive!!) we split up for rotations. The first rotation was cooking a soldiers meal over a fire. It was fun, but HOT and I didn't get any pictures...for obvious reasons (I had my 2 year old with me ;)</div>
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The next station we learned about "noble steeds" and horse care. </div>
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H brushing the miniature horse, "Skittles".</div>
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N feeding Skittles.</div>
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Our last rotation was painting our own banners with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleur-de-lis" target="_blank">fleur de li</a>s. </div>
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What a great day!</div>
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<br />Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-19690697450163049392012-04-27T15:27:00.000-07:002012-04-27T15:27:00.113-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 13<div style="text-align: center;">
Sharpie Markers.... Really. Do they belong in ANY home with children?<br />
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Here are some pictures to prove that they DON'T! Luckily, we all lived to tell the tale.<br />
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Culprit #1 alongside the piano bench. I was originally convinced, via her accomplice, that she was the ONLY culprit.</div>
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Then I saw this:</div>
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Yeah...she's talented, but I'm pretty sure she didn't color her own back.</div>
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Parts of the dining room table. There were little scribbles like this all over it.<br />
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Many pages of this book fell victim.<br />
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The truly painful moment of truth....<br />
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my beloved piano. Each and EVERY key was lovingly "decorated".<br />
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What, Mom? You aren't excited about my artwork?!<br />
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Culprit #2 fesses up. </div>
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The entry way. </div>
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Not to mention the walls, door and fireplace.</div>
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Do you want to hear the happy ending to this story? With a lot of patience and hard work, it almost all came off! ALMOST all. The flat paint on the wall needed to be painted over and there is a faint little mark or two left in the stone entry tiles.<br />
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Bet you wouldn't see THIS if a family didn't live here. ;D<br />
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-28969644416382017132012-04-20T15:22:00.000-07:002012-04-20T15:22:00.254-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 12<div style="text-align: center;">
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Notice the front face of the drawer? ....on the ground!!!<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sl3Cl1cWR_s/T1acvgNEKbI/AAAAAAAACuY/q2ZprpFUp90/s1600/IMG_20111110_181350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sl3Cl1cWR_s/T1acvgNEKbI/AAAAAAAACuY/q2ZprpFUp90/s320/IMG_20111110_181350.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Nothing comes between this baby and her lipgloss!!!!!!!!!<br />
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-44539574622615970072012-04-13T15:22:00.000-07:002012-04-13T15:22:00.548-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 11<div style="text-align: center;">
Styrofoam packing material. What family HASN'T had some sort of mishap with this??? <br />
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The pictures do not do it justice. Our ENTIRE house was covered. They wouldn't vacuum up because of static! <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1XwwgqGqZiE/T1acYKwmF2I/AAAAAAAACuA/Fk5M0a5iFzs/s1600/IMG_4542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1XwwgqGqZiE/T1acYKwmF2I/AAAAAAAACuA/Fk5M0a5iFzs/s320/IMG_4542.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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B was very proud of herself for making "SNOW!"<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yZVa0pmcvK8/T1acgZrrvXI/AAAAAAAACuQ/nff0KOVhg7c/s1600/IMG_4544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yZVa0pmcvK8/T1acgZrrvXI/AAAAAAAACuQ/nff0KOVhg7c/s320/IMG_4544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I love how she crawled down into this shot as I tried to take a pic of the carpet. SMOOOCH!<br />
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-89738922016233438932012-04-06T15:16:00.000-07:002012-04-06T15:16:00.146-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 10<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Feet like this? A SURE sign of a family.</div>
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-13732510773846440502012-04-04T23:24:00.001-07:002012-04-04T23:27:41.334-07:00Children Subjected To Realistic ‘Terror’ and ‘School Shooter’ Drills Where Homeschoolers, Christians Are Portrayed As Terrorists<a href="http://www.thoughtsfromaconservativemom.com/2012/04/children-subjected-to-realistic-terror-and-school-shooter-drills-where-homeschoolers-christians-are-portrayed-as-terrorists/">Children Subjected To Realistic ‘Terror’ and ‘School Shooter’ Drills Where Homeschoolers, Christians Are Portrayed As Terrorists</a><br />
