Journalism

I've lost a lot of respect for journalists these last so many years.  It begs the question as to what students are being taught at universities regarding the solemn obligation this profession holds.  And it isn't as simple as telling the truth.  It is as simple as telling both sides of the story. 

Have you seen the hilarious ad with the "French model"?  "Well, where did you learn that?"  "The Internet."  "They can't put anything on the Internet that isn't true."

All media have a captive audience.  Information flows one way (from the writer to the reader), and that information is supposed to be obtained in a specific manner, such as confirming a story with at least two sources.  Writing editorial comments in the body of a story is wrong.  Slanting a story by using quotes taken out of context is wrong.  Leaving out material from a story or not even reporting a story that the public has the right to know about is wrong.  Writing about trivial subjects to the exclusion of important stories is wrong.  Entertaining rather than reporting is wrong.  Becoming part of the story is wrong.

Journal is the root word of journalism.  Journals have become more popular of late, often as therapy.  A journal is a day-to-day record of what is happening, either on the micro level, such as one person's life, or the macro level such as the United States.  A lead story should be the most important thing that happened that day. 

Back in the day when I first wrote for, and then edited, The Signal Newspaper in Canal Fulton, Ohio, I used a book given to me by my boss, Dave Burkhardt.  It is called, "Community Journalism."  The basics of this book ring as true today as when it was written.  The freedom of the press, a hallmark of our free system, ought never to be abused or misused.  Again, it is a solemn obligation to do the job right.  And that applies to someone writing a blog or someone in the Washington press corps.

Why the basket photo at the top of the page today?  I'm going to try and make some that look something like the photo.  We'll see what happens.  If you want the baskets to mean a little more, we could tell a little story at this point.  The basket represents your life.  So what do you fill the basket with?  That's for you to answer, but God has some ideas.

The wind is dying down.  Thank goodness for that.  Keep warm, fellow life travelers.

The Pink House

In downtown Canal Fulton sits a pink house.  It's right across the street from Keillor's, the place that sells the stuffed animals. 

The house is well over 100 years old.  For many years, Clyde Gainey, the historian I told you about in an earlier column, lived there with his wife.  Prior to that, Dr. Hiram Dissinger lived there.  His office was right next door.

"Doc" Dissinger was an interesting man.  According to those who knew him, he had a rather nasal, whiny voice.  He boarded his horses at a nearby stable, and made house calls in his buggy.  He'd head out on any one of the 10 roads that meet in Canal Fulton to see ill patients on farms all over.  Truth be told, if there were a few that occupied his time for nothing (early versions of hypochondriacs), he'd use another road to miss them.

It's not like cars going by today.  People in the houses could HEAR the buggy coming and get out on the porch to call, "Doc," before he could get out of ear range. 

The good doctor probably wouldn't have become as well known as he has except for his curiosity.  A little boy died and Doc Dissinger wanted to know why.  The little boy's parents refused an autopsy, so the evening after the burial, Doc went to the gravesite and dug up the little boy.  He brought the body  back to the office where he did the autopsy and then returned him to the grave.  It's gruesome, yes, but maybe Doc had a good reason for doing this.  Who knows?  I think that Doc would have been quiet about the whole thing, but perhaps the helper in this case told someone, and then they told someone, and so on.

Sometimes when I'm in town, I look at the house and try to imagine what it was like back when Doc was practicing.  Not just the images, but the people, the lifestyle.  Once my sister observed that ours lives differed in one predominant way.  "You don't have as many choices," she said, referring to the simpler life here in town.  She had maybe three grocery stores or more.  We were lucky to have the one. 

Well, here I am in the craft room again, and the place stinks like fabric softener.  We were using it to remove border paper.  It's time for me to get going and wash down the walls to remove the fabric softener.  Should have gone to Home Depot for the steamer yesterday!!

Breathe in peace, breathe out stress.  Repeat.

The Mess

Have you ever watched one of those HGTV shows where rank amateurs are taking on, say, a kitchen renovation?  It's chaos.  Each time they start to tackle another element of the job, there is a bad surprise.  Plumbing problems seem to top the list. 

Well, the craft room is all cleaned out and now it is time to remove the border paper that was such a hit 17 years ago.  It is so bare in here that sounds echo throughout the room.  The computer table is in the middle of the room to allow access to the border paper.