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This is absolutely incredible! Brought to my attention by<a href="http://www.thoughtsfromaconservativemom.com/" target="_blank"> Thoughts From A Conservative Mom:</a><br />
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For example, during a terror drill at a public school <a href="http://townhall.com/columnists/michellemalkin/2004/09/22/anti-homeschooling_bigots_strike_again" style="color: #21304a;" target="_blank" title="in Muskegon County, Michigan">in Muskegon County, Michigan</a>, students and teachers were told that “homeschoolers” were the ones attacking them….</div>
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<em>“The exercise will simulate an attack by a fictitious radical group called Wackos Against Schools and Education who believe everyone should be homeschooled. Under the scenario, a bomb is placed on the bus and is detonated while the bus is traveling on Durham, causing the bus to land on its side and fill with smoke.”</em></div>
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In another case <a href="http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2007/04/whitewashing_jihad_in_the_scho.html" style="color: #21304a;" target="_blank" title="in New Jersey">in New Jersey</a>, students were told that the gunmen were from a group of “fundamentalist Christians” called “The New Crusaders”….</div>
<blockquote style="background-color: #bfc6e3; background-image: url(http://www.thoughtsfromaconservativemom.com/wp-content/themes/wordpress_patriotic_theme/images/PostQuote.png); background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-color: rgb(142, 153, 205); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-image: initial; border-left-color: rgb(142, 153, 205); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(142, 153, 205); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(142, 153, 205); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; color: #2e4266; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 50px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 41px; padding-right: 5px; padding-top: 5px; text-align: justify;">
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<em>“Investigators described them as members of a right-wing fundamentalist group called the ‘New Crusaders’ who don’t believe in separation of church and state. The mock gunmen went to the school seeking justice because the daughter of one had been expelled for praying before class.”</em></div>
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What possible purpose do drills like those have?</div>
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Sadly, those running things keep wanting to make these kinds of drills as frequent as possible.</div>
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Head <a href="http://www.thoughtsfromaconservativemom.com/2012/04/children-subjected-to-realistic-terror-and-school-shooter-drills-where-homeschoolers-christians-are-portrayed-as-terrorists/" target="_blank">here</a> for the whole rundown.</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-34210698069976167392012-04-01T13:18:00.000-07:002012-08-02T11:48:33.742-07:00Easter Tradition!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Update: 4/22/2012 Added text and instructions. Enjoy!</i></div>
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Are you getting ready for Easter, yet? We just pulled out the Easter box from the garage. I am excited to do one of our family's favorite traditions-Symbols of Easter! Some people call them resurrection eggs, as well. I made my set almost a decade ago as a young newlywed with no kids! I was in charge of teaching the 3-12 year olds on Easter and put this together to help teach the kids. </div>
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It has held up over the years and seen lots of use, both in church and in our family. It has become family tradition to go through the eggs while we dye our own, or while our "<a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/resurrection-rolls/" target="_blank">resurrection rolls</a>" are baking in the oven.</div>
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We like to take turns opening the eggs and telling what part of the story of Christ's atonement and resurrection the object symbolizes. Then we read the scripture quote inside the egg. I also keep a one sheet paper of all the quotes to follow along with the kids.</div>
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<i>Instructions for making your own set of Easter symbols</i>:<br />
First, print two copies of the text, below. One copy, you will cut into strips to correspond with and insert in the appropriate eggs. The other copy is nice to keep intact to follow along and to easily reorganize the eggs if anything gets misplaced or out of order.<br />
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Next, gather 14 plastic Easter eggs and number them with a permanent marker, 1-14.<br />
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Finally, gather the various objects/symbols and insert them into the appropriate numbered egg with the corresponding strip of paper.<br />
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Now prepare to do these over, and OVER with your kids! My kids love this and ask to do it several times. We usually don't read the entire text. I often times will paraphrase, or have the children tell me what the object symbolizes, and give their own explanation for what happened in that part of the scripture. Depending on how much time we have, we will also look up the scriptures referenced. Often we will do some sort of hybrid of telling in our own words, reading some of the strips, and reading some of the scripture references. (You will notice that this text is told in story format with actual quotations taken from the Bible sprinkled throughout. Some of it is my own words, some of it was shared with me back when I made my set 10 years ago....unfortunately, I don't know who to give credit to for that part! :(<br />