So guess where all the rest of the stuff is?  Everywhere.  There isn't another room in the house that hasn't been affected by this project.  Storage areas for "craft" materials are:  the basement, the enclosed porch, the dining room, and the spare bedroom.  Yikes!!  If it were not for the border paper, the room would likely have been painted already and we could have started replacing the wood trim by now.  We don't even HAVE the wood trim yet.

The worst part is that we won't have this problem solved in 30 minutes or 60 minutes like on HGTV.  It will go on and on for a while.  Patience!!  Isn't that one of the keys to life? 

This small example here is a realistic depiction of what happens in our lives when we go astray. The mess of it travels all about, spreading here and there and before long, there is no peace to be found, no sanctuary.  Our souls long for union with God.  We want reconciliation.  We need repair.

When we were building this house, my work calendar showed the stress of it.  In order to see through to the end, to arrive at moving day and beyond, I'd put a notation on the calendar six months ahead such as, "Well, how do you like the house now?"  In this way, the concern over digging a well, installing a septic system, putting up walls, drywalling, roofing and siding didn't seem as daunting.  That was 1987!!  I can still remember how hard we worked, but you know, there were wonderful family moments too. 

Thank you, Lord, for patience!!  Congratulations to the Tohills on the birth of their granddaughter, Abby, yesterday!!

Hummers

I hope you scrolled down to find today's post.  We're talking about hummingbirds.  Hummers are amazing little things.  I'd never seen one until I was about 40.

Then when we moved to these woods, a hummingbird feeder seemed like a good idea.  I've been through a number of them and finally found a system that works and lasts through the seasons.  I'll give you the website at the end.

The hummingbird nest photo above is a little blurry because I tried to get in very close.  I don't think people find them very often.  It was pure luck!!  I kept seeing this female hummingbird fly from the feeder to the maple tree in front of the house.  Over and over again, so fast, so agile.  Since the spare room window faces the maple, I watched and finally one day was rewarded when I saw her sitting on the nest.  It was September already.  The babies were already gone, but she remained, perhaps trying to catch her breath before her daunting flight to warmer climes for the winter.

When she left and hadn't returned to the nest in days, I got a clipper and removed the branch with nest attached.

The nest is made of spider webs.  The outside is covered with small pieces of leaves, set like tiles, and stuck there by presumably her spit.  The inside of the nest is softer than rabbit fur.  It would have held 3-4 pea-size eggs.  Can you imagine? 

If anyone ever has a doubt that there is a God, look to nature.  Watching hummingbirds is an affirmation of the power of our Creator. 

To get a sturdy, easy-to-clean hummingbird feeder, try
http://backyardchirper.com.  I was so happy with the first one, I bought a second.  The base is  like a light bulb base.  The bottles just screw into it.  You can go from eight ounces to probably 32 ounces.

Thank you, Lord, for the hummers!

Part Two

Yesterday's blog was about "The Little Match Girl," the story by Hans Christian Andersen.  There is something rather profound that I missed.

Andersen went where few authors had gone -- writing for children.  He inspired later works by A.A. Milne and Kenneth Grahame (Winnie the Pooh and The Wind in the Willows).  Andersen's own works stressed perseverance in strife and other character qualities that are treasured but not necessarily common today.

When Jesus walked the earth, he especially reached out to children.  His disciples at one point tried to get him to move on so that they might continue their work, but Jesus chastised them a bit, telling them that the Kingdom of God is made of such as these.

During Jesus' time, children were chattel.  They were bought and sold by the Romans, and were given little credence.  Jesus elevated the status of children and showed his great love for them.  This was yet another piece of gravel under the Romans' feet, for they viewed Jesus as a threat in many different ways. 

Andersen's stories for children, especially those that tell the plight of the poor and neglected, stand as testimony that children matter, that their feelings matter, and that their lives matter.  Andersen's own life was hardly cushy.  He was born to poorer folk, and after his father's death, his mother supported them by being a washerwoman.  He'd started out as a singer but lost the position when his voice changed.  Someone at the theater said that he was a poet.  Andersen took that comment to heart and pursued his writing until his death.  Through the generosity of a rich man, Andersen was able to attend grammar school but he himself was often badly treated and suffered beatings. 

Andersen captured something that it has taken many years to understand -- children are the least like us physically but the most like us emotionally.  And yet we often do things absolutely backwards.