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<b>EASTER SYMBOLS</b></div>
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Easter celebrates the final triumph of Jesus the Christ at
the end of his earthly mission as he overcame both sin and death. Sometimes it is hard to find a connection
between the common Easter traditions and the Atonement of the Lord. We use many traditional symbols to celebrate
Easter, like Easter eggs, bunny rabbits, Easter baskets and new Easter dresses,
but what is Easter really all about?</div>
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<b>1<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b>(Sacrament Cup)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Jesus knew that the time had come for him
to suffer for our sins and die. He
gathered his Apostles around him for the Passover feast, which was to be his
last supper with them. There he taught
them about the Sacrament so that they would always remember him and what he was
about to do for them…he would bleed and suffer to take away the sins of all
people upon the earth. <b>(Matthew
26:17-30)</b></div>
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<b style="text-indent: -18pt;">2<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b style="text-indent: -18pt;">(Wash cloth/towel)</b></div>
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After the sacrament, Jesus took a towel and
poured water in a bowl. Jesus began to
wash the Apostles feet. Peter asked Jesus,
“Lord, dost thou wash my feet?” Jesus said, “for I have given you an example,
that ye should (wash one another’s feet)…as I have done to you.” He wanted his
Apostles to remember to serve as He was serving them. <b>(John 13:4-15)</b></div>
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<b>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b>(Easter Lilies)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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With the light of a nearly full moon
illuminating the way, Jesus and his apostles climbed the Mount of Olives to the
Garden of Gethsemane. It was there, in
the garden, that Jesus took upon himself not only our sins but also the pain,
infirmities and anguish of our world. It
was not physical pain that caused Him to suffer such torture as to bleed from
every pore; but a spiritual agony of soul such as only a God was capable of
experiencing. No other man, however
great his powers of endurance, could have suffered so much. In that hour of anguish, Christ met and
overcame all the horrors that Satan could inflict. <b>(Matthew
26:36-44)</b></div>
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(There is an age old tradition that says
that Lilies were found growing in the Garden of Gethsemane after Christ’s
agony. Tradition has it that the
beautiful white Lilies sprung up where drops of Christ’s sweat fell to the
ground in His final hours of sorrow and deep distress. The symbol of the Easter
Lily commemorates hope and life everlasting.) Or just talk about
flowers/gardens.</div>
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4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span> <b>(Three Dimes—Pieces of Silver)</b></div>
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A string of torch lights could be seen
coming up the mount. It was a multitude
of armed soldiers led by Jas Iscariot, one of Jesus’ Apostles who had been paid
30 pieces of silver to take them to Jesus. Approaching Jesus, Judas greeted
Jesus and covered Him with kisses…which was the sign to the army that Jesus had
been found.<b> (Matthew 26:14-15)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">5.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><b>(</b> <b>Rope) </b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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It is Friday morning. After a long night of illegal
trials, Jesus was sentenced to death. With a rope tied around His hands, He was
beaten, laughed at and spit upon. An exhausted Jesus was delivered to Pontius
Pilate, the governor. The angry mob kept yelling, "Crucify Him!!"
Pilate really didn't think that Jesus was guilty but the mob wanted Jesus dead.
Pilate thought that if he scourged (whipped) Jesus and beat him until He was
bleeding everywhere that the people would have pity on Him. So Pilate brought
the bleeding wounded Jesus again before the crowd and said, "Behold the
man!" But NO ONE would speak up for Jesus. <b>(Matthew 27: 1-2)</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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6.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span> <b>(Soap)</b></div>
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When
Pilate saw that he could not stop the mob, he took water, and washed his hands
before the multitude saying, “I am innocent of the blood of this just
person." And the people shouted, "His blood be on us."<b> (Matthew 27:24-26)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Scarlet cloth-“robe”)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The soldiers wove a crown of thorns and jammed
it on the tired head of Jesus making His head bleed; they placed a scarlet robe
on His shoulders and then, gloating and mocking him, they whipped Him and spit
upon Him saying, "Hail, King of the Jews."<b> (Matthew 27:28-30)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The soldiers made Jesus carry a large,
wooden cross to the place called Golgatha. Many times Jesus collapsed under the
weight and mounting misery. The men along the road were silent; some women wept.
The cross was raised between two thieves.</div>
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<b>8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b>(Nail)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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For capital punishment, the
Romans chose the cruelest punishment of all....Crucifixion. It was a lingering
death for its tortured victims. Jesus was stripped of his clothing. The
soldiers nailed His hands and feet to the wooden cross and raised it so that
Jesus' body would hang there. He was left to die. While He hung, the skies
began to darken. <b>(Matthew 27: 50-54)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Lots-Different sized sticks)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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As Jesus hung on the cross, the
soldiers below Him cast lots for what was probably His only material possession,
a coat. Jesus prayed in the soldiers behalf, "Father, forgive them; for
they know not what they do." As He hung in anguish, He only had loving
words. To His mother, it was concern that she be cared for. To the thief who
would repent, He gave hope. <b>(Matthew
27:35-36)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>10.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Gravel)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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At noon the heavens grew black for
three hours, as if the universe itself were weeping for the agony of the
Creator. In that time all the infinite agonies and merciless pains of
Gethsemane returned, and His Father's spirit itself withdrew that the victory
might be His. At the ninth hour, 3:00 pm, Jesus cried with a loud voice saying,
"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" In that eerie
mid-afternoon darkness, someone ran and filled a sponge with vinegar. Having
received the vinegar, Jesus said, "Father, it is finished. Thy will is
done." As He died, the veil of the temple was tom in half and the earth
quaked and rocks were broke into pieces. Jesus' mortal body had died. A Roman soldier witnessing the events said,
''Truly this was the Son of God."<b> <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>(Matthew
27:50-54)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>11.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (White Cloth)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Joseph, one of Jesus' disciples, went
to Pilate and begged him for the body of Jesus. Pilate commanded the body to be
delivered to Joseph. Joseph wrapped Jesus' body in a clean linen cloth, and laid
it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock. This would be Jesus'
burial place. Jesus was buried in the
tomb on Friday evening, for Saturday was the Sabbath and burying people on that
day was not allowed. Some women wanted to put special ointments on Jesus' body
to prepare it for burial, but they didn't have time, so they planned to come
back as soon as the Sabbath was over to finish preparing His body.</div>
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<b>12.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Rock)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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A great stone was rolled in front of the
tomb. Pilate ordered the chief Priests and Pharisees to make sure the stone was
secure and ordered someone to watch and guard the tomb. <b>(Matthew 27:60)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>13.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Bay
Leaf Spices)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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While it was yet dark on the morning
of Sunday after the crucifixion, Mary Magdalene and other women arrived at the
tomb of Jesus to mourn and anoint with spices the entombed body. To their utter
surprise and sadness, the stone had been rolled away and Jesus' body was not in
the tomb.<b> (Matthew 28:2-5)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>14.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b> (Empty Egg)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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As Mary Magdalene lingered by the
tomb, two angels appeared and said, "Why seek ye the living among the
dead? Fear not ye; for we know that ye seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not
here for He is risen!"</div>
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Mary did not understand the words of the
angels, for her sorrow at the loss of her beloved Lord was so strong. Mary
turned herself away from the tomb and saw someone in the garden whom she did
not recognize. He asked her, “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?"</div>
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Supposing Him to be the gardener, she
boldly said, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid
him, and I will take him away." Mary's love for the Lord was so powerful
that she offered to physically take the body by herself and see to his proper
burial.</div>
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Now came one of the greatest moments
in all of history, for this man was not the gardener...it was Jesus Christ with
a resurrected body of flesh and bone. And He made Himself known by simply calling
her by name in tones so familiar: "Mary".</div>
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Now she saw, becoming the first
witness of the risen Lord. Her tears of sorrow turned to joy as she exclaimed,
"My beloved master!!" </div>
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Although the events of the first
Easter happened almost two thousand years ago, the story of Jesus does not end
there.</div>
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Still
He lives, and still He loves us. He has again set up His Church on the earth so
that we can have the </div>
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blessings
of the gospel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And
that is the miracle of Easter…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jesus
Christ has triumphed over sin and death.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Does anyone else do "resurrection eggs"? What variations do you use? I would love to know what other Easter-time family traditions you have.<br />
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<br />Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-65863899196813461362012-03-30T15:12:00.000-07:002012-03-30T15:12:00.100-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 9<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Fuzzies..all over the kitchen floor. Totally normal, right?</div>
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-47265621995031905262012-03-29T13:48:00.001-07:002012-03-29T13:48:18.476-07:00A Quote I Am Taking to Heart Today<br />
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"Never forget that these little ones are the sons and daughters of God and that yours is a custodial relationship to them, that He was a parent before you were parents and that He has not relinquished His parental rights or interest in these little ones.</div>