My favorite statue regarding Andersen is in the Copenhagen harbor -- the Little Mermaid.  Check it out online. 

Little Match Girl

There are a ton of ads for new movie releases lately.  Most have loud, grating soundtracks and lots of destruction and violence at their core.

One new one is an adult version of the old story, Hansel and Gretel.  Most of us probably never thought of an oven in quite the same way after hearing that story.  Being lost is always a trigger fear for people, and children lost in the woods is horrible to conger up.

As most of the "fairy tale" movies in the last year or so, this one has turned to the dark side.  The movie about Snow White and the Woodsman did the same.  The Batman movie (where a shooter interrupted one showing of it) was also a darker, deeper exploration.  The new Superman promises more of the same.  There's a pattern here, isn't there?  Darker, deeper, creepier, louder, more destructive, more depraved.  Who says art doesn't imitate life?

The story that just haunted me as a child, though, was The Little Match Girl.  It's a story by the famous Dane, Hans Christian Andersen, first published in 1845.  A little poor girl lives with her family but they send her out to sell matches on the streets and she is afraid to go home (she hasn't sold any) because her father will beat her.  It's winter and cold and she can see through the windows of some of the homes -- a view of a fire in a fireplace, food on the table, and children safe from harm.  On the other hand, she is very vulnerable.  She lights one match after the other, trying to stay warm.  With each match, she sees a vision of her grandmother and she tries to keep the matches lit to continue this vision.  Her grandmother was the only person ever to be kind to her.  During the night she dies, and is carried to heaven in her grandmother's arms.

The next morning they find the little girl frozen to death.  The story still makes me tear up.  It is a dark story, but its meaning far surpasses the gratuitous noise, destruction, and violence of today's movies.  The little ones need us.

Stay warm, my friends.  It's snowing like crazy outside right now.

Weather in a word -- frigid

Whenever we have one of these intensely cold weather patterns, it begs the question -- who would move to Alaska?  Perhaps one of the calls of the wild that beckons people to Alaska is individualism.  Even while living in a community up north, there is plenty of room to be alone and to pursue one's own path.

Voices coming from the far left in America would have us believe that freedom is the right to choose.  Our country just observed the 40th anniversary of Roe v Wade and there is an advertisement commemorating this occasion that just blows me away.  It so trivializes the life of the unborn that there are no words to describe it. 

We always have a choice with God -- always.  We have free will.  Each day we make a myriad of decisions and most of them have very little import in the grand scheme of things.  But now and again something momentous comes up, and we must go down one road or another.  With prayer as our armor, the Holy Spirit indwelling as our shield, and with our guardian angel by our side, we run through life towards the goal at the end.  We run in the great race, all the while making choices, and with our eyes on the prize.

Our choices in life come from God, not from the government.  If we choose to live a conservative life, that precedes any political party affiliation. 

Some see the Christian life as one controlled by a list of no-nos.  Quite the contrary, living the Christian life brings joy, freedom, and peace.  Some see the 10 commandments as more evidence of this control, but Christians know that there are really just two commandments that sum things up.  Love God and love neighbor.  These statements are not what you can't do, but rather what you CAN do. 

May God bless us today, and the Alaskans too.

Early to bed ...

Who hasn't heard the old adage, "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise?"

Here's an interesting exercise.  Count up the number of hours you have to get something done when you get up early and then when you sleep in and stay up later.  The benefit is definitely on getting up early. 

Sleep is necessary for us, and mostly because we need to dream.  The physical rest might not be nearly as important as the mental rest that our brains need to sort out a day's events.  But sleep can become an escape from unpleasant realities:  a job that isn't going well, depression, worry, financial concerns, and so on. 

The same thing might be said for mind-numbing activities that don't do a thing for us in the long run.

As hard as it is, we are much better off to be on a schedule, and soldier off toward our responsibilities.  Problems don't get solved when we run away from them.  Better to run to God with them.

God helps us through it all.  He is with us, step by step.  The happiest people are those who have hope, who find joy, and who give over their troubles to a God who is interested in every aspect of our lives.

Stay warm!!!

Demo Day

Today we begin the complete transformation of my "craft room," AKA a spare bedroom.  The first step -- the closet. 

By painting and configuring the closet, I can get a lot of the baskets and boxes out of the way before we start the rest of the room.  And that means less carrying and storing in some other part of the house that would start to look trashed.  I hate clutter.