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"Now, love them, take care of them. Fathers, control your tempers, now and in all the years to come. Mothers, control your voices, keep them down. Rear your children in love, in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Take care of your little ones, welcome them into your homes and nurture and love them with all of your hearts.</div>
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"They may do, in the years that come, some things you would not want them to do, but be patient, be patient. You have not failed as long as you have tried. Never forget that" (Gordon B. Hinckley, address to the Salt Lake University 3rd Stake Conference, Nov. 3, 1996).</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-40185679338040573892012-03-29T12:40:00.001-07:002012-08-02T11:47:12.351-07:00Caring for Kefir Grains!<div>
There is an extended family joke about kefir around here. Whenever family is visiting and eating with us, they pause before their first bite/sip of anything and ask, "Is there kefir in this?!"<br />
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We love our kefir grains. I started making my own kefir about 5 years ago, when my midwife suggested I drink kefir during one of my pregnancies. I found some kefir grains from a local acquaintance (what a blessing that I actually found someone close by that was so willing to generously share with me!) and started on the kefir making journey of a lifetime. <br />
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There is so much information to share on kefir. Google around a bit for an in-depth study. I will keep it brief and simple, sharing why we use kefir, what we do with our kefir, and how we care for our kefir grains.<br />
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<b>Why kefir? </b> Do a quick search of kefir and you will find a wealth of information on this popularity-gaining drink. It is a powerhouse probiotic with immense health benefits. In a nutshell, like yogurt, kefir helps feed the "good" gut flora. In addition to that, it wipes out the "bad' gut flora. <br />
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<b>What do you do with your kefir? </b>Smoothies! Most of our kefir is used as the base for daily smoothies. It has a tangy flavor somewhere between a plain yogurt and sour cream. The texture is smooth and creamy.<br />
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We also use kefir in place of buttermilk with delicious results. Kefir can be used in pancakes, waffles, breads, muffins and just about any other baked good that you would use buttermilk in. Kefir is GREAT in homemade ranch dressing. I've also done "buttermilk" chicken that turns out amazing!<br />
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Three years ago, my husband got in on the kefir making fun. He likes to get creative and has even branched out into making ginger drinks and apple "cider" etc. with kefir grains.<br />
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I digress!<br />
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On to kefir-care.<br />
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<b>How do you care for your kefir grains?</b><br />
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<b>Supplies: </b> kefir grains, milk, glass jar, light lid (or something to cover the opening of the jar), plastic/nylon or stainless steel strainer with small openings or a mesh weave, bowl to catch kefir drink, wooden spoon<br />
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<b style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Storing grains:</b><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I store my grains in a glass jar (Mason jar or similar) covered in milk. I rest a light lid on top, just to keep dust, bugs or random things from falling in to the jar. I store this jar at room temperature. Sometimes on my kitchen counter, but usually inside a cupboard In old kitchens we've had, an out of the way spot on the counter top was perfect. </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">My current kitchen is very warm and sunny.</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">This was causing my kefir to "kefirize" much more quickly than I preferred. Storing the jar in a cabinet where it is a bit darker and cooler brought things to the perfect speed.</span>
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Here is a picture of kefir after about 24 hours after giving it fresh milk. It is just starting to separate.</div>
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I like to stir it up a bit before straining. This is not necessary. I do it because it helps straining go a bit quicker.</div>
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Putting my strainer on the bowl.</div>
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Pouring my kefire into the strainer. See the little lumps? Those are kefir grains!</div>
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Stirring the kefir around a it to help speed the process. It is thick!</div>
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Once the kefir has strained, I am left with the grains.
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Close up of the happy little kefir grains.</div>
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Close up of the jar that was holding the kefir. See the sides? Little lines and rivers along the glass. That's a sign of some good kefir!</div>
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Next I scoop the grains up with my wooden spoon and place them back in the jar. Using the same jar is fine and helps to facilitate the kefir process for the next batch. If my jar is starting to get crusty, I will use a new, clean, DRY jar. </div>
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Fill up with milk.</div>
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Rest a lid on top. Store in an out of the way spot for 24 hours while the kefir grains work their magic. Then I will strain and begin again.</div>
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This is the part, on your first batch, that you might have a lot of questions. Feel free to ask, I will try to get to them with time. My blogging window of time is very limited and it will probably take me a long time to get back to you-but I will eventually try my best to answer questions.</div>
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Here is a close up of the strained kefir in the bowl.</div>
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I either use this immediately, or put a cover on and stick in the fridge until I am ready to use it. I've stored it in the refrigerator for a week without any problems. </div>
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<b>UPDATE: </b>I recently purchased a new strainer on Amazon that has been AWESOME for making kefir.<br />
It has also been the best thing I have found for straining small grains like quinoa, etc. I use the 7 inch one with the white/blue Ikea bowl show above. The 3 inch strainer fits perfectly in a wide mouthed mason jar.<br />
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</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-48837682636794764822012-03-28T12:17:00.001-07:002012-04-04T23:26:11.531-07:0050 Forbidden Words<div><div><p><a href="http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2012/03/26/war-on-words-nyc-dept-of-education-wants-50-forbidden-words-removed-from-standardized-tests/">War On Words: NYC Dept. Of Education Wants 50 'Forbidden' Words Banned From Standardized Tests « CBS New York</a></p>
<p> The Absurdity of Beauracracy<br>
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It always starts out with some righteous cause of making a regulation for something that probably didn't need regulating. </p>
<p>For instance, those words involving abuse or pornography....were they really having a problem with test makers using these words and themes? I highly doubt it. Common sense would tell you not to.</p>
<p>Once you get a group of people in a position of power, on a ”board”, they feel the need to tell everyone else what to do. Whether our not they need to be told! They have the power, therefore, they know what is best for you. </p>
<p>Check out the link site the list of words...including dinosaurs and birthday! Hooray for the ”all-knowing” government for ”protecting” us!</p>
<p> ...and so socialism goes....</p>
</div></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-69956038904159144352012-03-25T17:03:00.000-07:002012-03-25T17:08:35.105-07:00California Alert: A chance to teach (and learn) civics while making a real difference – Cedar Life Academy BlogHeads up, Californians! Here is an issue we can all take to heart.<br />
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<a href="http://www.cedarlifeacademy.com/blog/2012/california-alert-a-chance-to-teach-and-learn-civics-while-making-a-real-difference/">California Alert: A chance to teach (and learn) civics while making a real difference – Cedar Life Academy Blog</a><br />
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California Alert: A chance to teach (and learn) civics while making a real difference--written by Karen at Cedar Life Academy</h2>
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California legislators are currently considering <strong>a bill that will impact generations of young children</strong> if we don’t stand up to protect our children and unborn grandchildren today! This is NOT a homeschool issue, but is something that will impact every future 5-year-old. Please let your legislators know your opposition with a quick phone call, fax, or letter. They will be making some decisions next week, so time is critical. They need to know if there is opposition. If you are short on time, just tell them you are opposed to AB 2203. It’s that easy.<br />
<strong>The Bill:</strong> AB 2203.<br />
<strong>What it would do:</strong> Lower <em><strong></strong></em>California’s current full time compulsory education law from age 6 to age 5.<br />
<strong>Why does it matter?</strong> You might be wondering why it matters if this law is enacted, because most kids already attend kindergarten. Yes, it’s customary for a child to attend kindergarten, but it is not required by law! It matters because all children would have to attend kindergarten, <em>ready or not</em>. The choice for a parent to make the decision of readiness would be taken from them.<br />
<strong>If most kids are in kindergarten anyway, why change the law?</strong>Well, legislators have been trying to do this for years, because it’s part of the master plan to institute Universal Preschool – a plan that would get our 3-4 year old preschoolers into the public school system.<br />
<strong>It’s once again time to speak up and say NO!</strong> I participated in an effort to lower compulsory education over a decade ago. We can do it again! All it takes is everyone, whether they have young children or not, to contact their legislators and let their voice be heard. Legislators do listen!<br />
<strong>My personal reasons for opposition:</strong><br />
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<li>The law is not needed. Most 5-year-olds attend kindergarten, so we don’t need to legislate it. Legislators need to stop trying to fix things that aren’t broken.</li>
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<li>It will cost the State more money, and none of us can afford more taxes or the loss of a more important program!</li>
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<li> It will bring us closer to Universal Preschool because the State will set up new classes for 4- to 5-year-olds who just missed kindergarten or aren’t ready. So, we’ll be paying for pre-kindergarten classes. I don’t like the expense, but more important, I don’t like taking kids from their parents at such a young age.</li>
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<li>Parents will be required to enroll their children even if they don’t believe their child is ready for kindergarten. This is wrong!</li>
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<li>As I read the bill, it looks like they are talking about<em><strong> full time</strong></em>required schooling starting at age 5. Children just aren’t ready for full time school at that age! The only reason to do so is to support working parents so that they have free child care, and I’m not willing to be part of such a horrible change that will affect innocent unborn children in the future.</li>
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<strong>Concerned citizens have successfully helped defeat similar bills.</strong>It’s time to do so again. It’s an empowering feeling to be part of history by speaking out.<br />
<strong>If you have older children,</strong> this would be a tremendous civics lesson, better than any workbook. Explain to them how to search for a bill and how to be an informed citizen, and how to let a legislator know your thoughts. And let them know how important it is for parents to have the right to decide when a child is ready for kindergarten. Your head will be spinning if this is new, so <a href="http://assembly.ca.gov/legislativeprocess" style="background-color: transparent; color: #690b0b; text-decoration: none;" title="legislative process">read the information on this page</a> with your kids (because homeschool learning is a family project!)<br />
<strong>You should always read the legal stuff for yourself</strong>, so here are some important links. If you’ve never followed a bill as it works its way to becoming the law, I think you’ll find it fascinating!<br />
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<li><strong><a href="http://www.leginfo.ca.gov/pub/11-12/bill/asm/ab_2201-2250/ab_2203_bill_20120223_introduced.pdf" style="background-color: transparent; color: #690b0b; text-decoration: none;" title="Legislative counsel's digest">Legislative Counsel’s Digest</a>.</strong> This is an analysis along with current law and the proposed changes.</li>