The light blue paint in here is 16 years old.  The carpet is just fine, held up well.  We're keeping it.  So I'll just snap a quick picture this morning for posterity and the games will begin!! 

There's a moral in here somewhere -- transformation, overhaul, clean sweep.  Sometimes that's what our lives are begging for.  A change in thinking, behavior, language, job, hobby can possibly make a huge difference.  A woman who was nearly killed in the Colorado movie theater (the Batman movie) has decided to become an EMT.  She was inspired by the way that she was treated at the scene for her wounds.  Something good out of something bad.  An overhaul, a repurposing, a clean sweet.

Good deal.

Picky, picky

Don't you think people have gotten a little picky these days?  Oh, I know.  You've heard about the Great Depression and the hardships that Americans faced.  Butter, gasoline, and rubber were all rationed.  New materials were invented to meet the needs of a growing population.  Enterprising cooks came up with such delights as "Tomato Soup Cake."  It isn't as bad as it sounds, and it's actually one of my husband's favorites.  But now it's asiago cheese, arugula, strange Asian greens, fish oil, and a myriad of other things you would think we couldn't live without.

We are spoiled, and it isn't just the humans who have gotten into that trap.  Believe it or not, our backyard bird feeder is a great example of how our fine feathered friends have also gotten spoiled.  We always bought our birdseed from the Fulton Feed in Canal Fulton, Ohio.  It was a large brick structure that blended right into the banks of the Tuscarawas River.  Attached to it was the more utilized feed part of the business.  They carried some quality birdseed there.  When the structure succumbed to the forces of nature rather suddenly one day (and thankfully no one was inside), we were really dumbstruck.  And beyond feeling bad about a building I'd always liked was the second big question, "Where can we get birdseed?"

Well, friends, we have great news.  It wasn't long after the demise of the feed store that we found out the owner has another such place in Hartville.  It's fairly close to the center of things.  It's called the Hartville Elevator Co.  They sell the same great birdseed that we had come to rely on, and apparently so did our bird friends.  When you walk into the door, it smells just the same as the old building in Canal Fulton too.  A bonus.  They should charge for it.

Lately, due to a combination of laziness and other factors, we haven't gone to get our supply of seed, and bought some at the local BJs instead.  The birds noticed the difference.  Even in the cold weather, they are not emptying the feeder as was the usual practice.  Not only that but I don't even think the squirrels like it very much.  They usually show up to eat leftovers and spillages on the ground.

So here we are -- picky, picky, picky.  It should make me feel a little bit better about being spoiled but it actually doesn't.  Good day to you all.

Good Day

It's really early.  My husband has some kind of bug, and isn't feeling well at all.  We're hoping to get him in to see the doctor today.  He should NOT have gone to the grocery store yesterday, but that's another story.  So pray for Eric, okay?

Meanwhile, apparently Monday was a national mental health day.  A lot of folks probably didn't know that, and the ones who needed it most likely had no clue.  We certainly are a nation of mental health dianoses, aren't we?  Personality disorders seem to dominate the list of problems at this time.  It's frustrating.  All I know is that when I was in a "stinkin' thinkin'" mode some years ago, my mental health status wasn't too good.  Getting back on track with God was one step in the right direction, a direction towards healing and health.

There's this town in Maryland -- Accident.  I've always wondered what it was like to live in Accident.  We went through it on the way to Deep Creek Lake, Maryland and it's really a cute and charming little place.  Filling out insurance forms after an accident in Accident must be humerous.  Texting that, "I'm in accident," probably would cause the recipient some angst.  Yeah, I know.  There's always Hell, MIchigan.  No thanks.

Slow Saturday

Maybe it was the pace of the pre-holiday rush, but whatever it is, I'm tired.  Life on a farm always made sense to me.  When the weather is warmer, the farmer works like crazy, first sowing seed, then tending crops, and finally in the last frenzy, harvesting and celebrating another growing season.  When winter comes, the farmer has a chance to move at a slower pace, checking seed catalogs and maintaining some farm equipment. 

And so perhaps I'll just winter.

Years ago when I first heard about the charismatics, I was extremely skeptical.  Whatever did this mean?  As usually happens when something different comes around, the most unusual of the attributes rises to the top.  And so I heard about speaking in tongues.  Sure, I knew that phrase from the Bible, but whatever did that have to do with modern times?