<li><strong><a href="http://aedn.assembly.ca.gov/membersstaff" style="background-color: transparent; color: #690b0b; text-decoration: none;" title="Committee on Education">Committee On Education</a>.</strong> This is the committee that will be hearing this bill on March 28, 2012. Contacting them immediately would help a lot, since it’s better that they hear about opposition before they make any decisions.</li>
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<strong>For future legislation, here’s a <a href="http://www.leginfo.ca.gov/" style="background-color: transparent; color: #690b0b; text-decoration: none;" title="leg info">good site to bookmark</a>.</strong> Then whenever you hear about legislation in the news, you can go read the original source. You can type in the name of the bill (this one is AB 2203) and then read the status and history of the bill. You can even sign up to receive emails when there has been any change. How cool is that!<br />
I’d love to hear the responses to your phone calls, if you choose to call. Send me a private email or post on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HomeschoolNews" style="background-color: transparent; color: #690b0b; text-decoration: none;" title="Homeschool News">my Facebook page</a>. And if you decide to write and want some moral support or even proofreading, just send it to me at karen@cedarlifeacademy.com. <em>I would not make such an offer if I didn’t feel so passionate about protecting our young children. Together, we can make a difference!</em></div>
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<br /></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-81542003312660058252012-03-23T11:30:00.000-07:002012-03-23T12:11:28.188-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Welcome to "The Relaxation Station"</div>
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(Yes, that is what they called it. Came up with it one their own.)</div>
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What? You don't have a spa in the middle of your dining room? These girls must have sensed Mommy's stress! They secretly put this together then invited me with a "ticket" to the spa. Ironically, this is the only "spa" I've ever been to! It was better than I could have imagined! Do you see those cuties??? Really, what could be better?</div>
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Notice the boombox in the picture? A cd of ocean sounds was playing on it. The towel under the table was where I got my massage/baby sit on your tummy and everyone has a giggle-fest! That was followed by toenail painting. Jealous, yet?</div>
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-27791817486963683872012-03-16T14:51:00.000-07:002012-03-16T14:51:00.722-07:00Friday: A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 7Tea Parties. They happen at our house for any old reason. At any old time. A SURE sign of a family, right? At least, a family full of girls. <br />
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My cute, sweethearts create them all on their own. A written invitation is always issued. The invitation for this party was on a heart shaped paper, stating Tea Party. Lunch by H Games by N (because what "party" would be complete without games??) Heart shaped signs were on the door of the kitchen.<br />
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The attention to detail! They made their own frilly toothpicks by coloring little cut up pieces of paper!</div>
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Heart decorations on the sliding door. </div>
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Pinkies up!</div>
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Getting ready for "Pin the tiara on the princess" </div>
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<a href="http://www.queenscarlett.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i969.photobucket.com/albums/ae172/leighbug_photo/MyPicture-1.jpg" /></a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-53022600363685694882012-03-09T05:00:00.000-08:002012-03-09T05:00:15.270-08:00Friday A Family Lives Here: Exhibit 6Totally normal scenes at our house:<br />
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Living room windowsill:</div>
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Fireplace mantel:</div>
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And end table in the living room:</div>
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<br />Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-70076732356238193502012-03-05T13:38:00.003-08:002012-03-05T13:38:54.142-08:00Jamie of Simple Homeschool--Thoughts on homeshool as a social movement.--EXCELLENT!<br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This article SPOKE to me on so many levels. I cut and pasted a brief section, to whet your appetite, but </span></span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal;">please</i><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> click over to the full piece. It is succinct yet passionate and I couldn't agree more.</span></span></h3>
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"Concerned</h3>
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<a href="http://simplehomeschool.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/rocks-e1330809341919.jpg" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><img alt="" height="299" src="http://simplehomeschool.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/rocks-e1330809341919.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" title="Hare Creek in Limekiln State Park" width="450" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/mikebaird/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">mikebaird</a></em></span></div>
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Godin is right–the world should be concerned about crazy homeschooling families like mine and yours.</div>
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<strong>After all, social movements have always been started by groups of people who made solid institutions feel “concerned.”</strong> I imagine quite a few were concerned when abolitionists would no longer keep silent about the evils of slavery or when women rose up and demanded the right to vote.</div>
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These movements went on to change and influence the world, and as homeschoolers continue to model a successful path through our modern-day educational minefield, so will we.</div>
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Time Commitment</h3>
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“The cost (in time) of one parent per student is huge–and halving it for two kids is not nearly enough. Most families can’t afford this, and few people have the patience to pull it off.”<br /><em>~ Stop Stealing Dreams, Chapter 121</em></blockquote>
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Without a doubt, homeschooling involves a major time, effort, and cost commitment from families, making it out of reach for the majority. <strong>But it is within reach for many, and the important things in life always involve a sacrifice of time, cost, and commitment.</strong></div>
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I’ve heard a similar argument before–when my husband and I completed two international adoptions to add Trishna and Elijah to our family. Opponents of adoption say that the cost is prohibitive and therefore it doesn’t work on a mass scale. Some suggest that those who adopt should instead donate the money to charity, to make a difference for greater numbers of children.</div>
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There is some truth to this argument. Adoption is a <a href="http://www.steadymom.com/2009/11/adoption-a-beautiful-broken-system-moms-30minute-blog-challenge.html" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">broken system</a>–a miracle for the one, not a solution for the masses. I don’t know why my two adopted children received this miracle, but they did. And our entire family is blessed because of it.</div>
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Industrialized schooling is a broken system as well. And if it’s in my power to give my kids a superb education, it’s also my obligation, my responsibility to do so.</div>
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Just because we can’t solve the beast of schooling and all its problems overnight, it doesn’t mean that we can’t give our own kids the education we know they need and deserve. <strong>Mother Teresa said it well: “If I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at the one, I will.”</strong></div>
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The one lives in our homes, and through our choice to homeschool we act to nurture their dreams. Not because it’s easy, not because we have the patience to pull it off, but because our children are worth it.</div>
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So we rise to the challenge."</div>
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..."<strong style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 30px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">My children don’t need a great education someday, they need one <em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">now</em>."</strong></div>
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<a href="http://simplehomeschool.net/homeschooling-as-movement/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+SimpleHomeschool+%28Simple+Homeschool%29" target="_blank">Read more at Simple Homeschool</a></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-65843292892370720222012-02-27T14:09:00.000-08:002012-03-09T20:05:10.272-08:00Cornmeal Mush and Cakes<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First, use your handy-dandy grinder and lovely assistant to grind dried corn (not popcorn!) into cornmeal.</div>
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Cook in double the water. (It cooks up fast...why it was America's version of "Hasty Pudding"!)</div>
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Serve with butter and honey.</div>
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Enjoy the smiles!</div>
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Pour the leftovers into mini-loaf pan, stick in fridge.</div>
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For a mid-morning snack, you can slice them up and fry in a dab of butter a la' Laura Ingalls! (Minus the salt pork drippings.)</div>
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These were gobbled up faster than I could click my camera!</div>
<br /></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-17266160742137183272012-02-23T14:34:00.000-08:002012-03-06T14:47:16.862-08:00Giotto and His FrescoesAfter spending the morning learning about Giotto, we put the baby down for a nap and went to work creating frescoes of our own.<div>
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First we mixed up the plaster of paris according to the package directions</div>
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Next, poured it into clean pie tins.<br />
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Let them semi-dry for about 20 minutes. Next we used some toothpicks and pencils to outline our designs. Then we set to work painting them with acrylic paints.<br />
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Last, we set them on the patio do dry.</div>
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N's masterpiece: </div>
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Sadly, it was during this step that tragedy occurred. B had woken up from her nap by this point and somehow snuck onto the patio. It took about 30 seconds for destruction to take place. Since I didn't get pics of the completed works BEFORE disaster...I decided to at least document the aftermath. Oh well...it was all about the experience, right?!</div>
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H's work of art:</div>
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N's, post attack:</div>
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My lovely flowers...a bit "scratched" up.</div>
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H had a good attitude and said..."It just makes them look older!" ;)</div>
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<br /></div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4559900931151420864.post-86174236217551594642012-02-22T14:08:00.000-08:002012-03-06T15:54:46.262-08:00Crockpot Chicken Stock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I finally did it! I have been dying to try the easy-peasy method of crockpot stock. Now there is no going back!<br />
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Have you done this before? If not, here are my simple instructions.<br />
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<ol>
<li>Save chicken bones and discards in the freezer. (over the course of a month--we don't eat a ton of meat, so you might accumulate this much quicker-- we added to a zippered bag in the freezer: the carcass from a rotisserie chicken, leftovers from bbq chicken, various scraps,etc.)</li>
<li>Put scraps in the crockpot, fill with water until chicken and bones are covered. Add a handful each of chopped onion, carrots and celery.</li>
<li>Set to low and let it do it's thing for a day. I went almost a full 24 hours. </li>
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At this point I let it cool, then put in a glass container to store until we used it to make soup the next day. It formed a perfect gel!</div>
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I added salt, pepper and herbs to taste after heating to reuse.</div>
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Another cool thing that happens? The bones practically disintegrate after all that long, slow cooking. Marrow and goodness all leeched into my wonderful, delicious, nutrient-rich stock!</div>Guileless Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11346787167791852280noreply@blogger.com1