Maybe nine years ago, I went to a Gifted and Called event.  We took assessment tests and met in groups and learned about the gifts (charisms) that God had given us.  Some of these charisms are hospitality, prophecy, knowledge, crafts, and healing.  As we go through this life, it is a really good thing to know what your own gifts are!!  And I learned a lot that day.  When we know what our gifts are, we can pay them forward. 

The Catherine of Sienna Institute has a program like this, and it is available for groups and parishes.  The younger you are when you identify your charisms, the better it is!  If your gift is speaking in tongues, then this simply means that you have a special way of communicating with God.

The word charismatic has as its root the word charism or gift.  The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

John

The last prophet -- John -- was special.  He lived a most simple life, feeding on locusts and honey and wearing clothing made of itchy fibers.  He lived a hard life in the desert regions, prayed, and fasted.  We know John by his more common title, John the Baptist.  He was Jesus' cousin, the son of Elizabeth.

A man of deep prayer, John began baptizing people in the Jordan River.  His message was clear, "Repent, and prepare the way of the Lord."  And some thought he was perhaps the Messiah that they had long awaited, but he stated clearly that he was not, that there was one coming so great he was not worthy of loosening his sandal.

One day while baptizing people in the Jordan, Jesus came to John.  John was overcome and could not imagine his Lord asking to be baptized as well, but John did baptize Jesus that day and thousands of others too.

Each day we renew ourselves for this journey of life.  And isn't each new day a miracle in itself?  We get another chance to do better.  We can start by asking forgiveness for our sins, and by cleansing our hearts for our Lord, Jesus.

In big cities and in small towns, the sun rises on another new day.  We sing a new song unto the Lord.  Alleluia.

Skipped Wednesday

So now it's Thursday!!  I skipped Wednesday this week.  Do you have a GPS?  Wednesday I used mine to go to the GYN's office in Barberton.  A rather major arterial road in our area is Rt. 93.  My GPS does not seem to fathom Rt. 93.  From my house, Rt. 93 is the most direct route to Barberton and the new Anna Dean medical buildings.

ALL THE WAY until one street before I was to turn into the complex, the GPS was telling me to turn left rather than right.  ALL THE WAY.  Pretty soon, I started talking back to "her."  "No I'm not," I'd say firmly in the car, as she suggested going this way and that.  It didn't even feel silly.  She obviously needed a scolding.

At least right at the end, right when it counted, she found the street for me.  For that I am grateful ... and the office visit is over for this year. 

One project for this winter is redoing the craft room.  It's getting new paint, new trim, new drapes, new rod, customized closet, and a new layout.  It will be great when it's done, and I promise to take a few before and after shots for you.  Getting organized is the best way to BE organized. 

Well, folks, sorry about Wednesday.  Talk to you tomorrow.

P.S.  I THINK you are allowed to comment on the blog now.  At least that's what the screen said.  But so far I see nothing.

Karen

Instructions

Hello readers. 

Today the topic is "instructions."  You know how men try to put together children's toys, bicycles, and the like without readings the instructions?  This situation has probably created more utterances of swear words than broken-down lawnmowers in the middle of summer. 

Well, maybe women do that too sometimes.  This one does.  I'm writing a blog and so far, the whole thing has come together without me reading instructions.  Yep, flying by the seat of my pants!!  And so now when you want to comment on an article, there is nowhere to do that.  So sorry....

Later today, I hope to try and figure it out. 

But as to instructions ... what about our faith?  It is tough trying to navigate the uncharted waters of life with a grade school or high school level of information.  So for those of you who think maybe you need some help understanding or deepening your faith, there is always St. Raphael's on Fulton Road.  It's a fabulous little bookstore, and while you are there, you can stop at the chapel and pray for a little while too.  For those of you who don't live in this area, there are almost always great Christian bookstores around.  Give it a shot as we start 2013.  Arm yourself with the knowledge of your faith.

And now maybe I'll figure out this blogging thing.  Thanks for hanging with me.

Drug Store Heist Foiled

The blog is called, "Life in a Small Town" for a good reason.  I live in one.  There are many stories that abound about Canal Fulton, and back in the day when I wrote a column for the local historical society, people told me a bunch of them.

One of the best ones, though, is one that I witnessed myself more than 30 years ago.  The newspaper's offices were in an historic building in downtown Canal Fulton.  When I was at work that morning, one of the employees walked in saying that the door to the pharmacy next store was ajar.

So we called our police, and they arrived by car and parked on the street.  They pulled guns and entered the pharmacy building.  Before long, the chief came out and he hastily called to one of the officers to, "Go get the camera."  The overweight officer started running down the alley across the street, and when the chief noticed, he boomed, "It's in the trunk."

Well, they went back inside with the camera and it was a LONG time later after the pharmacist arrived to take a good look at the store and its contents that the police told us nothing was stolen.  Nothing.  No drugs.  No trinkets.  The door had been open from the wee hours of the morning until after 9:00 a.m.  No one went in.  The robbers were gone.  What had happened?

Across the street from the pharmacy and adjacent to the alley lived Clyde Gainey, an old gentleman usually referred to as the town's historican.  He was in his 80s by this time.  Apparently, all of the crow barring made some noise and Clyde woke up.  He went to the front door and turned on his porch light.  The thieves figured it was all over and although they'd gotten the door open and perhaps they were already inside, they fled the scene.  Clyde hadn't seen a thing, so he went back to bed.

A good moral to the story is just this:  It doesn't matter how old we are; we can always make a difference. 

Quiet Friday

Dear Friends,

So did you think about those resolutions I mentioned yesterday?  Apparently, if you do want to make a resolution or two (and it's never too late), there are ways to make your chances of success much greater.

Be specific.  Don't say, "lose weight."  Say, "Lose 10 pounds in 6 months."  And you probably better have some idea of how that is going to happen, such as walking, no eating after 7:00 p.m. (as Denise Austin says), or by some other means.  Any other ideas for resolutions?  Maybe become a volunteer or support a new cause.  Maybe borrow some recommended books from the library that will open up new horizons for you.  Join a study group or a Bible study.

I've been going to a Bible study at church, and it will last into the spring.  Last night we discussed Peter, the Rock upon whom God built His church.  The word for Peter in Aramaic (the language of Jesus and Peter) translates the name Peter as being not just any rock but a HUGE foundation rock.  Peter himself as a sign of his great humility not only called himself a servant of God, but a "servant of servants. "  We are called to serve as well.

So let us rejoice this Friday.  God is in heaven and all is right with the earth.

It's Thursday!

Well, I SAID that a new post would be added on Wednesdays, but yesterday I watched Ella and Drew.  It was great!  Grandchildren are so special.  Everyone says that, I know, but once you have them there just aren't words to describe these little people.  Last year their big gift was one of those basketball games where two can shoot.  It JUST fits in a corner of their basement.  Yesterday I suggested that Ella might want to shoot some baskets because she was hounding me about playing the Disney game on XBOX360 and I'm not familiar with it yet.  Apparently, the BB game has grown out of favor.  Drew told me, "It's closed.  It's old."  Oh, my.

Going to Bible study tonight.  The huddled masses will gather in the social hall, and I'll go home with frozen feet.  Cement floor.  The warm heart might make up for it though.

Any resolutions from anyone?

The first day of the year

A few snippets of life in a small town.  Had to go to the post office yesterday because a package arrived and the mail lady didn't want to attempt coming down the hilly driveway.  So I took my postcard to the PO.  On the way in a lady I know from somewhere said hello and wished me a happy new year.  Then another lady came by (it's a small lobby) and she said hello.  When I carried the large box containing yarn out the door, a gentleman opened the door for me.  Two policemen were near the door on some sort of business (didn't seem too urgent) and they asked if I needed help getting my package to the car.  Are you picking up a pattern here? 

My second snippet is about the outdoor cat we feed.  Blackie has been around here for a couple of years.  She doesn't seem to have a home and she depends on us for food and water.  However, she does not choose to be friendly towards us and she runs away!  It's never going to change.  She is just too wild.  I watched Blackie make her way to the shelter she's found (a crevice under the back barn) in a foot of snow.  Moving fairly fast, she retraced her steps exactly, hopping from one footprint to another.  Going this way and that, it was humerous.  But there is a life lesson here.  Aren't we sometimes like Blackie?  We follow the same treadworn path.  Maybe that ought to change in 2013.

Happy New Year to everyone who reads this blog!!  And many blessings.

Karen

Check out the rose in the snow.  It's right out front of the house.  How beautiful.  How indicative of the hope of spring and of life no matter what the circumstances.